Surefoot 71: The End

Nimeni reached out quickly, grasped Khimpaq by his left wrist, applying pressure in a particular nerve cluster, while twisting his grip slightly.

Khimpaq dropped to his knees with a pained, near-paralysed gasp.

Still holding onto him, Ninemi expertly reached for a small secret panel in the left arm of his hoverchair, popping out from it a compact thermal disruptor, pressing the business end against the Klingon's forehead, making him cease his struggles as Nimeni replied, growling, "And I say you say nothing. I say you lie there and listen to me for a change."

Now he looked up to the rest, who looked stunned by the sudden turnaround between the two males. "And I say you return to your work, and let me worry about our security... which I can assure you is the best money can buy. The Ferasans have little regard for people with disabilities; rest assured that I have no desire to be taken by them."

He released the Klingon, who glared up at him with wide, angry, pained eyes. "And Mr Khimpaq: if you employ that slur again, anywhere, to anyone, I will know, and I will leave you in such a state that you will spend the rest of your existence envying my level of mobility."

He rested his weapon in his lap. "I have been fighting all my life.

I am not a Cripple.

I'm a Warrior.

Never forget that."

Nimeni glided his chair backwards and looked at them all again. "Well?"

The Syphers returned to their stations. Khimpaq followed, without looking back at him. Now he turned to Shona, even as his eyes accessed the Cynet again for an update on the current situation -- nothing, yet -- and told her, "Are you armed?"

She blinked. "Me? You know I hate weapons."

"And yet you were happy selling them. Get a phaser from my study. Now."

*

Kuburan:

The surface of the far side of the planetoid erupted outward from pre-programmed tricobalt charges, sending debris into space, before the massive sword-shaped figure of the Mother's Fury, the last surviving vessel of the Caitian Planetary Navy, flew upwards, banking sharply and moving in the direction of Cait, and the battle between Starfleet and the Ferasans.

*

In the heart of the battle, T'Varik gripped the arms of her chair as the Surefoot banked sharply to starboard under another disruptor volley. Beside her, Murphy checked his readings. "Port shields down to 15%! Attempting to compensate!"

She nodded at that. "Helm, keep our port profile away from the enemy vessels as and when feasible."

Sitting ahead of her, Lt Arrington never took his eyes off of the proverbial road as he replied, "Aye, Ma'am, I'm doing my best!"

"I have faith in you, Mr Arrington. Lt Shall, weapons status?"

Behind her, C'Rash hissed as she reported, "Torpedo capacity at 20%, forward phaser banks at 40%, rerouting power from aft banks!"

"Conserve torpedo use for defensive measures, plan subsequent attack strategies for phaser deployment only." T'Varik frowned to herself as she viewed the battle: their Task Force was potent, but the Ferasans outnumbered them by more than ten to one, and though they had managed to make significant strikes against those numbers, the proverbial tide was beginning to turn against them. And the Surefoot, though it packed a punch, suffered from having served primarily as a support vessel in past battles.

Or perhaps it was the quality of her leadership? she asked herself, setting aside such thoughts immediately as illogical and pointless.

Beside C'Rash, Bellator leaned into her station in response to an alert. "Captain! A ship is joining us from the edge of the system! It's identified as the Caitian Assault Vessel Mother's Fury!"

*

The flagship barrelled into battle, launching a volley of missiles and firing its port and starboard wave motion guns, mercilessly cutting into the overwhelming forces ahead of her.

Onboard the Triton, Admiral Tattok looked up at the incoming transmission, seeing the image of an injured but still alive Ma'Sala Shall. "Fleet Captain, it's good to see you're still in the land of the living."

She nodded curtly. "And it's good to see Starfleet finally here."

"Our absence was not by choice, Madame, I can assure you-"

"Save it for later, Admiral. Let's mop up the Rat-Tails and get to Cait to finish off the rest. It's been under the wrong flag for far too long."

*

Capitol Building:

"Master Governor! We're receiving a priority transmission from Ferasa Prime! It's the Patriarch!"

Melem-Adu turned to the lackey who had addressed him. No, no, there was no time for this! The Caitians were revolting around the planet, Starfleet was finally coming, and even that fat bastard Hrelle was here! "End the transmission! I have no time to speak with that withered old fossil!"

"No, Melem-Adu?"

He spun in place; the image of the Patriarch filled the main viewscreen, looking down on him. Oh fuck... "Patriarch? I- I didn't know they had opened the channel!"

The grey-furred male sneered. "Clearly not, otherwise you would not have insulted me brazenly. But then from what I have gathered, this is not your only error. I gave you the opportunity to claim Cait and its people for our purposes. You have failed miserably at this."

Melem-Adu's heart raced. "N-No- I have not-"

"Do not spout lies! You have not delivered one Caitian female or cub to us to help our race survive. You have not quelled rebellion there. And you have not kept Starfleet from becoming involved! Indeed, I understand our forces are under attack, and now Starfleet has arrived in the system to cause trouble!" He leaned in closer to the camera. "Yes, I have had my agents there keep a surreptitious watch upon your progress... or rather, lack of it."

Melem-Adu raised a paw to the image. "Patriarch, it is not like that, you have been misinformed-"

"Liar. I am, however, prepared to help salvage something of this debacle, given the enormous investment we have already made. I have recalled all remaining Prideships and warships in the Quadrant back to the Fatherworld, to amass into a Second Fleet. One who will soon launch and join you there, providing the Occupation with the necessary troops, firepower and resources to fulfil what you have so miserably failed to deliver."

The announcement allowed Melem-Adu to indulge in a glimmer of hope. "You- You are? Patriarch, that would be most welcome! Thank you!"

The Patriarch nodded. "They will also deliver your replacement: Pridemaster Puzrish-Dag, of the Grey Storm Pride."

His heart skipped a beat. "M-My... replacement?"

"I expect you will fully brief him on the state of affairs there, before killing yourself for your appalling performance. Assuming you don't scurry away in cowardice. Which seems more likely."

"Patriarch, no! The task has proven far more difficult than anyone could possibly anticipate-"

"They are a pack of weak-willed, women-cowed weaklings! You destroyed their military infrastructure! And yet you stand on the brink of defeat! I'm... embarrassed for you, Melem-Adu. Truly embarrassed. You will be informed when the Second Fleet launches."

"Patriarch-"

The transmission ended.

Melem-Adu stood there, feeling the eyes of everyone there fixed on him now... or deliberately turning way, not wanting to be caught looking.

And that was it. It was all but over for him, his Pride, his ambitions.

"Well," the Vorta Welros bluntly cut through the tension in the room. "What an awkward time to announce our departure."

Melem-Adu turned to face him and his Jem'Hadar soldiers. "Where are you going? To join our forces against Starfleet?"

The soft, oatmeal-skinned humanoid stood there and smiled in simpering fashion. "No. We are leaving permanently. We will be joining the occupying forces in Archanis."

The response stunned the Master Governor. "Vorta... if you are leaving because of what you heard from the Patriarch, I assure you, I will be remaining in charge. The Alliance between our people and the Dominion could still go ahead!"

Now a pretence at regret dabbed at Welros' mien. "Ahhh, that. I must confess to a small deception regarding that. You see, the Dominion never had any intention of allying ourselves with the Ferasan Patriarchy."

"You... You didn't?"

"No. Your people's genetic issues and chaotic internal political structure never made you worthy additions to the Dominion. It would have been more trouble than it would be worth to support you."

Melem-Adu blinked, his jaw dropping. "B-But- why the pretence?"

The Vorta shrugged, holding out his hands apologetically. "We had initially hoped that our presence here might divert Starfleet forces away from their efforts to retake Betazed, thus further securing our hold on that more strategically valuable location... but this did not actually occur.

Starfleet is here now, of course, but the tactical situation in both sectors has significantly changed, and so we must take our leave. It's been such a pleasure, Master Governor. Victory is Life."

And then he and his Jem'Hadar transported away.

The room went quiet, the crisis momentarily forgotten.

Then Har-User crept up to him. "Sire... what... what are we going to do now?"

Melem-Adu breathed in. It was all unravelling. Everything around him was falling apart.

He should flee. Take his son and whatever appropriated Caitian wealth and females they could carry, and leave in their Prideship for new territory. They could live comfortably, secretly.

Without honour. A Pride without pride.

No.

He turned to face the subordinate. "We continue as we have. We deal with the threats within the building. We destroy the last remaining Caitian insurgents. We annihilate a dozen more of their cities in nuclear fire as punishment... and make many more bombs, and secure them everywhere else.

And when the Second Fleet arrives, they will either defy the Patriarch and bow to my authority, and thus have any chance at having cubs of their own... or we will turn this planet into a lifeless radioactive rock.

That is what we are going to do now.

Now get back to work."

*

Navron Base, Ravath Province:

As he banked low to the ground, feeling the disruptor fire from the Enemy strike the steppes, kicking up blossoms of dirt and stone and grass, Biggles recalled the many lessons he had studied on air combat in the past, when his ancestors flew in craft identical to this, and fought their own opponents. There was a point in every battle, called the Crest, when it became obvious that the outcome had been reached, for one side or the other.

His side had reached the Crest. And the outcome wasn't in their favour.

He looped up sharply, the engines protesting as he arced upside down, his rail guns empty but his plasma cannons recharged, and he fired on the nearest Ferasan shuttle, strafing the dorsal side and sending it spiralling down in smoke and flames.

Others took its place.

Elsewhere, Jinjer struggled with his controls, watching as his wings shredded under disruptor fire from the Slithus warship Smithi and he had been fighting. "I could do with some assistance here, old chap, if you don't mind!"

"I see you, you mangy moggie, I'm coming in on your upp-"

Static.

Jinjer swallowed. Bloody Hell.

He looked up to see several Ferasans swooping down from above, the sun behind them, blinding him.

He banked sharply, feeling the fuselage protest as he managed to get off a few more shots on the Slithus, before sailing past.

Towards the ground. Unable to pull up.

Oh dear.

Well, it was fun while it lasted-

*

Alji and Bertti kept in tight formation, kept each other visible, alternating attacks to give each other's plasma weapons a chance to recharge, returning to the Ferasan airfield to prevent more vessels from joining the fight, Alji quipping, "Having fun yet, old girl?"

"Enough of the Old Girl guff, you pissy old grimalkin."

Alji laughed. Despite himself, despite the situation... he was having the time of his life. "What say we head back to the warship and finish this off, so you can finally marry me?"

"I'd... yes, okay."

He blinked, checking his ammunition swooping upwards. "What was that?"

"I'll marry you, Alji."

They moved around each other in as perfect a formation as they could, with their damaged Aerofighters, brought down two more shuttles, leaving the much larger Slithus. "Their impulse engine is venting... focus our fire there."

"Roger that." A pause, and then, "We won't make it to that wedding, you know."

Alji breathed out. "I hate formal occasions anyway."

She began firing on the aft of the Slithus. "All those boring speeches."

He followed suit, watching the orange-red glow of the impulse events erupt. "The terrible music. And the fattening cake."

"Yeah, all that..."

They kept at it, until the Slithus' engines exploded, exhaust and fuel geysering out as the huge vessel spun and spiralled down, the showers of debris from it catching shuttle and Aerofighter alike, until everything rained down upon the steppes, the thunder of the crashes filling the air with the smoke, leaving nothing remaining in the air in that part of the sky.

*

From his cockpit, Biggles saw the Active Lights on his board, the confirmation about his friends' status, blink away, one by one, until none remained. He was the last.

The remaining Slithus was ahead of him. He was out of ammunition.

He set a course for it, ignoring the shuttles pursuing him from the rear, ignoring the fire from the Slithus.

He'd been wrong before. They hadn't reached the Crest of the battle... because what happened up in the skies wasn't the whole of the battle, only part of it. And nothing had been decided yet. They had played their part of it up here.

And they had played it valiantly.

As he pushed the engines to their limit, he opened a radio channel, deliberately attuning it to the Enemy frequencies. "This is Captain Majes Biggleshen of the 409^th Aerobatics Squadron... and it's been an absolute pleasure to send you bastards screaming to the Seven Hells..."

He struck the upper decks of the Slithus, the most vulnerable part of the ship. The Bridge was wiped out instantly, the much larger vessel spinning into a death roll and detonating on impact into a barren slope.

*

From the camp, Ferasans, captives and Starfleet alike turned as one and stared at the smoke from the explosion of the second Slithus rising upwards into the cloudless blue sky.

Near the landed Tailless, Mori took the opportunity to listen, not hearing any more aircraft, either the Enemy or the Skycats -- Live Fast, Fight Well, and Have a Beautiful Ending -- before taking the advantage by moving to a more advantageous position, before raising his phaser rifle and firing again, as Ensign Osha watched his tail. All the while he kept glancing back at the huge temple-like structure of the Weather Modification Array, which the Ferasans had taken over to use for their Transporter and Communications Networks.

Sasha was alone in there, trying to shut it all down. Damn it, you beautiful, tailless, furless ape, you'd better survive today. I might possibly love you.

*

Dad, how do you win a fight?

As Sasha beamed into an alcove in the Weather Modification Array station, phaser drawn, weapons harness strapped tight around her torso as she scanned the immediate surroundings, she remembered asking her Dad that question years ago.

The air was thick with the musk of Ferasans; the Pride that ran this camp probably also billeted in here, a secure facility.

She checked her tricorder, scanned for lifeforms, usable computer terminals, before moving cautiously, her boots making far more noise than she would have preferred, or so she imagined. She had to move, had to get the Link open. People had died, were dying, were going to die. So many. Too many. All depending on her.

Oh God, she couldn't do this couldn't go through with this it was too much too much too much too much-

Breathe.

Sasha focused on the task. The equipment in this station was generating a lot of power and interference, but she had learned a few tricks from Dad about using her natural senses as well as the tricorder... and her own experience with Ferasans, going back to the incident when she was on the old Surefoot... and then there was later, the ones who attacked her on the Ajax-

They clawed at her flesh her scalp oh God peeling it like an orange oh God-

Breathe.

Her pulse slowed once more. After that second incident, where she nearly died, she had learned techniques on controlling her reaction to the trauma memories, from Kami... and Dad.

She always heard her father's voice whenever she calmed herself down.

Sasha found an unoccupied Auxiliary station, detached the Lockpick Unit from her harness and fitted it onto the console, letting it do the work of breaking into the system and establishing the Link to the Syphers. Wow. She didn't think it would be this easy-

"THERE!"

She turned and fired her phaser instinctively, bringing down the Ferasan stupid enough to call out instead of just firing. Another came around the corner, and managed to get a wild shot in her direction before falling too.

She couldn't stay here; they would get her, and discover what she was doing, and shutting down her efforts.

She holstered her phaser, unslung her phaser rifle and charged, holding fire until it was needed. She had more powerful weapons, but didn't want to take the chance of using them, of damaging the network and rendering the Link useless.

She entered a larger circular area, a global monitoring section with raised daises and transparent datascreens that provided temporary cover for herself and her opponents, as phaser and disruptor bolts flew about, striking screens and walls. Sasha crouched down, listening to them barking orders to each other.

They were concentrating their fire on the screen she now crouched behind, making it crack and melt and char.

She pulled another toy from her harness, a thick black cylinder she activated and flung from her position behind one screen. Try this on for size, you snaggletoothed pishers-

A teeth-rattling pulse from her sonic bomb filled the air -- painful to her ears at this proximity, but excruciating to felinoids.

She rose, gripped her rifle tighter and stormed through the rest of the room, striking down the temporarily-disabled Ferasans, one by one, leaving them unconscious for the next several hours. Sweat poured down her forehead and coated the inside of her uniform, and she wondered how long she would have to keep this up, or even if her efforts were doing any good-

More Ferasans charged in as one, the fastest of them slamming into her with a roar. She lost her grip on her rifle and nearly lost the air in her lungs as a huge furry weight landed on top of her, hot stinking breath on her face, sabreteeth pressing down at her throat, seeking to pierce her flesh-

They clawed at her flesh her scalp oh God peeling it like an orange-

She drove her knee up into the Ferasan's groin, before activating the Pummel bars that dropped down from her gloves to her fingers, letting her deliver neuroleptic shocks with her punches.

She sent her attacker to one side, twisting and kicking out as his friends came at her. Her sword was still attached to the back of her harness, but they didn't give her time or space to draw it out. She snarled back as she danced around the two Ferasans still standing, neither giving her a chance to go for any other weapons, but then neither of them were going for their own, either, probably thinking they didn't need it to deal with a mere human female.