Surefoot 80: Heroes' Race

Known Space:

It was a large open section in the centre of the Prideship, so large that others might have questioned the wisdom of such a seeming waste of space. But what Prey thought mattered for nothing to the Heroes who lived and worked onboard.

The section was designed to resembled the Pride's Arena Room back home: circular, thirty allots in diameter, with a sunken gilded floor framed by a raised level, the walls lined at equidistant points with burgundy- and gold-painted columns holding crackling torches. The rest of the walls were covered with swords, axes, knives and all the other recognised weapons of the Heroes' Race, weapons mounted but still trembling, as if in fear of the warriors in the centre of the room.

Sixty tall, muscular felinoid males with golden- and black-striped fur stood in a classic circular formation to best fill out the dimensions of the room, the males equally spaced out, all facing forward. They were all clad in gleaming metal scaled armour plates, gauntlets and neck, elbow and knee guards, and with short, double-edged swords in leather scabbards at their sides.

At the forefront of the formation, their Pridemaster, an older male, in fact the oldest male among them, stared ahead at one section of the wall that bore no weapons, but instead displayed the symbol of the Heroes' Race: a tan circle bordered in green, scarred with four parallel claw marks. "Keras!"

As one, their paws moved to the hilt of their swords, drawing the weapons out, raising them high against their chests.

"Aro!" the older male continued.

As one, they stepped forward, their boots stamping simultaneously, blades raised in a forty-five degree angle.

"Seydor!"

As one, they grasped their swords with both paws and turned to the right, arms lowered.

"Ivit!"

As one, they mirrored the previous pose from the left.

They repeated the exercise, again and again, as they always did, their harmony a reaffirmation of their unity, an assurance of their power and superiority over Prey.

And through the course of the exercise, the song rose from them naturally, like a sun over the hills:

"Mhuri dzedu dzinotsvaira nyeredzi.

Tiri Mujaho weMagamba.

Tiri Vana vaShrerrikii.

Isu tiri Zvikara.

Isu tiri vaKzinti.

Titye isu!

Titye isu!

TITYE ISU!"

And their leader moved and sang as easily as the younger, fitter males, his body knowing the drill instinctively. He ignored the aches and pains that had crept up on him with the inevitable dread of an unloved season. He ignored the fatigue that came so quickly to him of late. Aches and pains did not matter. Fatigue did not matter. He had to show strength to his Pride. From his strength, they gained strength. Strength and hope in these uncertain times.

He let himself be suffused by the words of the ages-old song they kept singing, and the meaning behind them...

"Our Prides sweep across the stars.

We are the Heroes' Race.

We are the Sons of the Patriarch.

We are the Predators.

We are the Kzinti.

Fear us!

Fear us!

FEAR US!"

*

Station Salem One, Deck 12, Hangar Bay:

The runabout sat patiently on the landing pad, allowing Starfleet technicians to run some final maintenance checks on it... or in the case of some of the cadets involved, to peer at it admiringly, some even venturing peeks inside through the raised gull-wing door on the starboard side.

The mahogany-furred Caitian female in civilian clothing stood nearby, adjusting her shoulder bag and looking less impressed as she noted aloud, "So that's the Big Commode's Yacht?"

Nearby, Esek Hrelle diverted his attention from the PADD still in his paws long enough to respond. "The Commodore's Yacht has a name: the José Mendez. Named after an actual Commodore, who commanded Starbase 11 and was instrumental in leading the Starfleet task force during the Archanis Incident in 2271."

Kami made an exaggerated yawn. "Fascinating." She looked to her husband. "I'm waiting."

"I know."

"I'm still waiting. Our leave started an hour ago. Nepenthe isn't getting any younger. Neither are we."

Hrelle looked up at his Adjutant, Lt Zir Dassene, the young Orion woman's green skin darkening as she offered, "Sorry about this, Sir, I should have had you authorise all this sooner."

"That's okay, Lieutenant. If anything unexpected turns up, just call-"

"Or," Kami interrupted loudly, "If anything unexpected turns up, don't call, and instead just turn to any of the other dozens of fully qualified people here who aren't on a long-deserved break. The Commodore is going to be busy enjoying himself. Several times, at least. With stops to catch his breath."

Hrelle smirked as he saw Zir's face darken even further, before handing her back the PADD. "My wife, as always, is right. Professor Tallus will keep an eye on Srithik and the Cubs, T'Varik and the Surefoot should be back from the Uklass Shipyards next week with the new Klingon transport ships, and Commissioner Nam-Seon might need additional support with administering the approved Zorin sector projects. Oh, and for the record: Misha does not have the authority to take command of the station, regardless of what he tells you. Sreen does, however-"

Kami roared at him, making people around them jump.

Hrelle shooed his Adjutant away, turning and walking past his wife towards the Mendez. "What are you hanging around here for? Our second honeymoon awaits!"

*

USS Katana, Deck 2 Conference Room:

Command Cadet Rachel Nash remained as stiff as her shock of copper hair, as she stood at attention with the rest of Macbeth Squad against the wall, the six of them staring ahead as if entranced by the starscape outside the windows, or waiting for someone to make the first move.

Or, or more simply, to ignore the small, chubby, brown and white English bulldog curled up on the chair in front of them, watching them intently and drooling obliviously onto its front paws.

Bur Nash stayed still. Unlike many Academy cadets, she understood the purpose behind the interminable periods when they were required to do nothing but remain silent and motionless: it was an exercise in, and a demonstration of, discipline. And it made perfect sense to her: if a cadet couldn't exhibit the strength to do something this safe, simple and straightforward, then how could they be trusted in moments of crisis after they graduate and join Starfleet for real?

So she kept that in mind at times like this, where they had been led in here after boarding and then seemingly forgotten... and she had tried to instil a similar drive in the other five members of her squad.

With varying degrees of success, the worst being Flight Ops Cadet Janusz Spychalski, a lanky, sandy-haired Terran male with an aquiline nose standing at Nash's right, who finally broke ranks and stepped forward, rolling his neck to relieve his aching muscles, his European accent thick. "This is pointless! How long will they keep us waiting?"

"Back in line, Cadet," Nash ordered.

"Why bother, Rachel?" He stepped forward. "There's no one here but this bloody slobbery dog-"

Then the dog rose up on the seat and barked at him. The cadet immediately returned to his position at attention.

On Nash's left, Engineering Cadet Gela, a short, salmon-pink Ferengi, chuckled. "The dog is wearing Captain's pips on his collar. The rank might be genuine. Who knows what sort of insanity is afoot when hyoo-mans are in charge?" He then swallowed at Nash's reaction. "No offence, Ma'am."

Beside him, Science Cadet C'Riir, a tall, slim, sepia-furred Caitian male, shook his head and tail. "Class act as always, Fun Size."

"No one asked you, Furball."

"Enough," Nash warned them, remembering the chagrin she felt when those two were called up the previous week for talking during an inspection of the Cadet Quarters by Commodore Hrelle and Commander Haluk.

Beside C'Rirr, Medical Cadet Denek, a slim Vulcan female with tanned olive skin and a sable ponytail, raised an eyebrow. "I should remind you, Mr Gela, that only the First Officer of the Katana is human. The Commanding Officer is Roylan, and the Second Officer is Caitian."

Gela snorted. "Hellcat Hrelle isn't fully human; haven't you seen her Dad?"

"Commodore Hrelle is her stepfather, not her biological father."

"That's not what I heard. Cadet Roundtree saw her in the Katana's gym showers when Othello Squad was onboard. He said she had the remains of a tail that she keeps hidden, after most of it had been cut off when she was fighting the Ferasans on Cait."

Denek sighed. "There is far too much evidence to support her incaudate state... but experience suggests you are merely being typically salacious and obstreperous."

Gela made a show of mock indignation, before the Ferengi turned to the cadet on his left. "Ange, I'll give you two slips of latinum to back me up on this!"

At the far end of the line of six, Security Cadet Ange Boladede, a tall, muscular, chocolate-skinned Terran male, gave no response, no reaction, his hairless head reflecting the lights from above as he stood perfectly still.

"You'd better scan him, Denek," Gela teased. "Make sure he hasn't been ossified by some alien virus."

"Leave him alone, Cadet," Nash warned. "At least he can practise discipline."

"As opposed to you?"

"Everyone shut up!" Nash shouted now-

-Just as the conference door slid open, and Lt Cmdr Sasha Hrelle entered, her posture formal, her expression stern as she eyed Macbeth Squad, sparing a curious final stare at Nash.

Nash swallowed, feeling her face redden, wondering if the older woman had heard her outburst. All the cadets talked about Sasha Hrelle, had heard a hundred stories about her exploits, rising through the ranks so quickly, and she had only graduated a few years ago! Nash so wanted to be like her... though maybe without all the trauma she had also heard about.

Then she shook her thoughts away as she watched Sasha move to the dog in the chair, scratching behind his floppy right ear and inducing growls of pleasure from the canine. "There you go, Ajax! Good boy, good boy!" The young blonde woman crouched down beside the chair and asked confidentially, "So... which one was it? Go! Go!"

The dog dutifully poured himself off the chair and waddled over to Spychalski, sitting down in front of him and barking once.

Sasha nodded at Ajax's choice. "So, you broke rank first, huh? Guess we know who's on Dog Poop Collection Duty this week."

The young Polish man's jaw dropped. "H-How could he tell you that?"

Sasha straightened up. "He couldn't; you did, just now. Honesty is one thing, but next time try to play your cards closer to your chest and not give away too much.

Macbeth Squad: welcome onboard the Katana. I'm Lieutenant Commander Sasha Hrelle, First Officer. Captain Weynik is currently engaged in a security meeting with some of the other COs of Sabre Squadron One, so I'm providing your welcome briefing. At ease."

The squad relaxed - except for Boladede, who continued to stare ahead.

Nash noticed it, and noticed that Sasha noticed it too, but the latter didn't comment on it as she continued. "You'll be spending the next seven days onboard, dividing your on-duty time between continuing with your Academy studies remotely, and getting a taste of the duties expected of Starfleet Ensigns in your respective fields of study and expertise.

But before we go into further detail, let's get the questions out of the way."

The cadets reacted to varying degrees, leaving Nash to respond first. "Questions, Ma'am?"

Sasha nodded. "Every other cadet squad that's come onboard the Katana so far - Hamlet, Othello, Romeo, Titania - has had questions for 'Hellcat Hrelle'." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a fan of the nickname, or the fame that brought it, but I gotta deal with it. So here's my deal: you get only one question each, here and now, but nothing's off limits, so don't waste it, or my time."

The squad looked at each other, no one speaking up.

Sasha breathed out. "So much for not wasting my time-"

"Did you really pilot a Defiant Warhead Module into a Dominion Battleship and blow it up at the Battle of Cardassia?" Spychalski blurted out.

Sasha grunted. "Yes. Barely escaped alive, and couldn't stop shaking for days afterwards, but yes. I also amputated my Captain's leg and stepped over the burned, broken bodies of crewmembers to get the survivors to safety... it was a hell of a day..." She waved off the rest of it, and looked to Denek.

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Lieutenant Commander, would you please confirm for the puerile among us that you are not part-Caitian?"

Sasha rolled her eyes again. "The fricking Tail Rumour again? Oy vey... No, I have no tail, claws or actual fur, though I'm not big on personal grooming below the neckline. Otherwise, biologically I am fully human. Culturally and legally, however, I am very much a Caitian."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Commander." Denek looked at Gela.

The Ferengi ignored her, indicating C'Riir, "Fuzzy here says you have a sword. Is that true? Is it really indestructible? Is it made of neutronium? How much do you think you could get for it? And have you really chopped off heads with it, because that could increase its overall value on the open market-"

"Gela!" C'Riir growled, appalled at his brashness, looking to Sasha now, his tail drooping in embarrassment. "Sorry about him, Ma'am. He's... really ignorant."

Sasha nodded, her expression tightening as she drew closer to Gela. "I said one question, Cadet; for a Ferengi, you're shit at counting. Still, you have balls...

Yes, I have a sword. It's a gift from the Order of the Kaetini, a cadre of honoured Caitian warriors. It's made of an alloy called arakanium; it's not indestructible, just super sharp and super strong. And it's definitely not for sale, at any price.

And yes. I have chopped off heads with it. Chopped off heads, limbs, ripped open bellies, stabbed, sliced and diced..." As the Ferengi seemed to pale and shrink back at her graphic answer, she continued mercilessly. "I've smelled the flesh, tasted the blood, slipped on guts spilt on the floor, heard the screams of those I maimed and killed, woken up at night in a sweat at the memory of it all..."

She finally stopped herself, stepping back and looking to C'Riir again. "And what would a fellow Cub of the Motherworld like to ask me?"

The young male paused, looking momentarily overwhelmed at being the full focus of her attention, looking to the rest of his squad, before finally speaking... but in a language that didn't translate for Nash... and judging from the reactions of most of the others, didn't translate for them either. Only Gela muttered indignantly as he recognised it, "Old Caitian again."

Sasha clearly understood, however, and responded soberly in Federation Standard. "Yes, of course. Later. You, me and Lt Mori." Now she looked to Boladede, who continued to stare ahead. "How about you, Cadet?"

The Nigerian male shifted as he replied stiffly, "I already know everything I need to know about you, Lieutenant Commander, thank you."

Sasha shrugged. Now she focused on Nash.

The younger woman swallowed, her curiosity over Lt Cmdr Hrelle and Cadet C'Riir's private conversation set aside. "So... no question is off limits, Ma'am?"

"None." Sasha shook her head. "I can't believe you wasted your one question asking that." She smirked. "Just kidding. What is it?"

Nash hesitated, but then finally asked, "Ma'am, as you've probably gathered, we've all read and heard about you, all you've gone through, what you just told us now... and there's probably a lot more than we'll ever know... you've gone through so much already, and you're not that old-"

"Thanks, Bubulah."

"Is it... Is it worth it?"

Sasha regarded her. Then she pursed her lips in thought before finally responding, "Yeah, it's worth it. If you're strong enough... strong enough to admit when you're not strong, when you need help. The worst thing you, any of you, can do when you're feeling the pain is to keep it to yourself. That won't help you, or anyone else, I promise."

Sasha blinked, looked around them again. "Wow, I got off easy with you bunch; Falstaff Squad had me go into graphic detail about my wildest sexual escapades." She glanced down at the carpet. "Ajax! Naughty boy! Stop that!"

The cadets looked down as well, seeing the dog trying to chew on Spychalski's right boot. Now he stopped and turned, making regretful noises.

Sasha straightened up again. "Fun Time's over. Alpha Shift starts in one hour, and you're all on it. I'm taking you to your quarters, where you can access your duty and study rosters for the week... and you will not neglect your education for the thrill of doing actual grown-up stuff, or Commander Haluk will have your hides, and mine.

Of particular note are some additional sessions all of you will be participating in while on the Katana. It's called SAUCE: Specialised Armed and Unarmed Combat Expertise."

The announcement provoked reactions from the Squad, and prompted Nash to ask, "Ma'am, isn't that training usually reserved for those in Tactical and Security?"

"Normally, yes, and even then only for those assigned to border patrol duties and special mission teams, designed for race-specific threats. But Commodore Hrelle has ordered all Starfleet personnel serving on Salem One or onboard one of the Squadron ships to receive training specific to the most likely threat we'll be facing in this sector: the Kzinti.

The Kzinti use disruptors and other energy weapons, but they prefer swords, daggers and their own claws and teeth, and will often employ energy dampening technology like what you face recently with the Klingons, in order to gain an advantage.

So your training will focus on bladed and ballistic weapons, courtesy of Captain Weynik and Security Chief Lt Jor-Dakk, and the felinoid style of fighting, courtesy of myself and our Caitian Second Officer, Lt Mru Mori-"

Boladede made a sound.

Nash turned to him; it was a sound that, from anyone else, would have been barely perceptible. From Boladede, however, it might as well have been a shout.

And Sasha seemed to recognise it, as she looked to him as well. "Comment, Cadet?"

The young man stiffened, seemingly aware of his lapse of discipline. "No, Ma'am. No comment." He left it at that.

She didn't. "As your Squad's Security Cadet, I expect you'll be excited to pick up some additional skills?"

Boladede looked hesitant, before asking, "Permission to speak freely, Ma'am?"

"Granted."

He turned to her. "The training will of course be necessary for the others, but not for me."

"Don't hold back, Boladede, tell us how you really feel," Spychalski quipped.

Nash felt her face go Nova. She had known Boladede for over a year, and he had always been a model of laconic efficiency, without a seeming iota of personal warmth. In fact, more than once she wondered if he was an android in disguise. This interruption was unprecedented. "You're out of line, Mister-"

Sasha raised a hand to cut her off, approaching and standing directly in front of Boladede, to meet his gaze. "You're a Third Year Cadet, Mister. The training we're offering you here is normally something you wouldn't expect to receive until after graduation, and even then only dependant on your posting. Enlighten me as to why you think it's not necessary for you."

The Nigerian stuck out his chin proudly. "My family owns and operates a very successful private security firm, with offices on many worlds. From a very early age I was trained in numerous disciplines of the martial arts, as well as both historical and modern melee and ranged weapons, all to a high degree of proficiency. The redoubtable praise I have received from my Academy instructors is a testament to that. I am more than prepared to deal with any threat I face."