Surefoot 69: We are Shanos Minor

"When the War ends, we're going to be significantly short on experienced command level personnel," he pointed out soberly. "Look at how many we've lost today. When we return to exploration and scientific missions, they'll begin fast-tracking gifted cadets back out here, and you can still Liaise for the Academy... but as Captain of your own ship."

T'Varik did not reply immediately. The idea had occurred to her. And perhaps in the near future, if the opportunity arose, she would accept such a responsibility again, though of course such a decision would impact on so many others in her life, not least of which C'Rash.

But such thoughts were for another day. "Perhaps we should focus on more immediate goals, such as the liberation of Cait?"

*

Kamar-Taj, Meru Province:

Thunder rolled as the thickening clouds above gathered and grew, the occasional lightning flash complementing the soft street lights that began to come to life as afternoon gave way to evening.

The Caitian in the heavy overcoat emerged from his apartment building and walked down the street. He was an elderly, stone-furred male, his wrinkles beginning to affect the flow of the fur on his head, his tail drooping behind him, a slight limp developing in his stride.

Above and around him, the white-walled, domed buildings of Kamar-Taj rose like cathedral spires from between the crescent arms of Meru Bay, framed by the surrounding lush green jungle plateau. It had a colourful history, once haven to corsairs who prowled the Sea of Hetash during the Second Age of Cait, before evolving into a playground for the wealthy of the planet, their yachts, sailboats and hydrofoils crowding the fingers of the harbour. The Caitian had spent much of his life here, a veteran marine maintenance engineer, had always enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the crowds, especially in the Highsun Season.

There weren't many people in the streets tonight; since the broadcast about Shanos Minor, people had stayed indoors, and many of the restaurants and bars that would be open now awaiting the night crowd, remained shuttered. No one was present to notice or question why he might have been wearing an overcoat, normally needed only during the rainy season in Frostmoot.

The Caitian moved with a steady pace towards his destination: the Ferasan shuttle that always parked next to the city's First Landing Memorial, the stone circle representing the beacon established by the original colonisers of Cait to guide the rest of the Exodus Fleet here. The pack of Ferasans assigned to patrol here hung about, drinking and laughing, throwing their containers around and generally being as disrespectful and triumphant as they had been since first arriving here. People had learned to avoid them whenever possible... especially females who were young and attractive.

The Caitian didn't avoid them. He strode right up to them, standing a few paces away. Glaring at them. Waiting.

Waiting for one of them to notice him, and then approach, his swagger thick as he ground his sabreteeth. "Lost, Old Cat? Missing your keeper?"

The Caitian said nothing.

The Ferasan glanced back at the rest of his Pack, sharing in their amusement and encouragement, before drawing even closer. "You should scurry along, Old Cat, before you piss yourself."

The Caitian said nothing. He took a moment to breathe in the salt air, still feeling the aftereffects of his afternoon meal of battered kydrae rings, a foolish indulgence at his age given the acid reflux it always triggered in him. But that didn't matter.

Amusement boiled into indignation. "Are you deaf, Old Cat? Run along before I grind you into the gutter with the rest of the shit!"

The Caitian continued to ignore him, but saw past him to the rest of his Pack, as they began gathering around. Nothing much mattered anymore, not after what he had seen today-

The Ferasan harassing him smacked him across the snout. "Don't ignore me, you stinking old sack of bones! Who in the Seven Hells do you think you are?"

Now the Caitian met his gaze, even as his shaking paws moved to open his overcoat, his mind filled with the images of a murdered city. He had no family there, knew no one in that city, held no kinship to anyone there except as fellow Caitians, who hours before had been alive and well, and were now... ash.

And since then, his paws were driven by those images, to go to his workshop and take the tools of his trade, the spare electronics -- and the sarium krellide power cells for sea vessel thrusters -- and fashion together a response.

He opened his overcoat to the Ferasans, ensuring they had a good look at the interconnected network of power cells hanging from the equipment harness he wore underneath, wrapped in hundreds of tritanium nails, hooks and rings.

And then he finally replied in a fractured whisper, "I am Shanos Minor-"

No one saw him activate the detonator hidden in his right paw.

The blast killed the Caitian instantly; the Pack fared less mercifully, as the directed blast sent a wave of metal to shred the Ferasans, and what wasn't spattered with metal was set on fire. Some survived, screaming raggedly for help from the Caitians who emerged to view the carnage, to loot the bodies and the shuttle of weapons, and record the event to transmit it onto the Cynet.

*

Kaijushima Island, Security Bay:

Kami leaned forward in her chair, her senses fully focused, and not a little unsure about the course of this interrogation. She must have been slipping somewhere, missing something. It wasn't an impossible notion; she had certainly missed spotting her late aunt S'Graow's deception when they were still back on their Clanlands.

But still she should have found the hidden traits in this Ferasan on the floor before her. Despite his actions on Cait, she couldn't help but find him a fascinating individual: a mutant Ferasan, his telepathy switched on and uncontrollable from before birth, forced to be raised alone in the wilderness, educated on classical literature, adopting a singular code of honour that raised him above the usual class of Ferasans that she had encountered. The empathy he obviously possessed was perhaps a result of his gifts, perhaps a result of his upbringing, perhaps a mix of the two.

But still... She swallowed; her voice was growing hoarse from the questioning. "When the Bomb detonated in Shanos Minor... what did you experience? How did it really affect you?"

The stone-furred male ground his sabreteeth against the sides of his muzzle, his own voice equally low and raspy. "You have asked me this twice already, Counselor."

"And now I ask a third time. There's something more. You were overwhelmed by the deaths, their fear, their terror-"

"No." He stared down at the stark white floor, his paws flat on the cool surface, claws retracted but the tension clear in his stance. "No, Counselor. It was not their fear, their terror that overwhelmed me. Yes, those emotions were there, of course, those that were aware of something happening; most mercifully died almost instantly, without any awareness.

It was not their fear, their terror that overwhelmed me. It was the love.

I felt parents, grandparents, older siblings, teachers and doctors and minders diving onto cubs, their own safety cast aside in a futile effort to protect the innocents from the blast and the heat. I felt Constables and managers and ordinary people sacrifice themselves to try and get others into shelters as the wavefront rolled towards them.

His eyes welled with tears. "I felt an old couple, who had lived and loved for longer than I had been alive, unable and unwilling to run or duck, knowing they were about to die, but not afraid either, knowing that their last moments were in each other's arms."

Now he looked up at her, naked emotion etched into him as if in stone as the tears ran down either side of his muzzle. "Love. Compassion. Generosity. Mercy. Selflessness. Those were the emotions suffused in so many of the minds that touched mine.

I'd seen it before with your people: the captives working in the Capitol, supporting each other in the face of constant threat of death; your neighbours, banding together and cleaning up the remains of your property, not out of any self-serving motive, but just out of decency. It suffuses your spirits.

And in the face of Death, it stood strong, resolute. It couldn't stop what was to come, but that was not where its true power lies. And for all our swagger and bluster and hubris, my race cannot begin to match yours. We are small, and we are petty and selfish, and we mewl in the dark, seeing ourselves as greater than you, greater than anyone.

But we are not... and we deserve the genetic Oblivion that awaits us..."

*

Caitian Flyer Tailless, over the Free Seas:

Biggles sat at the table in the aft section, sipping at his tea as he perused the PADD. "There's a 0.4 second cyclic recharge on the plasma cannons; we'll need to keep that in mind in combat."

Around him, the rest of his Skycat Squadron sat with their own PADDs... but all seemingly more focused on their drinks, saying nothing in reply.

He looked up at them. "What's wrong?"

They glanced at each other, the fat, tabby-furred Jinjer taking the lead with the reply, "What's wrong? Seven Hells, Majes, what are we doing here? We're performers, we're clowns! We're not actual combatants! How could you rope us into an actual military operation?"

He looked to the others -- the thin, quiet Smithi, the taciturn, coal-furred female Bertti, the fat tabby JInjer, the jocular sepia-furred Alje -- his friends, people he'd known and worked with for decades, a family they had forged together for lack of any blood-kin. "What is wrong with all of you? All this time you were grousing about playing a more active role in the War against the bloody Rat-tails! I offer a golden opportunity to you now, and you act like I've pissed on your shuris strips!"

"We talk crap," Bertti informed him, growling. "Jinjer especially, he has a tongue that wags at both ends."

"Steady on," he chided, harrumphing.

She ignored him. "We were fine ferrying people and supplies from here to there, but-"

"But when it comes to doing something with some actual risk," Biggles interrupted, "That's when you scurry back under the sink and hide, is that right?"

"That's not fair, Dear Cat," Smithi finally protested.

Biggles pointed a finger at him. "No, what's not fair is that we've allowed others, like those young people up in the cockpit, to bear the burden of the fight against the Enemy. This is our world as well. And we all have some considerable skills and experience to bring to bear."

"We could die," Bertti growled.

Biggles smiled and leaned forward, his voice dropping into a confidential tone. "I have some bad news for you, old girl: you will die. We all will."

He looked to each of them in turn. "I think of all the mundane ways we can all leave this mortal coil: myocardial disease, choking on some undercooked chops, slipping in the shower, or just dying in bed. Do any of you really want to go in any of those ways?"

"The one in bed sounds good," Alje quipped. "Preferably with a couple of prettytails servicing me."

Bertti grunted. "The last prettytail you had servicing you was the last time JInjer saw his piece without shifting his belly aside."

He slapped her arm. "I don't recall hearing any action coming from your quarters lately, you old bag of rats!"

Smithi looked to their leader. "You really think we're gonna make a difference in this War?"

Biggles smiled at them all. "I think we're going to do proud the motto of the Skycats: 'Fly fast, fight well, and have a beautiful ending'." Then he picked up the PADD again. "Now, about these rail guns..."

*

Back on the Island, Hrelle sat on the lagoon beach, breathing in the hot, scent-rich air as he worked furiously on his PADD, double-checking his facts on adjacent PADDs, feeling like he was back at the Academy, desperate to finish and submit a paper on history or culture or science before the deadline. His stomach growled, reflecting the but he ignored it.

He heard the hidden lift doors open behind him, and smiled a little as he heard the familiar patter of tiny feet, and an exclamation, "Papa!"

He set aside his PADD and turned, grabbing Misha and planting him on his lap. "How are you, Son of Mine?" He cuddled him, even as he looked to see who else had accompanied him to the surface. "And you, Wife and Daughter of Mine?"

Kami, with Sreen in a harness on her chest, joined him on the soft, warm sand. "Tired and hungry. Well, I am; these two tail chasers have had meals and naps."

Hrelle reached out and tickled his purring infant cub under her chin. "You should go, I'll be a while longer here. Too much to do..."

"Then you'll need to know what I've learned."

"What you doing, Papa?" Misha asked.

He looked down at the cub. "I'm working out a plan to send the Ferasans back home."

Misha scowled. "I no like the Fearies. They hurt you and Sasha. They kill Gramma Ma'Sala, and Gramma Jnill. They kill everyone. I wanna kill them back."

Hrelle reached up, stroking Misha's head. "No, don't be like that."

"Why not? They bad! They kill us! You kill them! Sasha kill them!"

Hrelle stared back at him, frowning. "I have a mission for you: go back down, find one of your Grandpas, and get them to put together a snack box for your Mama and me. And something for yourself."

The cub's eyes brightened, and he hopped off his father's lap to rush back to the elevator."

"You didn't tell him why he shouldn't be like that," Kami observed.

He stared out at the lagoon, watching the setting sun peek through the foliage. "Maybe because it would be the height of hypocrisy to tell him that thoughts of killing was wrong, given what I'm working on now."

In her harness, Sreen looked to him. "Papa? Gabbadoo doo da?"

He offered her a reassuring smile back, stroking her muzzle. "I'm fine, thank you Sweetheart. What have you learned about Valtiri?"

"Are you asking me, or my Warrior Princess?" Kami purred against Sreen, before continuing. "In his own way, he has been as shaken to his core about Shanos Minor as the rest of us. Before his arrival here, his life had been focused strictly on his Romantic notions of the Hunt, of tracking and fighting his quarry, to the exclusion of everyone and everything else. But the Bomb has changed all that. He empathises, identifies more with us now than with his own people. I'm not saying he should be forgiven for his crimes, but I think he'll be willing to help make up for them."

"Are you sure?"

He looked up to see her rub her eyes. "I was with him for nearly three hours, Esek, used every trick in the Interrogation Handbook... even the nasty ones I hate using, like lying about killing him if he didn't cooperate. You and Sasha impressed him. It would certainly please his to team up with an honoured foe."

Hrelle nodded. "What about his Pilot?"

She grunted. "Him? I had him figured out in thirty seconds, without him ever saying a word to me. He hasn't been an active combatant in this War. I don't think he's ever fired a weapon, for that matter. But he's not like Valtiri; he'll be more reluctant to work against his people."

He grunted back, picking up his PADD again. "Won't need him anyway. But someone with the Hunter Prime's skill set is another matter."

She regarded him further. "He also mentioned something that, frankly, unnerved him: when you two fought, and he damaged your eye, he stopped being able to read your thoughts."

He tensed.

"He said it was like you had become another person," she added knowingly.

He breathed out, wishing he didn't have to admit it, admit that his fight with Valtiri might have brought back his Beast, in some form or another. "Yes. We both know what. And we both know we don't have time to deal with it right now."

Kami reached out and patted his paw, squeezing it reassuringly. "Yes, of course, first things first: save our planet. No pressure there."

Hrelle stared out again; looking outward was as bad as looking inward. "I can manage a ship and crew, get them through the Seven Hells. I can oversee a task force of ships, plan battles. But this... thousands of our own people, ordinary people, not Starfleet or Militia, will be involved... with no guarantee of success..." Then he looked at her again. "And yet I also know that there's never any guarantee of success, and only that we have to do something. And it feels like the time to do something is almost upon us."

Kami offered him a supportive smile. "No one is expecting you to work miracles, Esek."

"No? You should have seen Ptera and the others. Everyone here. We can no longer just hide here and hope for help from the outside."

Before she could respond, his combadge chirped, and he tapped it. "Hrelle here."

Agent Nenjo's voice replied. "Captain Hrelle, we've had confirmed contacts for the meeting tonight from the Deep Keep, the Kaetini Order and the Syphers. We've reinforced the comlinks, rerouting and cloaking the frequencies."

He nodded at that. "Have you been able to tap into the satellites over Shanos Minor?"

"Yes, Sir, and some of the transmissions from the Ferasan ships that have passed over the area following the bombing. The radiation levels remain lethally high, with fallout detected in the troposphere and stratosphere, spreading on the winds and into the clouds north by north-east, towards the farmlands in central Nashea. There are reports of self-triggered evacuations of the villages in that region, and efforts being raised by the Caitian authorities in Shanos Major to send ships and flyers across the Sea of C'Mau to look for survivors."

Now he frowned. "They mustn't do that! They won't be equipped to protect themselves from the radiation! They could potentially return and contaminate other areas, other people! We have to warn them!"

Then Kami leaned in. "Nenjo, what about the public response in general to the bombing? Have there been any incidents like I'd described to you?"

"Yes, Counselor, as a matter of fact. There's been a growing number of incidents of Ferasans being attacked, singularly or in small groups, by Caitians."

Hrelle and Kami looked at each other again, before he asked, "You mean further Resistance attacks organised by the Kaetini?"

"No, Captain. These seem to be spontaneous incidents, outbursts, from ordinary people with no connection to the Kaetini, the Militia or anyone else. And many of these incidents are being recorded by others and distributed on the Cynet."

He was about to reply, when Kami then asked, "Nenjo, are there any statements being made by these Caitians at the time?"

"Yes, Counselor: declarations of... being Shanos Minor. Whatever that means."

Kami nodded at that. "Please collate the data and have it ready for me at a workstation."

"What has been the Ferasan response to these incidents?" Hrelle asked.

"In many instances, the Caitians have been killed on the spot. With others, the Ferasans have beamed in reinforcements, without much success in finding the perpetrators."

"Thank you, Agent. We'll be down shortly. Hrelle out." He regarded Kami. "What's happening to our people? A PTSD response to witnessing the Bombing of Shanos Minor?"

She drew Sreen closer to her, breathing in her scent as if for comfort. "It's to be expected; in any large number of people, there will be those who react in murderous fashion to seeing something as traumatic as what has happened, especially with social media feeding those responses to others in different locations and inspiring people into behaving in a similar fashion."