Surefoot 70: Uproar

And now she's dead.

They're all dead.

All my friends.

All my teachers.

All my neighbours.

All of my people.

Because of your people."

Pilot stared back at him, and found fonts of sorrow and self-hatred he thought he had long ago exhausted. The tears returned. "Yes."

"She didn't do anything to you to deserve that," Shau continued bitterly, matching him tear for tear.

"No."

"None of us did."

"No."

Shau drew up to him, until the muzzle of the pistol was pressed against Pilot's forehead. "WHY? WHY DID THEY HAVE TO KILL HER?"

Pilot made no move to step aside, or take the weapon from him, not caring at that moment if he was killed. "I don't know."

There was a frantic pounding on the door from those on the other side.

It went unheeded.

Shau fell to his knees, losing his grip on the pistol, sobbing and wailing.

Pilot mirrored him, neither of them aware of the door lock mechanism being overridden, and Jhess and his wife and others rushing in.

*

Capitol Building, First City, M'Mirl Province:

"Sire?"

Melem-Adu spun in place, baring his teeth at the interruption to his monitoring of the fleet deployment to meet the Starfleet fools. "Who are you?"

The young, coal-furred male stiffened, his tail twitching with agitation. "S-Sire, I- I am ThirdSon of Nabi-Enlil-"

"And I should be interested in this for what reason?"

The younger male swallowed. "Sire, I was assigned by your son Nusum-Adu to investigate anomalous signals riding on our own networks, as they might be related to the Caitian terrorists hampering our efforts-"

"AND?" the Master Governor bellowed impatiently.

"W-We've noticed an increase in these signals, and we're beginning to triangulate them to their source." He offered a datapad. "This source. We suspect they're originating from this location: an island in the Southern Hemisphere, listed as some sort of nature reserve, uninhabited and ungoverned... however, there are further anomalous energy fields there that prevent us from scanning more deeply, or sending Ferasans there by the Transporter Network."

The Master Governor looked up. "Sensor and Anti-Transporter scramblers?"

"Very possibly, Sire."

Melem-Adu stared at it... and then smiled with satisfaction. "My son has shown his cunning in assigning this to you. And you have done well with this work. Send a couple of Packs by shuttles to launch an attack. And if they are successful, you will have earned yourself a Name before this day is out."

The young male brightened. "Yes, Sire!"

The Master Governor turned back to the display. His fleet will rout the Starfleet scum, and the forces here will soon track down the terrorists. The day could not get better-

"Sire!" It was another lackey. "There's a signal from the Hunter Prime's shuttle! He is about to land... and he has captured Captain Hrelle alive, and wishes to deliver him to you!"

Melem-Adu bared his teeth. He had forgotten about that interloper. I guess I could be wrong about the day getting better... "Then by all means, let us welcome them. And perhaps we'll have the esteemed Captain Hrelle for dinner tonight."

*

Caitian Flyer Tailless, over Ravath Province:

Sasha stayed focused on rechecking her equipment harness, rather than keep looking up at the cockpit window to see how low they were flying, or to make sure that Mru wasn't about to accidentally fly them into a high slope. "Did I mention before about keeping me updated?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Mori glanced over the pilot's display. "Five minutes to target, no Enemy sightings, the Skycats are maintaining formation. They're really quite accomplished."

Beside him, Ensign Osha, a short, snow-furred female with slight spots that reminded her of Jhess, and who had been a bundle of nervous energy since being assigned by Sasha's father to assist in this mission, kept fidgeting in her seat, her tail, sticking out of the hole in back, practically wearing out the bulkhead below it. "The weapons are all online, so are transporter systems and shields and communications and Engineering and-"

"-And Uncle Tom Cobley and all."

She turned in her seat, confused and agitated. "Who's that?"

"Never mind." Sasha strapped her sword on her back, using a variation of her usual position to give her more flexibility, while providing her access to all her other little gadgets and gimmicks, feeling more Borg than organic. "Hope you're ready to give Mr Mori a paw, Ensign. He'll be in command when I beam down to dance with the Fleabags."

"Y-Yes, Ma'am."

Sasha regarded her, before drawing up to the front seats and setting a reassuring hand on the female's shoulder. "You'll do fine, Nrina. You'll do that uniform, and your family, your people and your planet, proud today."

The snub-muzzled cub offered a nod and a slight smile; she remained nervous, but pushed it down. "Thank you, Ma'am."

Sasha gave her a grin. "And when this is all over, the three of us will all get cosmically hammered and spend the weekend together in bed."

"What?" both of them exclaimed in unison.

Sasha winked -- then returned to business at the sound of the alert on the dashboard. "Zero Hour." She leaned in and opened a channel. "Tailless to HQ: we're here." She switched to another channel. "Tailless to Squadron: Good luck."

"Good luck to us all, Lieutenant," Biggles voice replied.

She looked ahead, already seeing structures popping over the quickly-approaching sand dune.

She swallowed, wishing she hadn't given all her bravado to Ensign Osha.

*

Deep Keep, Sea of Rhun:

"Two minutes to Zero Hour, Captain."

Mrorr nodded, choosing to stand on the Bridge rather than sit in her chair, keeping perfectly still, as if restrained by the tension in the air, the scent of anxiety thick among her crew. She measured her verbal response. "Continue ascent to the surface."

So this was it, Csara. The battle to reclaim the Motherworld. And you won't be part of the Fleet. You are the Fleet. And though you can't find fault with Hrelle's plan, you and your crew will probably still fall today.

So be it... "Status, Commander M'Trasha?"

His newly-promoted First Officer glanced up from his station. "All missiles armed, programmed and ready for launch. All helijets, dropships and personnel in an identical state. One minute to Zero Hour."

"Open a shipwide channel." A moment later, she cleared her throat and raised her voice. "Attention All Crew: we're about to surface, and begin our attack. At the proper times you will receive the signals to launch to your designated targets.

Have no illusions: the Enemy will outnumber us, and outgun us. Most of us will not survive.

But none of us have any contracts that guaranteed survival... myself included. And we have one advantage the Enemy does not. They will be fighting for their lives.

We will be fighting for our world. Something far more important.

Make those rat-tailed bastards regret coming here. Let the Righteous Fury of the Great Mother fill your heart and galvanise your limbs. Use your weapons until they're spent. And when they're spent, use your blades until they're dulled. And when they're dulled, use your teeth and claws.

Show No Mercy.

Good luck."

At her nod, the channel closed, as M'Trasha announced, "Breaking the surface!"

*

Outside, the churning, agitated waters of the Sea of Rhun parted rudely as a two-thousand metre long weapon of war emerged and banked sharply upwards. In the near distance, Caitians living a humble, pristine life on the shores of the Mrelle Province, relatively untouched by the Occupation, watched in astonishment as the vessel ascended, wave-motion cannons rising like spikes along the black-hulled port and starboard sides of the Deep Keep, and missile ports opened along the top decks.

*

"Three hundred metres," M'Trasha updated. "Five hundred... we're moving too fast for the transphasic cloak to function properly, Captain-"

"The time for hiding is past, Lieutenant Commander. Contact the Island, inform them we're on the War Path."

*

Navron Camp, Ravath Province:

"Again! Tell us again, Ms Aris!"

R'Taara Aris sat on the yellowed grass with the cubs, her eight-year-old son Srira at the forefront, as rapt as the others to hear the story from her. To hear more lies.

Around them, the huge camp continued with its dark deception, its labyrinth of wire fences offering filtered glimpses of the steppes beyond, but penning them all in like shuris, the dominant conical structure of what was once the Caitian Weather Modification Array blocking the afternoon sunlight, the armed guard towers placed here and there blaring music from mounted loudspeakers, interspersed with announcements from the Camp Commandant, the Ferasan Pridemaster Ubara-Tal, assuring the captives that all was well.

More lies. The whole system was built on lies, lies about the Metremia Threat prompting all the thousands of females and cubs to be brought here for 'treatment'. Lies about how they would all soon be sent home. Lies about the good intentions of their Ferasan 'benefactors'. Lies about all the captives who entered the Treatment Centres... and never returned.

R'Taara Aris knew the truth behind the lies. She had been separated from Srira a lifetime ago, locked up, had been drugged and probed and forced to have her eggs removed and restored to her, fertilised with Ferasan sperm, to see if any would survive to term.

None did... and she felt each loss.

And the experiments they performed on her left her sick beyond belief, scarred and sterilised, before they finally gave up on her, leaving her to do manual work in the camp during the way... and servicing the Ferasan guards during the night.

Communication with the outside world was forbidden. The hygiene was appalling. The food was minimal, and its source was one she dared not contemplate. And any attempts at defiance were punished. Brutally.

She wanted to die, if only to end the pain, the despair, the fatigue and the sorrow.

Only her cub kept her going. They let her see him now for an hour each day as part of her daily duties, along with many of the other cubs who had been separated from their families. The cubs who had still survived the efforts to genetically modify them into looking more Ferasan. Not many survived. She was assigned to keep them happy, keep them distracted.

Until all efforts to make them more Ferasan either killed them, or until the Ferasans decided to kill them more directly.

So she lied to them, a reluctant accomplice to their captors' deception. But she also knew that there was nothing else she could do. They -- she -- desperately needed the hope, however false, that it was worth living one more day. Just one more day.

"Again! Tell us again, Ms Aris!"

She looked out at the crescent collection of cubs, many displaying the side effects of the Ferasans' assault on their genetic integrity: missing fur, missing teeth, blindness, muscular and neurological impairment. Her own cub was emaciated, losing his vision, and sometimes had mild seizures when the sun above was at its strongest. She wanted to roar and howl at the Great Mother for letting this travesty happen to them all.

But she didn't have the strength for it. She breathed in the hot, dry air and forced a smile. "I was in the Commandant's office this very morning, and I overheard a report: there's a whole fleet of airships coming here, this very day!"

The cubs gasped in wonder, one asking, "How many?"

"Oh, too many to count! There's dropships and helijets from the Caitian Militia, and starships from the Caitian Planetary Navy, and Starfleet, and the Vulcans and the Andorians and the Klingons-"

"And the Skycats?" Srira asked eagerly. "Are they coming too?"

R'Taara looked down at him; she had taken him to Pakui earlier that year, before all this Season of the Seven Hells, to see one of the Skycats' shows, and he hadn't stopped talking about them since, learning everything about them, wanting models of their aerofighters for his birthday, and having posters of them on the walls of his bedroom. "Yes, Cub of Mine. They'll come too."

Srira nodded sagely. "They're the best."

"Yes. They are. And they'll all come, and they'll rescue us, and we'll all go home to our families and eat and get better."

"When?" another asked, prompting echoes from the rest.

She drew her son close to her, wanting to take them all into her arms and carry them away from this endless nightmare, as she forced back the tears. "Soon. Very soon. I'm sure of it."

From the guard towers, the music stopped, and a familiar Ferasan voice sounded over the activity below. "Attention my Caitian guests: I have been informed that we have had a full ten days without any acts of insubordination from you! For your good behaviour, there will be an extra half-ration of ottuquila beans portioned out tomorrow-"

Then his voice unexpectedly cut off.

Everyone waited for it continue.

Then Srira sat up in her arms, his ears twitching, his near-sightless eyes narrowing as if he was actually looking at something. "Engines..."

She stroked the remaining patches of fur on his head. "It's okay, Sweetheart-"

But he straightened up further, gasping. "It's them! Mama, you said they'd come!"

R'Taara frowned.

Then she heard the engines too.

The loudspeaker now began blaring an alarm usually reserved for Security Alerts.

Around then, the hundreds of captives on the grounds of Navron Camp stopped, glancing around, ignoring the guards' orders to return inside.

Then something darted overhead, the whistle of its flight higher than the sound of the alarms, striking the top of one of the guard towers, enveloping it in flame.

A half-second later, another something -- a missile of some sort -- struck and destroyed the next tower. And a third missile destroyed another. And then a fourth tower came crashing down.

The klaxons were silenced, replaced by the roar of engines of ancient design, as captives nearest the perimeter fence pointed towards the south, one of them declaring loudly, "Look! LOOK!"

R'Taara rose, somehow finding the strength to keep Srira in her arms as he peered in the same direction.

The cub beamed, his remaining vision confirming what his ears had already told him. "IT'S THE SKYCATS!"

Overhead, six aircraft -- a black and gold Caitian flyer, and five grey Caitian Aerofighters from another era -- flew overhead in tight formation overhead.

And for the first time in a lifetime, R'Taara Aris indulged in hope. Genuine hope.

*

Inside the Tailless, Moru glanced down. "There's anti-aircraft guns around the Navron Array! Taking evasive action!"

Near the transporter station, Sasha clutched a handhold on the wall as they banked hard to port, avoiding disruptor bolts flying upwards around them. "Osha! Send a message to Biggles and his Squad! Make sure they keep the Fleabags off us!"

*

Iron Whisper Military Camp, Rhun Jungle, Mrell Province:

The skies had opened up like it was the Last Day of the World, as walls of water slammed down from the dark twilight skies, drenching the jungle surrounding the campgrounds.

Beneath a canopy that thundered beneath the relentless onslaught, Pridemaster Illusha-Hegel leaned back in his chair until he balanced on its rear legs, his tail swishing behind him, a bottle of beer in one paw, letting the evening meal digest in his belly some more.

It was a good life here. His Pride stayed based in this part of Cait for the most part, called out every so often for special assignments, like collecting females and cubs for the camps, or more recently, assisting their Brother Prides in punishing the noisome students at Shanos Minor before the Master Governor blew their city to shit.

But damn, it could be boring.

His vantage point, higher than the rest of the camp, overlooked the main field where their shuttles and their Prideship sat, and his Pride sat under their own shelters, out of the rain. They had burned away this part of the jungle when they first arrived, letting the surrounding foliage act as a natural fence; occasionally, his males would venture out to hunt some local animals for fresh meat, keeping themselves amused.

Illusha-Hegel had other ways of keeping himself amused. He touched his wrist communicator. "Have you got another one ready, Tor-Hegel?"

"Yes, Father."

He leaned forward until his chair was back on all four legs, and set down his beer bottle. "I hope the next one offers more sport."

"He's younger, looks fitter. His... boyfriend... was the one we released just before the last."

Illusha-Hegel grunted in disgust; that the Caitians not only allowed such aberrant behaviour, but practically encouraged it, only reinforced their inferiority to his own race. "Make sure he knows what he has to do to have a chance at surviving, and then let him go."

Then he reached for the disruptor rifle at his side, rising to his feet and checking the settings, and then adjusting the scope. He had owned this weapon for decades, having been a gift from his father, upon Illusha-Hegel earning a name for himself following a successful battle with a Kzinti raider. He knew it like he knew his own tail.

Down below, from one of the shuttles, a figure fled out into the rain from the open gull-wing door, feet pounding into the muddying ground, racing as if to escape the rain instead of imminent death.

But he could no more avoid the second than he could the first. He must have known that. Still, what could he do?

The Pridemaster raised his rifle instinctively and aimed in the direction of the fleeing figure, peering with his good eye through the scope. Waiting. Waiting for the Caitian to follow the same path as the others did, the quickest path to the jungle. His son had been correct; this one was faster than the others.

But still, he stopped in his tracks when he saw the bodies of the Caitians Illusha-Hegel had shot before... one of them no doubt being his lover. And now the Pridemaster saw him drop to examine the bodies.

You utter fool, stopping like that. Not that any of you had any chance at surviving my little Game-

He was about to fire, when a red flash caught his left eye, distracting him.

Illusha-Hegel turned slightly in place, looking out into the jungle, raising the rifle again to see through the scope, its sensors confirming that there was some sort of lightbeam- a targeting beam- aimed at him-

The armour-piercing bullet that followed the beam struck his forehead, penetrating the skull as if it were tissue and exploding within, sending bone and brain and fur flying in all directions, as the now-headless body and the rifle dropped unceremoniously.

On the field below, the other Ferasans emerged, ignoring the rain as they looked up, and then out into the jungle at the mechanised sounds. Some rushed inside the shuttles, re-emerging with pistols and rifles in paw, seeking answers.

Answers came as Caitian Militia dropships from the Deep Keep appeared from over the treetops, firing plasma beams down upon the shuttles, attacking them before they could launch a response. And the trees themselves toppled beneath the feet of the Mobile Guns: remote-controlled bipedal walkers with plasma cannons and plasma grenade launchers.

And finally the Caitians themselves emerged: armoured from head to foot, plasma rifles in gloved paws, attacking the Enemy.

And following the parting orders of their Commanding Officer:

Show No Mercy.

*

Caitian System, Outer Belt:

Pridemaster Eshtar-Muti glared at the empty space on the viewscreen.

Beside him, his Tactical Officer grunted. "Nothing on any of our ships' sensors... but the perimeter network says they're right in front of us!"