Surefoot 80: Heroes' Race

Nash felt her stomach plummet at the cadet's sheer audacity, and didn't know how to respond.

Sasha, however, did, her expression tight as a wire. "No, Mr Boladede. You're not prepared. None of you are. And anyone going into Starfleet with that mindset is guaranteed at the very least sorrow, at the very most a posthumous medal and message of condolence delivered to your next of kin... and probably the same for everyone else unlucky enough to depend upon you."

She looked at the rest of them. "The best you can do, now and always, is to learn, and keep learning... and keep remembering that the Universe can be very unforgiving. It still won't guarantee that you live to a ripe old age, but it's better than nothing."

She offered a final look at Nash. "But what I said before still stands. It is worth it. If you're smart enough, as well as strong enough."

Then she stepped back and headed to the door, Ajax following. "All of you, grab your gear and keep up."

Nash wanted to say something, to apologise for Boladede, for all of them, to assure the older woman that they were there to learn and grow and be a vital part of Starfleet, and to try and recapture some of the connection she felt they had been making in the introduction.

Now, all she could do is follow the Second Officer out.

And promise herself to rip fresh strips into her Squad later.

*

"Hey."

Hrelle was in the cockpit of the Mendez, running some additional checks on the navigation console. The runabout was a leftover from before Salem One was temporarily evacuated during the War, so he was glad it was relatively up to date... though he also noted some improvements that could be made, by adopting the algorithms from the Caitian navigation and sensor systems on Sasha's private flyer the Tailless.

Now the voice - and a scent in the air - caught his attention, and he turned in his chair, his ears pricking up and his tail swishing through the air in the back of his seat, and his smile widening. "Hello there."

Kami was leaning against the door to the sleeping quarters, clad in a diaphanous thigh-high crimson nightdress, filling it in all the right places, her tail dancing behind her as she smiled. "Do you like what you see?"

"See, scent, hear... looking forward to touch and taste."

"Then why are you just sitting there?"

He rose and approached, breathing in more of her musk, his gaze narrowing. "Are you- Are you back in Season?"

Her bronze eyes glowed with amusement. "With some pharmaceutical help. I'm long past my natural Seasons, thankfully."

"'Thankfully'?" He drew closer, raising a paw to gently stroke her forearm, his voice low. "You don't miss them?"

"No. Natural Seasons may have heightened my pleasure, but they also brought cramps, headaches and itchy skin. I like to think I've grown old gracefully... but I don't mind reliving my younger days, every now and then." She drew in closer, purring against his neck. "How soon 'til we get to Nepenthe?"

His head spun from her musk. "Twelve hours, more or less."

She nipped his skin. "Good. It's been ages since we've rutted. You might have forgotten your way around. Care to try to prove me wrong?"

His arms moved around to her back, drifting down to her rear, feeling himself very overdressed. He mentally kicked himself for initially resisting this suggestion of hers of a break, citing too many responsibilities as Commander of Salem Sector, especially at this early stage of his new appointment.

But now, away from the family, the station and the constant stress, and heading towards Nepenthe, a pristine world of startling beauty, much like Cait, he could feel his stress bleed away... or at least, redirected towards more productive pursuits. "One thing you can count on me for, Sugartail: if I'm going to the Seven Hells, it won't be for not trying-"

A Proximity Alert sounded loudly from the cockpit.

Hrelle tensed, drawing back and cursing as he made his way forward. Kami followed. "If Salem One is calling us after all the warnings I gave-"

"It's not." He sat down again, checking the readings, even as he felt his hackles rise and his tail twitch. "Multiple incoming vessels, on an intercept course at high warp- sit down, try and get a distress signal out." As Kami took the opposite seat, he focused on Navigation and Weapons, keying in an evasive pattern while arming the microtorpedoes and phasers. Mother damn it, I should never have agreed to this- I knew what they were like, had fought them enough times-

"Focus on keeping us alive," she advised him.

Hrelle didn't even bother questioning how his wife knew his thoughts, as they dropped hard to starboard, and then out of warp altogether, giving them a slightly better chance at survival. They were between systems, no place to hide- and with three vessels, runabout-sized, still officially unidentified but drawing close in a familiar pattern.

He recognised them from how they looked and moved - Kzinti Slasher-class fighters: compact, crescent-shaped, tough and overpowered but short-range, so obviously a battlecruiser or even a Prideship nearby - and made a note about having all Tactical systems under his command updated to incorporate his own ideas. Assuming we survive.

"Heavy subspace interference," Kami reported. "I can't raise anyone."

He expected as much, saying nothing as he fixed weapons on the lead vessel and firing microtorpedoes aftward.

Kami looked at him in alarm. "You're not even going to try and hail them? Warn them off?"

He veered the Mendez hard to port now, as a disruptor burst filled part of the screen at starboard, while he re-armed the torpedoes. "They want us alive... but our not firing back at them, our treating them as anything less than dangerous, will be insulting; the pilots might forget their orders and try to destroy us in anger. I used to win more than one engagement exploiting that particular weakness of theirs." His paws moved quickly over the controls. "Put some clothes on, take some musk suppressant."

"What? No, you need my help-"

"We can't escape, or fight, or call for help; I can only buy us time and keep us alive until we enter their trap." He looked at her, his anger and fear naked as he roared, "GO!"

Kami rose, nearly stumbling as they banked sharply to starboard to avoid another disruptor burst, while Hrelle fired back again, just enough to let them think they were intimidating him, as he then keyed in a new set of commands that would surely make his wife question his sanity. Sorry, Beloved, but on this occasion I know what I'm doing.

Then he saw the Prideship: huge, brick-red, elongated, tri-nacelled, with atmospheric-ready wings laden with weapons pods. The last time he saw one of these, he was in the Furyk, a Steamrunner-class starship, and the equal of that monstrosity. The Mendez was like a mosquito in comparison.

He slowed down, as naturally as he could without drawing suspicion, and reached for a phaser from the adjacent locker to fix to his belt. The Kzinti would beam them away, after the fighters caught up and began- there they were, more disruptors, pounding away against the Mendez's shields. "KAMI! WHERE ARE YOU?"

He didn't take his eyes away from the controls, or the huge vessel dead ahead. This would be a tricky manoeuvre for anyone; if their weapons were too strong, or if the Mendez's own shields failed sooner than expected, the Caitians could end up dead rather than captured.

He refused to contemplate which might be preferable. The Kzinti had been among the less frequent but the more persistent of the threats he faced in Salem Sector when he commanded the Furyk. Yes, more often than not, the huge striped felinoids were the victims of their own independent natures, of their short tempers and overwhelming desire to win names for themselves. But, on those few occasions when the Prides united on a single objective, when they were suffused by their hunger for the Hunt, for their prey... Seven Hells...

Kami returned, like him in uniform, clinging to his upper arm as the shields finally failed. He looked up at her. "Survive. Don't worry about me. Do whatever it takes to stay alive until-"

A purple transporter beam swaddled them.

Seconds later, the Mendez erupted in a miniature nova.

*

"It's sex, isn't it? It has to be. It's a Caitian threesome. You, Lt Mori and Hrelle. I want recordings. Strictly for educational purposes."

Beside the Ferengi on the exercise mat, C'Riir ignored him, watching the other Caitian male onboard the Katana, Lt Mori, adopt a new fighting pose as part of everyone's additional training, and copying it, before moving onto another. His erstwhile friend hadn't stopped talking about C'Riir's request to Lt Cmdr Hrelle, a subject C'Riir refused to elaborate upon.

Nearby, Macbeth Squad Leader Nash kept glancing over at him, still looking furious over how they behaved in front of Lt Cmdr Hrelle. It wasn't fair! She was lumping C'Riir in with Gela, Boladede and Spychalski, as if C'Riir had somehow encouraged them, when all he wanted was something... private... from the Lieutenant Commander, the one who had been so instrumental in liberating the Motherworld.

"A secret mission," Gela opined. "For Starfleet Intelligence."

C'Rirr struggled to stay focused, desperate to prove himself before his fellow Caitian, and everyone else present. Though he was slightly stronger, faster and more agile than many humanoids, he never considered himself a natural warrior. He was a lover of science! Would he have risen to the challenge if he had been back on Cait when the Ferasans invaded? He liked to think so... even as he was privately glad that the opportunity never came.

In front of him, Cadet Boladede moved like a machine, perfectly matching Lt Mori's moves with an enviable ease. Prick.

"You're going to help her conceive a cub!" Gela suggested loudly.

*

At the far end of the gym, Sasha and Weynik were warming up, and watching and appraising the crew's reaction, the Roylan rolling out the ache from his neck. "Mr Boladede is promising."

Sasha grunted. "Don't let him know it, his ego is already fit to break through the hull."

He smiled, picking up one of the training swords as he moved in place, getting a feel for it. "Is it ego if he really is as good as he thinks he is?"

She lifted up her own sword. "No one is as good as he thinks he is."

Weynik chuckled now. "Well, let's see if we can temper him, rather than break him, okay? We're out here to mentor and guide the Next Generation, not eat them for breakfast... no matter what your Dad might think otherwise." He regarded the cadets. "I wish they'd had the Advanced Work Experience program when your father and I were in the Academy. We'd have been away from the likes of the Arringtons."

Sasha frowned. "I knew Dad was getting hassled by them, but I didn't know you were as well. Why didn't you tell your father? Who was going to pick on the offspring of Admiral Tattok?"

"The offspring of Admiral Arrington?" Weynik made a sound. "I wanted to solve my own problems. Besides, for most of my time in the Academy my father had been on an extended classified mission at the edge of the Galaxy."

"Oh? Anything interesting?"

"Terrifying, I'm told." His combadge beeped before he could elaborate, assuming he would. "Weynik here."

"Lt Grel here, Captain. Another update from Salem One: the Hrelles are still underway to Nepenthe, long distance scans remain clear."

"So we remain on Standby. Don't fall asleep up there, Mr Grel. Weynik out." He looked up at his First Officer. "There, see? Kami and Wide Load will make it safely to Nepenthe and a long-overdue vacation for the two of them." He smiled. "I heard it's a beautiful, unspoiled planet. I bet in a little while, they'll be lying on a blanket under a sky full of stars, letting the stresses of the past year melt away."

*

Hrelle tensed as he let his eyes adjust the heavier gravity and dimmer light of the starship, shoving Kami behind him as he drew out his phaser-

-And discovered, as he expected, the phaser was useless, the victim of a local dampening field.

He took in the strident scents and sounds of a dozen Kzinti males surrounding them, standing in shadow, roaring and beating their armoured chests with naked intimidation. He returned the phaser to his belt and roared back defiantly, claws bared.

One of the shadows in front of him raised an arm up, and the others immediately went silent. Then he stepped into the light: standing a head taller than Hrelle and most other humanoids and felinoids, as powerful-looking as any of his people, with the distinctive Kzinti stripes, and battle scars - his fur was faded, greying, more than Hrelle had ever seen in one of their kind - and armour bearing the insignia of a Pridemaster.

His left paw rested on the hilt of a sword at his side as he drew closer, his voice a growl that nevertheless was laced with respect. "Commodore Esek Hrelle: welcome onboard the Night Stalker, the Prideship of the Southern Black Claw Pride. Thank you; that was a most enjoyable hunt."

Hrelle didn't break his protective pose. "You're welcome. What name have you earned for yourself?"

The Kzin rose up, acknowledging the Caitian's deliberate wording of the question. "My name is Saga-Var, Master of my Pride." He indicated two younger males on his right. "My brave, beloved sons, Ullor-Var and Gerdur-Var."

Hrelle noticed a third male, on Saga-Var's left, with a similar, familial scent, reacting to the introduction, but otherwise saying nothing, as Hrelle kept his own expression unchanged, trying to recall ever meeting this bastard, or his kin, from his Furyk days. Nope. "You have the advantage of me, Pridemaster."

Saga-Var drew up to him, reaching out and confiscating his phaser and their combadges. "I certainly do, especially after you destroyed your own vessel."

Hrelle heard and felt Kami react to that, but he kept focused on the Kzin. "Would you do any less, to keep your technology out of the paws of a dangerous enemy?"

"Of course not, and I thank you again for that display of respect."

"So why are we here? What did I do in the past to you or your Pride?"

"Nothing."

That answer made him pause. "Nothing? You mean you just hunted us for shits and giggles? Some drunken whim of yours?"

The males growled, until their leader raised a paw to them, his expression sobering. "No, Commodore. Everything we do is with purpose; do not spoil a promising introduction by suggesting otherwise. You do deserve to know... but such talk is not for females." He nodded to a shorter, younger male with darker fur and eyes nearby. "ThirdSon, secure the Commodore's Mate and watch over her."

The male started. "What? That is slave's work! Beneath me! I demand to remain and bear witness-"

Further protest was cut off as the back of Saga-Var's right paw swung out with uncanny speed across his son's muzzle. "I decide what work is beneath you, Nameless. And you demand nothing of me. Go."

ThirdSon bristled, especially as his peers made sounds of amusement at his being chastised, but then he moved to Kami, angrily grabbing her by the forearm and ignoring Hrelle - and thus ending up unprepared for Hrelle striking out hard against the Kzin's muzzle, sending him to the floor as Hrelle growled, "Don't touch her!"

All of the Kzinti reacted, but Hrelle stayed focused on the one he struck, who bared his teeth and claws as he rose up, ready to attack-

-Only for Saga-Var to step between them, facing his youngest son. "No. You're not fit to fight the Caitian. You're not fit to stand downwind of his scent, or put paws on his property. He was brought here to combat me, none other."

Hrelle turned and looked at Kami, who remained wary but observant, finally whispering to him, in Old Caitian, "Combat? As in Personal Combat? A duel?"

The surrounding Kzinti males reacted, though Hrelle wasn't sure if it was because she spoke at all, or because the ancient dialect wasn't readily extricable by their Universal Translators. "I think so. And there's something about their leader's scent-"

"Commodore!" Saga-Var snapped at him now. "I will be open and honest with you... and I will expect the same in return. Do not speak in your people's language again to hide things from us. You earned a reputation for yourself, carved out of the rock of this space: the Lion of Salem Sector. And your reputation grew within the Orion Imperial Deathmatches, as the champion Beast, and most recently, defeating the Ferasans who occupied your world.

And now you have returned, to stand at the borders of the Patriarchy and dare us to step forward and challenge you. And I will accept that challenge. The strakh, the honour, I will gain in facing and defeating you will be immeasurable."

"No," Kami responded. "He won't fight you."

That simple, naked defiance, and from a female, produced another shocked reaction from the younger Kzinti, leaving Hrelle to follow it up. "My wife is right. I have better things to do with my time than accept challenges from every loser looking to earn himself some strakh, or bragging rights or gold badges, or whatever else they're after."

Growls erupted from the males, and Hrelle tensed.

But Saga-Var appeared almost nonchalant. "It is naturally your choice, Commodore. We are continuing on the course you were taking to Nepenthe. I will leave your female - your wife - there, after I've defeated you."

"Assuming you do," Hrelle corrected darkly.

Saga-Var chuckled and nodded good naturedly, seemingly appreciative of the Caitian's reaction. "Assuming I do. If I don't, then I will assure my successor that both of you will be left on Nepenthe.

However, should you choose not to accept the challenge, we will leave you both exactly where we collected you... in the space between worlds. Of course, you no longer have a ship, or an escape pod, or indeed anything to return to, but that's a problem you'll have to face yourselves... for as long as you both shall live."

Hrelle's stomach twisted. Seven Hells, he thought he had left this macho nonsense behind him with the Ferasans and all the other losers that used to pursue him to have a tussle.

And the Kzinti weren't Ferasans; as dangerous as they were when they were still a race and not just a pawful of survivors, the Ferasans still paled in comparison with the Kzinti.

And Hrelle wasn't the warrior he once was.

He felt Kami's paw tighten on his forearm, scented her fear. Damn it, the best he could do now was ensure that at least she survived... "My wife will not be threatened or harmed in any way?"

"Esek, don't-" she warned.

Saga-Var nodded.

"Swear on your name," Hrelle insisted. "Before your Pride."

The Kzin grunted, but relented with, "I swear it."

Kami made her husband face her, anger and fear and disbelief vying for dominance in her scent and voice. "No! Esek-"

"Remember what I told you before we came here," he reminded her softly, quietly, rubbing the side of his muzzle against hers. "I love you. I always will. Go."

"ThirdSon," Saga-Var prompted again.

Hrelle reluctantly removed Kami's paw as the young Kzin approached again, appearing more wary than he had before... and definitely not putting his paws on her again. Then, thankfully, Kami steeled herself, shooting daggers at Saga-Var as she let his cub lead her away.

"There," the older Kzin concluded, "Come with me, Commodore. There is a tradition among the Heroes' Race, where the warriors in a duel meet in private beforepaw, and learn more about each other, to honour the one who is destined to fall. We shall do the same; we owe each other that much."