Surefoot 71: The End

Kami nodded and followed him, firing in the direction of the Ferasans and making sure the rest of the family complied and departed quickly. All things being equal, she would have led the Enemy away alone, but her training told her that she needed help, and that Papa Bneea was the best choice: he remained fit, had weapons training from his prior careers, and though he wasn't in Starfleet or the Militia, he was as committed to protecting the family -- and the other Caitians down below -- as much as she was.

And maybe, just maybe, they'd survive.

Come on, Esek, save us again...

*

Ferasan Occupation Headquarters, Capitol Building, First City, M'Mirl Province:

Captain Hrelle paced around the room, still looking back at the figure at the workstation. "Anything?"

Agent Nenjo, her holosuit to make her look like a Ferasan dropped, remained hunched over the keyboard. "Sorry, Sir, I thought being within the facility might have given us access, but with this new alert-"

"Keep trying." Now he looked to the third figure in the room. "Valtiri, can you reach the Master Governor's mind from here? Pinpoint him, learn what he's thinking?"

The tall, golden-furred Ferasan shook his head. "I am sorry, Captain, but my abilities remain limited following the trauma I experienced at Shanos Minor. But the thoughts of my people closer at paw are clear: they tell me the attacks around your world have begun in earnest. Operation: Uproar is truly underway."

"Inform me if anyone approaches." Hrelle continued to pace. They had to end this. The longer it went on, the more of their people would die.

*

Many floors below, in the Operations Centre, Har-User watched the trio from a monitor, and had been confident enough to call out, "Sire! Master Governor! Come here!"

Melem-Adu remained scarred and singed from the earlier attack on him and his last remaining son, and the pain remained almost intolerable... but he let it galvanise his limbs as he strode up to the station. "What is it?"

"Sire, I was keeping track of the Hunter Prime bringing the Caitian prisoner down here, but they've stopped in an auxiliary workstation- and Hrelle is free and armed and walking around, conversing with him-"

Melem-Adu pushed him aside and leaned in, glaring at the monitor. It was true... but why? Why would the Patriarch's Chief Tracker and Executioner be working with-

Ahhh... The Master Governor drew back. "It's Hrelle's wife's doing."

"His... wife, Sire?" Har-User asked, sounding thoroughly confused.

Melem-Adu nodded with confidence. "His wife. The females on this world are devious schemers, seducers and manipulators; it's what happens when you educate them to think they are the equals of males.

And what's more, Hrelle's wife is a Starfleet interrogator and brainwasher. She would have bewitched the Hunter Prime into turning traitor and joining Hrelle in overthrowing me... to ultimately put her in charge!" He looked to Har-User again. "Seal off that floor! Have all available soldiers converge and slaughter them!"

*

In the workstation, Valtiri froze in place, tilting his head and gnashing his teeth as he growled.

Hrelle looked to him. "What is it?"

The Ferasan telepath unslung the weapons he carried on his harness, handing them to Hrelle. "Soldiers outside the door! Their thoughts are clear at this range! They have orders to kill us, Captain!"

Hrelle accepted his sword and plasma assault rifle. "Nenjo, plot us a way out of this area!" He smacked his combadge. "Hrelle to Team Flipper: Now!"

*

Many, many floors below, under the foundations of the Capitol Building, there sat a submersible access dock and Subshuttle station, where classified personnel and material could be transported into the building, either inland or from the Bay of Saraya, without being witnessed above. Upon commencement of the Occupation, the access to the Subshuttles was sealed off by the Ferasans, and the level forgotten.

Nothing was done about the dock. After all, what threat could come from the water?

A Starfleet aquashuttle, the USS Ka'a Kauā, rose up quickly from the dock, splashing water everywhere, even as the dorsal hatch slid open, and three Delphines emerged, clad from beak to tail flukes in water-filled environmental suits lined with antigravity nodes and propulsion units that responded to the same muscle motions that the wearers used when swimming, along with various other pieces of harnessed equipment.

Wheelie swam through the air ahead of his wife and pup, nodding to each of them on either side as he drew up to the nearest lift doors. "HaHa, access the fire control systems, use them to override the security lockdowns. Wheeze, find the lift maintenance diagnostics, I want to see where all the lift cars are right now."

Then he floated back, just enough so that his phaser could cut into the doors. "And let's be quick; our Leggie friends need us."

*

Navron Prison Camp, Ravath Province, Planet Cait:

The Tailless banked once more under the fire of the Guns of Navron.

"Shields down to twenty percent!" Ensign Osha shouted over the din.

Behind her, Sasha struggled to remain upright while she worked on the Engineering panel. "Theirs or ours- Never mind, stupid question!"

Beside Osha, Lt Mru Mori clutched onto the Manual Steering Column, necessary for the tight manoeuvres they need to survive. "We can't get phasers or microtorpedoes through with enough force to break the shields they've set up!"

Sasha ran a final scan; this flyer, a gift from her late grandmother, was loaded with goodies from the Caitian Secret Service. "We won't have to! I've analysed the shield cycling system, it resets every 4.5 minutes, with a window of a fiftieth of a second between cycles! I've programmed the transporter to beam me through that window! Once I'm gone, land and take on the camp guards! Liberate our people!" She checked the chronometer. "I'm going n-"

A crimson transporter beam enveloped her.

*

Outside, the five Aerofighters of the 409^th Aerobatics Squadron raced in low, tight, layered formation towards the Ferasan airfield, as the Enemy scrambled to launch their Slithus warships and shuttles.

In the lead Aerofighter, Biggles opened the channel. "Alright, Skycats: Paint the Ground Red."

The five blossomed outwards, plasma cannons and rail guns opening up, raining firepower onto the Ferasans scrambling on the ground, and their vehicles that had yet to launch, all while leading the inevitable counterattack away from the camp and the thousands of civilians there.

Behind them, a half-dozen shuttles had risen, armed with disruptor beams, followed by the much larger Slithus warships. None of the pilots or crew expected much of a fight against such ancient-looking aircraft.

At least, until the battle commenced.

"Alji, Bertti," Biggles radioed. "Lead one of the Slithuses east by south-east."

"Give 'em a Sharmin Tailside?" Alji suggested.

"Whatever brushes your fur best. Jinjer, Smithi, High-Eight and deal with the shuttles. I'll lead the other Slithus away."

"Roger that, Biggles. Watch your tail."

The Ferasan craft, designed for spaceflight and space-based combat, was not at home in the thick atmosphere near a planet's surface, unable to make manoeuvres as tight as the Skycats.

The Ferasan craft, attuned to subspace channels, did not pick up the aetherwave transmissions of the Skycats and anticipate their actions.

The Ferasan craft, accustomed to locking onto the warp cores and advanced alloys and systems of vessels like their own, could not target accurately against opponents without such qualities.

And the Ferasan crews lacked the almost two hundred years' worth of collective experience of atmospheric combat that the Squadron possessed.

As proved when Jinjer and Smithi rolled and spun upwards, using a controlled stalling of their engines to allow several shuttles to shoot ahead of them, while they fired at the shuttles' impulse engines, turning them into balls of fire

As proved when Alji and Bertti led their pursuer upwards, before engaging in a mirrored loop that the larger vessel couldn't possibly match, doubling back to focus their attack on the Slithus' impulse guidance systems and weapons pods.

And as proved when Biggles drew the second Slithus to fire again and again, the tiny Aerofighter keeping a tight profile, banking sharply and unexpectedly, changing its profile constantly, and releasing colourful smoke left over from a previous show... thus distracting and tricking the Slithus into firing upon their own people on the ground.

*

Caitian Assault Carrier Deep Keep, Caitian Mesosphere:

Captain Mrorr clutched the arms of her chair as they continued to ascend, her experience allowing her to discern the many updates from the surrounding officers:

"Wildforest Team reports victory, moving to secure Drychill Camp... Silkwater Team reports heavy casualties but still holding the line... no response from Steelstorm and Stormcrest Teams... no response from Turnday Team... no response from Silversky Team... Freyshade Team reports victory, moving to join Moonscar Team to take Avalham Camp... "

She listened to the reports about the people on the ground: the teams she sent on Hrelle's orders to attack the major bases and camps in the Western Hemisphere. They would be outnumbered, outgunned. She was frankly amazed that so many had not only survived to date, but in some instances, had triumphed, perhaps catching the Ferasans by surprise.

But as much as she wanted to focus on those brave males and females on the ground, Mrorr had to keep her senses on the threats coming-

"Ferasan Prideships moving in, 113-Mark-7!"

She snapped to attention. "Helm, Evasive Manoeuvres! Tactical, realign the transphasic cloak nutations and prepare more sensor chaff! Weapons, I want another volley of missiles!"

"That larder's almost empty, Captain!"

"I KNOW!"

There was only of them, and far too many of the Rat-tails.

Mother Damn It!

*

Shanos Major, Mrestir Province:

Mistress Nvell, Leader of the Kaetini, raised her twin swords up and sliced into the Ferasan leaping towards her, taking off his head and half of his right arm, the elderly female dodging the body and the body parts as momentum carried them to the already-bloodied pavement.

The air filled with roars and screams and disruptor fire, and inside, her heart threatened to burst through her chest. Still, she pressed forward, barking orders to her fellow Kaetini who had joined her in assisting the rebel forces here in the city, led by their mayor, Des P'Rarash, who wielded a disruptor rifle obtained from one of the Ferasans he helped kill.

She remembered seeing him on the Cynet news: a jovial, larger-than-life figure, a former opera star who always seemed to smile and welcome visitors to his city with open arms and immaculate tailored suits.

Now he acted like a Militia commander, his suit torn and stained with blood... as was his muzzle, as he leapt onto the rubble of a park fountain to be seen and heard above the surrounding crowd. "Shast, get those wounded out of here! Take them down into the subway! Josa, pick up those disruptor grenades, but carefully!"

Even as he had begun speaking, Nvell was sheathing her swords and racing towards him, shoving aside people in her way until she reached P'Rarash and pulled him down roughly from his perch- just as a disruptor bolt shot past the area where he had stood milliseconds before. Breathlessly she hissed at him, "Don't make yourself a target, fool! You're not on the stage now!"

He gasped, realising how close he had come to getting himself killed, and looked at her with wide eyes. "You're- You're right- sorry-"

Nvell glanced around; she had wanted to wait until she knew the Ferasan Transporter and Communication Networks were downed before launching any attack on the existing troops, but P'Rarash and the locals had a Bloodlust going for hours now. "Get the people off the streets, take up defensive positions in those buildings at the edge of the Business District, before-"

Even as she spoke, she saw the bodies of the dead and wounded Ferasans beam away... and fresh, fully-armed and ready Ferasans beamed in from elsewhere to take their place.

*

Winterwane, Kaigi Province:

The townhouse sat in one of the older, more affluent districts, an elevated position famed for its unrestricted views of the rest of the city, and the harbour beyond. In better times, the owner of the property -- a quiet, broad-shouldered, ink-furred male with a carefully-cultivated mane and an expensive suit -- could sit on the veranda in the rear and look out on the pacific metropolis as the sun rose over Saraya Bay.

These were not better times.

He peered out at the chaos below as mobs of Caitians using confiscated and improvised weaponry battled Ferasan packs looting banks, museums and private homes of everything they could carry -- and burning or blowing up everything they couldn't. Occasionally an explosion would rock the night; he saw one building fall.

And the chaos was moving in this direction.

He guided his hoverchair to the edge of the veranda and peered out into his gardens, enshrouded in darkness to all -- except himself. "Liru? Is that you?"

In the shrubbery, a figure rose, the young voice quiet and cautious. "Mr Nimeni? How did you know it was me?"

The male in the hoverchair peered into the darkness, his cybereyes secretly augmenting the ambient light to see the young guard as easily as in broad daylight. "A gift. Shouldn't you be out front?"

"Uh, yes, Sir. I was just investigating some noises."

"And stopping for a quick snuff break, too."

"Uh... Sir..."

"On your own time, Liru, not mine."

"Uh, yes, Sir."

As the guard departed, Nimeni turned to face the chair, mentally accessing the Cynet through his eyes: nothing yet from the forces at Navron. It was interminable, being so dependent on others to get things done.

It was a feeling he had never entirely lost. Decades before, when he lived in another part of the Motherworld under his given name of Tarim Bey, he had been born with a particularly severe form of Neurodystraxia, leaving him with paraplegia and visual impairment.

Left to his own devices by a family that, frankly, were ill-equipped to support him, he developed a talent for computer systems... and an insouciance about using his talent for criminal purposes, allowing him to amass a considerable fortune, and purchase devices and cybernetic implants to more than compensate for his physical disabilities. Known to most of his associates and outside parties with the code name 'Nimeni' -- 'Nobody' in Old Caitian -- he built an organisation, and a strength and security he could not otherwise have obtained by strictly legitimate means-

"Nimeni, you have to- Mother's Cubs..."

He turned to face his personal assistant, who had obviously come out to speak with him, but was now distracted by the proximity of the urban conflict. "Yes, Shona?"

Shona was a petite, plum-furred female with a datapad seemingly always in one paw, and a tail that twitched from anxiety so hard it could knock one of the potted plants over. "I- I didn't know they were this close- maybe Khimpaq's right-"

"Our Security can handle things until we're ready to leave. And what is this about Khimpaq?"

"What? Shit, yes- he's demanding we go now, and has convinced the rest of the Syphers to down tools until we do."

He checked the Cynet again, confirmed the activity inside had ceased. "Mother's Cubs..." He turned his hoverchair and aimed it for the doors, barely giving them a chance to slide open, fully expecting Shona to follow. "Where in the Seven Hells were you when he was stirring the pot again? Grooming yourself?"

She kept up with him, her heels clacking on the floor. "No, I was only organising the convoy to evacuate us, making sure the house staff and their families made it to your yacht and out of the harbour, securing the house paintings and other valuables in the vault, and a hundred other things you'll never be aware of, you ungrateful kussik!" She paused and added, more contritely, "Sorry, Sir."

Despite the circumstances, he allowed himself a slight smile. "Apologies are unnecessary... except from me. I appreciate candour in our relationship; at least with you I know where I stand... so to speak." His smile dropped. "I should have remained inside and kept a presence. If Khimpaq wasn't so good with Imperial codes, I'd have dismissed him long ago for his disruptiveness."

"He's not disruptive -- well, not much -- he's afraid, even if his Klingon pride won't admit it. They're all afraid."

"They're being paid handsomely."

"Money means nothing if you think you could be killed at any time. I know that feeling firstpaw."

Nimeni went silent, understanding. Five years before, when he was offworld expanding his interstellar investments, he had encountered Shona on Farius Prime, when she was in the employ of Hagath, a charming but ruthless human arms dealer who ended up trying to have her killed following the collapse of a deal he blamed on her.

But Nimeni saved her, offering Shona a new identity and a better future... and neither regretted it.

They entered their own Operations Room, once the townhouse's main dining room, now taken over by a labyrinth of computers and computer operators: his Syphers, gifted operators from many worlds, previously accustomed to accessing business, military and government systems or hiding assets, but now maintaining Resistance communications and running cybercountermeasures.

Except now, the Syphers were away from their stations, hiding behind Khimpaq, the young Klingon standing there, arms crossed like he thought he ruled the playground.

Nimeni glided up to him. "You all look like a set of sixpins waiting to get knocked down. Return to work, all of you. You need-"

"We need to get away from here!" Khimpaq declared, baring stained, jagged teeth as he leaned in, trying to be intimidating. "The Ferasans are almost upon us!"

Nimeni rested his paws on his lap; he had a lifetime's experience of others looking down on him, literally, because he went about in this chair, and he wasn't prepared to be intimidated now. "We can't leave, not yet. We'll be getting the Link to upload the Chaos Codes into the Ferasan network at any time, but not if we're in transit to the new safe house in the mountains. But I promise you, as soon as our part in the Operation is done, we will go and reach the safe house. In the meantime, Mr Hrun and his people are outside, protecting us-"

"They will not be enough! There is an army out there!"

"I didn't realise Klingons were such cowards," Shona informed him archly.

He sneered back at her. "We are not. We are not fools either, and only a fool fights in a burning house!" He looked back at Nimeni. "We are leaving, Cripple!"

Nimeni's muzzle tightened as he regarded him. "Don't use that word in my presence again. And we will not be leaving yet. My planet is in jeopardy. I have pledged to help free it. All of you are employed by me, and all of you have always been paid very well for the risks -- only now the risk just happens to be more... profound... than mere arrest. Those who do not wish to remain, can go now... but without pay, without protection. You'll be on your own."

That provoked a response of hesitation... at least from the others. Khimpaq, however, bared his teeth further and leaned in. "You are bluffing. You need us more than we need you. I say we leave... NOW."

The Caitian arched an eyebrow. "You say?"

The Klingon grinned humourlessly, leaning in closer now. "I say... Cripple-"