Surefoot 70: Uproar

"We've had... limited success, Captain; the Occupational Headquarters is on Full Lockdown now following the missile attack, preventing any outside intrusion. And the Dominion systems are too alien, too isolated from ours, and more than once, they've managed to backtrack us, almost catching us. If we could get onboard one of their ships, maybe, but-"

"Three years ago," Hrelle interrupted. "The Syphers accessed the Caitian Outer Perimeter Network in order to assist in a Ferengi theft of pergium from our colony on Azure Aura."

The image on the screen wavered. "Nothing was proven, Captain- why are you dredging up some past crime at a time like this?"

"Because if it did happen, then you might be able to access it again... and fake a Starfleet invasion, one that will send the Ferasans and Jem'Hadar now in orbit around Cait out to confront them."

Nimeni's facade seemed to freeze, before he or she finally responded. "I'm not saying that the Syphers have ever engaged in any criminal activity, Captain... but we can do what you ask."

Hrelle grunted at that. Most Caitians who knew about the Syphers dismissed them as publicity-seeking pranksters: anti-authoritarian anarchists, probably University students. He knew of their more overtly criminal acts... and of the leeway they've been given by the Caitian Secret Service, in return for the use of their specialised talents. "My people are sending you appropriate technical data to help support the illusion -- be ready for the signal. It needs to be convincing, but elusive enough to fool any Enemy vessels that might be patrolling on the outer skirts of the system."

Now he turned to the screen displaying Sasha and Biggles. "Captain, Lieutenant, what's the status of the Skycats' Squadron?"

Sasha looked to Biggles and nodded, allowing the older male to answer. "The weapons you provided have been mounted and tested, Captain. We're good to go; we just need a target."

"We all do," Mrorr added.

Hrelle offered a slight smile. "And you'll all have one... as I'll explain now.

When the Syphers fake the invasion, I expect to see a substantial number of Enemy ships deployed to the outer edges of the system. There's no guarantee of an exact number, but they'll want to make an ostentatious display of power, as well as jockey for a chance at gaining glory by destroying a Starfleet vessel.

By the time they're distant enough to realise they've been duped, the Skycats will be flying low, in tight formation and shielded from sensors by the Prowl unit on Lt Hrelle's flyer the Tailless, north by northwest over Pakui and Hsova towards Ravath, and this camp."

He called up a satellite image of a fortification dominated within by a circular structure. "This is Navron, the largest of the prisoner camps with almost eight thousand captives. It was constructed around the Caitian Weather Modification Station already on location; because of the sophisticated global network already in place at the Station, the Ferasans co-opted it for their Transporter system."

"The Deep Keep could take that out with one of our missiles, Captain," Mrorr reminded him.

"Yes, Captain... and potentially kill thousands of our people held in Navron. And I want the facility kept intact, not just because of its environmental importance, but its links to the main Ferasan network.

The Skycats' Aerofighters and the Tailless, on the other paw, are specialised vehicles, and can fly in and perform a surgical strike against the facility, taking down the Transporter system and giving the Syphers that access to the Enemy's network... and shut it all down."

He focused on Sasha and Biggles again. "Captain, Lieutenant Hrelle will be in overall command of your mission; this is not a reflection on your own rank, but on her specific experience."

Biggles smiled and nodded. "Understood, Captain. I have witnessed the esteemed Lieutenant in action. We have complete faith in her."

Hrelle nodded back, looking to Sasha. "Think you can handle it?"

"Does a chicken have a pecker?"

Hrelle smiled and looked back at Nvell. "When the Transporter Network is disabled, the Ferasans scattered in individuals or small numbers throughout Cait will be vulnerable, unable to escape or send for help. I need as many Kaetini and civilians to find their local Ferasans... and be ready to take advantage of the situation."

The Kaetini Mistress nodded soberly. "There has been a growing number of incidents, attacks and even riots throughout the cities and towns. We're already trying to assist, getting the wounded and vulnerable to safety, but it's keeping the Ferasans on alert."

Hrelle nodded, aware of the continuing unrest. "My wife calls it a Pandemic of Rage, a collective reaction to Shanos Minor. It won't make your jobs any easier, I know."

The elderly female regarded him... but then bared her teeth. "We'll take care of things, Big Balls. And the Rat-tails will find their jobs far more difficult than we will."

Hrelle turned back to Mrorr. "Captain: the Deep Keep is the last surviving military force on Cait. You have missiles, helijets, dropships, groundcars, mobile infantry and troops. At the appointed time you'll surface from under the water to launch a simultaneous missile attack on every military base in the Western Hemisphere, while employing your equipment and troops to mop up the survivors. You have the intelligence we sent you; you choose how to deploy your people."

Mrorr frowned, seeing her expression, and her reply confirmed her concerns. "You're stretching us out pretty damn thin, Captain."

He knew that; they were alone, taking on a superior force. But there was no choice. "I know. But we're all going to be in the same proverbial boat."

"Will we? What will you be doing, Hrelle?" Nimeni asked. "Sitting there sipping Rula Punch while the rest of us deal with the Rat-tails?"

"Excuse me?" Sasha interjected angrily. "My Dad's been doing more than the rest of us combined to fight these bastards, you little prick!"

Hrelle raised a paw to cut them off. "When the Enemy realises that the Starfleet invasion is faked, they'll be coming back. By then I'm hoping that their planetbound forces and networks will be disabled by all of your efforts... and that I will have infiltrated the Capitol to capture or kill Master Governor Melem-Adu."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Nvell asked. "They're on Lockdown now."

"Our prisoner, Valtiri, the Ferasan's Hunter Prime, will get me in, pretending to have captured me. They won't refuse him entry, especially if he offers the Master Governor my hide for a public execution. And I have a few other surprises on paw for them as well."

Nvell's face creased with anger. "You've left the Ferasan assassin alive? You do remember he killed three Kaetini! Murdered them in cold blood!"

Hrelle nodded in agreement. "And then he surrendered, without a fight. And spared my life, and helped me save Sasha's and Lt Mori's lives."

"What would make a Ferasan turn against his own people?" Mrorr asked.

"Being a telepath, and being close enough to Shanos Minor to hear and feel the death screams of over three million Caitian minds. My wife has interrogated him thoroughly. Psychologically, Valtiri had never held much loyalty to his own people to begin with, never bought into their propaganda; what happened in Shanos Minor has apparently made him mentally sever all connections with the Ferasans."

He looked back at Nvell. "I understand your anger, Mistress. But we need him on our side; his telepathy, authority and fighting skills will aid Agent Nenjo and me in assuming control of the Capitol, and ordering the remaining forces to stand down. We can decide Valtiri's fate later."

He stepped back, looking across at them all. "Zero Hour is creeping up fast, and I have a date to cut off the Master Governor's head. I'll be in touch with each of you individually before then. Good luck to all of you."

"Good luck to all of us," Nvell amended.

*

Tailless, Skycats Aerodrome, Pakui Province:

Sasha could taste the hot dry desert even inside the controlled environment of her flyer, and decided not to keep looking up at the aerofighters in the open hangar, now equipped with modern weapons... but which still looked to her like they could barely get off the ground. What her father was thinking giving the Skycats such a prominent role in Operation: Uproar... Oy, what he was thinking giving her command of such a prominent role...

Instead she focused on the plethora of details to the operation that may have no significance... or which may be the key to winning this damned War-

"Sasha?"

She glanced up distractedly from her seat. "Mru, come closer and look at this, would you? The base of the antenna array at the Navron Weather Station- is that shielding from energy weapons? Something the Ferasans added when they took over?"

The Caitian male drew up to her, leaning in and peering with his bronze eyes. "No, it's shielding from solar activity. The flares get pretty heavy every 14-16 years, which can also affect natural weather patterns-" Then he glanced at her, smiling. "You just wanted me closer so you can sniff me, didn't you?"

"Don't be stupid." Then she buried her nose into the furred nape of his neck above his Starfleet uniform collar, giving him a nip before drawing back. "Has Ensign Osha finished the modifications to the controls on the fighters?"

"Yes. Now she's free to gush over her heroes, though they're busy readying their wills, preparing final messages for family-"

She made a sound, returning to her work legitimately. "At their age, you'd think they'd have all that prepared long ago."

"Oh? And have you prepared for yourself?"

She keyed up a pattern analysis of the Prowl's cloaking field required to cover the flyer and the five Aerofighters. "I've set all that up a long time ago, after I died the first time."

Mori looked to her. "What? The first time? How many times have you died?"

Sasha felt her skin flush a little, and her stomach churned like a cub restless to get playing. "Two, confirmed. Maybe three, but I think more. Sometimes I'm sure I got close, but it was never medically verified."

"Mother's Cubs... why didn't you mention any of this before?"

"It doesn't make for great pillow talk or casual conversation, Stud."

He breathed out. "How do you... how do you just go on, with all that hanging over your head? With the idea that you can die again, and this time maybe not-" He stopped himself.

She finished it. "-With maybe not coming back?" She entered a few tentative changes to the pattern, testing for a greater efficiency. "There's an wise old Earth saying: 'Get busy living, or get busy dying'. After everything I've gone through, I've decided not to waste time pondering it, or questioning the course my life is taking. I do good. Doing good takes risks. Risk is our Business, as Kirk used to say."

She checked her chroniker, then rose, setting aside the belt and scabbard containing her Kaetini sword, rescued from Mithrim Valley before their return to the Island. "Come on, we're burning daylight."

*

In the Aerodrome's Main Building, Biggles sat behind the desk, clearing his throat for the fifteenth time, before finally opening the channel again, waiting, wondering if it would be better not to make a connection, just to leave a message-

A young, blonde-furred male appeared onscreen, looking startled. "Dad?"

Biggles' heart raced at the image of his son. "Hello, Illyan. Sorry, I know it's early there in Everwell, didn't mean to wake you."

Illyan recovered. "Oh, uh, no, Dad, you didn't."

His father frowned at the sounds he could hear in the background. "Are you outside? Who's that with you? What about the curfew? You promised to stay out of trouble!"

His son smiled. "I am, Dad, I promise; we're in the atrium of the University Dorms, out of sight. Studying under the moonslight."

Biggles smiled back. "'Studying', eh? Be sure to eat something to minimise the studying hangover in the morning." He dropped his smile. "Is everyone safe there? Is there enough food, supplies? You're not being harassed by the Ferasans?"

"No, of course, it's very quiet here. Dad, are you okay? Why did you call?"

He almost responded with the truth... until he remembered the warnings about revealing intelligence across open channels like this, as opposed to the more secure lines with Captain Hrelle and the Island. Damn it... still, this might ultimately be for the best. He offered a smile. "Oh, no reason really, just your Old Dad being maudlin, thinking about when you were still a tail-high cub, sitting with me in the cockpit, learning to fly.

Illyan, I... I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. Of the remarkable young male you've become, who will go on to do wonderful, wonderful things. And if your mother was still alive, she would feel the same."

His son leaned closer into the viewscreen. "Dad... are you sure everything is alright?"

"Yes. Yes, it is. I've just been feeling a little tethered here, grounded and all, what with the Skycat Air Shows being cancelled." He reached up with his paw and touched the screen. "I love you, Son."

Illyan smiled back. "I love you too, Dad. And I promise I'll come up to visit when this Occupation is over, and show you my latest Project."

"I'm looking forward to it. Take care, son."

"You too, Dad."

*

Everwell Museum, Halase Province:

"You too, Dad." Illyan Biggleshen closed the channel and put away the pocket comm.

Nearby, his friends crouched in the alley, Maris muttering, "Are you quite done now talking with Daddy?"

Illyan straightened the flight controls on his gloves, fighting down his growing anxiety. "Only if you're quite done being a vexing little boil on the base of my tail." He looked up at the distant sound of a crashing wall. "What's that?"

C'Nasha, closest to the opening of the alley, clutched her plasma rifle as she peered out. "The Fleabags have brought down the wall. They're rushing in now to see for themselves."

Despite his fears, Illyan indulged in a smirk, glad the Ferasans took the bait with the false story his little group of troublemakers planted about the crates of gold-pressed latinum hidden in Everwell's Museum. He rechecked the power feeds to the harness strapped to his vest. "Pity we didn't have time to booby-trap the crates. Still, we can do them some damage, eh?"

"If you don't plummet to the ground and blow us all up," Merl noted.

Illyan ignored him, turning to the last member of their band. "Hnoi?"

The ashen-furred female frowned at her PADD display. "Coordinating... they're not sending out any transmissions... evidently this little field trip of theirs is being done on the QT... I'm setting up the jamming frequencies."

Illyan smiled more broadly now. If the Ferasans had any sense in their skulls, they would never have let a group of brilliant freedom-loving Engineering students remain together; the Troublemakers had used their wits and resources to cause as much disruption as possible, tricking and trapping the Enemy. And now, after Shanos Minor, the stakes had risen considerably.

"Are you sure about that damned thing, Illyan?" Merl asked, for what seemed the thousand time.

Illyan looked to his white-furred lover. Merl Rrori was born of high stock, his clan prominent back in the Mrestir Province. His older brother Meow had been in Starfleet, and died in battle over a year ago, and though Merl had been eager to sign up and avenge his death, his mother and Matriarch had insisted on his at least finishing his Engineering degree at Everwell before even considering such an action -- though Illyan suspected it was just as likely they were simply doing everything in their power to keep him out of danger. Now, however, the Ferasans had literally brought the danger to the Motherworld.

"Yes," he replied finally... refusing to speak of his fears aloud. Yes, all the simulations he had run checked out, but he knew from experience growing up working on his Dad's aircraft that simulations could not fully replace practical tests.

But it surely couldn't be any more risk than what the rest of the Troublemakers were doing. He just had to keep it from his father, who would just worry about him needlessly-

"Wait," Hnoi suddenly announced. "I think they've opened up one of the crates! They'll know it's a trap!"

Illyan pushed aside further thoughts, reached up and slipped his goggles over his eyes. "Time to Fly."

"Assuming you don't just blow up where you stand," Merl corrected.

"I'm expecting an apology shag from you when we get back to the Dorms. Good luck everyone." He stepped back from the others, straightened up, and activated his glove controls... hoping his boyfriend wasn't right for once. He didn't have time or opportunity to properly test this rig he had built-

Seconds later, he was propelled like a rocket up into the air with a silent whoosh, the miniature antigrav units on his harness reducing his weight and letting the main quaratum-powered thrusters jets do the rest. He gasped, not expecting to ascend so quickly, but he forced down his shock and let his instincts, and a cubhood growing up learning not to fear heights or flying from his father, do the rest.

Bloody Hell, it... it was exhilerating!

At least his tail, sheathed in the same fireproof material as the rest of his worksuit, won't get burned off.

He adjusted his flight, finding his simple guidance and control system better than expected as he took a wide arc over the Ferasan shuttle parked outside of the Museum, as he drew his own plasma pistol from its holster on his hip, aimed and fired downward, repeatedly, not caring if he hit any of the Ferasan pack below... just wanting to draw their attention overhead.

And he did, disruptor bolts flying upwards like angry birds. He dove and swooped, avoiding the wild shots, suddenly exhilarated, knowing better than ever now how his father felt whenever his flew his Aerofighter. Oh Dad, I'm glad you're safe and out of the way of the War down in Pakui... because I'll have some stories to tell you when all this is over...

*

Tailless, Skycats Aerodrome, Pakui Province:

Biggles emerged from his quarters, finding the rest of his Squadron, his dear friends, together, Bertti noting, "So you finally managed it. Good lad."

"You remembered the public lines are monitored?" Alje reminded him tensely.

"Of course, I said nothing, treated it like a normal call." He spied the tray of glasses and bottle on a tray carried by Jinjer. "The Venimia? You got our best bubbly out?"

"It seemed appropriate for the occasion." Smithi picked up the bottle and popped out the cork, nodding. "Bottled in 1024; I am told it was an exquisite year." He poured the dark contents into each of the glasses.

Jinjer made a sound. "Not so sure about this. We're flying, after all. We might need our wits about us." Still, he accepted a glass for himself as he set the tray and bottle aside.

"Those with wits, that is," Smithi quipped.

"It's wine, not Still Hooch." Biggles stared into the contents of his own glass, before looking up again at the circle of people who have become his family. He had a million, million things to say to them all. Instead, he raised his glass. "'Live Fast, Fight Well, and Have a Beautiful Ending'."

They mirrored him.

*

Kaijushima Island, Free Seas:

Hrelle couldn't help but keep glancing over at Valtiri, even as he tried to focus on his family as they said their goodbyes and good lucks to him. But the Ferasan stood apart from them, staring out through the jungle toward a family of gigantic Megalons, the sauropods munching on some leaves from an opalaleaf tree, or feeding them to their smaller offspring... as Agent Nenjo kept an eye on Valtiri, one paw always near her blaster holster.