Surefoot 22 Birthpains 1

"USS

Surefoot-A

, Counselor Kami Hrelle's Personal Log, Stardate 47415.82:

ESEK, WHERE THE [UNTRANSLATABLE] ARE YOU?"

"T'Varik! I-" Kami had stormed into the Ready Room as forcefully as she could with her pregnant belly, unannounced, ready to lash out at her friend and First Officer – when she stopped and saw they were not alone. "Captain Pnarun?"

The rust-furred older Caitian female, resplendent in the brick-red and black uniform of the Caitian Planetary Navy, was standing by the window beside T'Varik, obviously in mid-conversation, probably pointing out some of the damage her ship, the Caitian escort vessel

Firetail

, had endured in their reported recent encounter with a Ferasan battleship near the Maxia Sector. Now T'Varik turned, the Vulcan a picture of composure. "Yes, Counselor?"

Kami hesitated; she had become acquainted with Pnarun since she and her vessel rendezvoused with the

Surefoot

to receive repairs, provide support for the Starfleet patrols along the Cardassian border, as well as brief the

Surefoo

t's CMO Dr Ling on the finer points of Caitian childbirth. But that didn't mean Kami could have a figurative warp core breach in front of a guest, no matter the circumstances. "I, ah, um-"

"Should I leave?" Captain Pnarun offered diplomatically.

"No!" Kami suddenly snapped, her anxiety overwhelming her common sense as she focused on T'Varik again. "He's two days overdue! Two days!"

"1.92 days, to be precise."

Kami bared her teeth. "Do I seem like I'm in the mood for being corrected, you

kussik

?"

The Caitian captain's red tail twitched at the profanity, but the Vulcan remained calm. "Counselor, with such missions as Captain Hrelle and the others have undertaken, there is always a required flexibility, to allow for the unanticipated. It does not necessarily mean that something has gone wrong."

Kami's hands rested on her belly, knowing that inside, Misha was reacting to her stress, but she was unable to contain herself any longer. She hadn't slept, had hardly eaten, couldn't keep still. "We need to find them! Esek has to be there when Misha is born! Something will go wrong if he isn't, I just know it!"

T'Varik offered a slight frown. "According to Dr Ling, you are not due for another ten days. I am certain he will return before then."

"Certain? Is that a logical Vulcan response, based on a rational judgement of the facts at hand?"

The Vulcan hesitated before replying, "Admittedly not. However, you have taught me the value of intuition, of so-called 'gut feeling'. My gut feeling tells me that they will return soon. You just need to-"

"Shut up." Kami's face tightened as she felt the wetness seep down the inside legs of her uniform. "Shut up and just get me to Sickbay. My gut feeling – and my broken waters – tell me Misha's decided to come out now."

Both women drew closer and supported her, Pnarun announcing, "My CMO is still here, she can assist with the birth."

"Thank you, Captain," T'Varik informed her politely. "Allow me to assist-"

"No!" Kami breathed out raggedly, "You're- You're going to be busy- contacting that little gnome Tattok- and finding out where- where my feckless husband is- please- if he doesn't help, contact- contact my mother-"

The Vulcan paused. "It would be against regulations to seek aid from Fleet Captain Shall-"

Kami snarled something in Old Caitian.

Pnarun blanched, looking to the First Officer. "You don't need that translated. Believe me."

*

Crescent District, Asker, Planet Skaros:

The young Caitian female made her way along the crowded street, ignoring the stares she received; it wasn't common to see offworlders in this part of the city, she knew, so their reactions were normal, but that did not assuage her anxiety, and more than once she had to apologise to a passer-by when her twitching tail smacked them.

She was in one of the seedier sections of the city: darker, grimier, and stinking of defeat and poor sanitation. And the insalubrious atmosphere was not helped by the appearance of the local Guardsmen Station: a squat, armoured monster of a building, its unwelcome look not helped by the huge blue and yellow banner fluttering over its entrance, a banner that, all the others sported in various sizes on every building in every city on this miserable world, was adorned with the image of their Imperium, a Skarosian brat named Sonoda.

She ignored the image of the smooth, sallow, reptilian face. The people referred to him as their Beloved Imperium, their Living God. All that she could think in response to that was:

You could do better, folks. Much better.

Not that she would voice this aloud, of course; she had witnessed more than one broadcast execution of Skarosians alleged to have shown disrespect to him.

There was a long queue of citizens outside the Station; here, people had to pay to meet their law enforcement, if they wanted to lodge petitions or complaints, or barter for the release of loved ones for whatever crimes they might or might not have committed. It was a disgusting, barbaric system, in her opinion.

But she used it to her advantage, joining the back of the queue and paying the people in front of her to let her move up; this was the sixth Station she had visited in the last two days, and she had more replicated local currency than she had time.

Still, it took nearly another hour before she was escorted to a Guardsman's work cubicle. He looked like all the others of his race, though his age added more colour and sectioned scales to his hairless head, and his black uniform was a half-size too small for his pudgy frame. He never even even looked up at her as he spoke in rote, "State your business, Citizen."

"Sorry, Sir, but I'm not a Citizen."

Now he glanced up – and a leering, prurient interest eclipsed his boredom, his lipless mouth curling slightly as he took in her curved figure beneath her tight red silk blouse, skirt and boots. "And who and what are you?"

She shifted in place, bending slightly to allow him a glimpse down the top of her blouse, amazed at how different races from entirely different worlds could sometimes find each other attractive. "My name is Mari Connree. I'm from a planet called Cait. I'm here because-"

He made an appreciative sound. "Turn around. Let me see the rest of you."

She straightened up, rotating in place – trying not to pop out her claws as he boldly touched her, feeling the base of her tail, before starting towards more intimate areas.

She stepped away enough to gracefully escape his touch, and forced a smile as she faced him again. "As I was saying, I'm here because my father Shann was arrested two nights ago, and I've just tracked him down here to your Station. I'll be glad to pay his fine and take him off your hands before he starts singing his old ballads from the last Cait-Ferasa War." She grinned now. "And nobody wants to hear

those

, I promise you."

The Guardsman smirked and accessed his desk computer. "Well, you're in luck; he's in cell C-14 and-" He blinked. "Oh, dear."

She tensed. "What is it?"

"The club he was found in was a nest of insurgents, plotting against our Imperium-" He stopped and looked to his left, to a small frame picture of the Living God, saying aloud, albeit in rote, "Long Live Our Beloved Imperium." before focusing on her again. "So he'll be shipped off to the work camps for the next two years, which is a mercy compared to what the leaders of those seditious scum and their families will suffer."

The female controlled her reaction, though the lighter patch of fur surrounding her right eye creased with consternation. "Well, as much as my mother would love to see him work off some of that waistline, I can assure you that we have nothing to do with any nasty old insurgents, who would dare try to harm your Beloved Imperium. My Dad was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and we need him to complete our business on your wonderful little world."

She drew closer, leaning against the side of his desk, her hand resting flat on the surface near his keyboard. "Isn't there something you can do? You don't want to keep him around, he'll eat up all your food before you know it."

The Guardsman started to reply – then noticed that, as she shifted her hand, she left behind five strips of gold-pressed latinum, currency she knew was far more prized than the local coins, worth maybe a year's salary to him, and would guarantee her results.

Twenty minutes later, she was in the reception area of the Station when they led up from the underground cells a fat brown-furred Caitian male in torn, dirty clothes. He sported a swollen left eye from a recent punch or kick, walked with slight limp – and, Mother's Cubs, he stank! – but he seemed jovial enough, entertaining the others with a song: "

The planet Cait is blue / And there's nothing we can do..."

Then he stopped as he saw her, and beamed broadly, opening his arms wide and loudly declaring, "Mari! Darling Daughter! Runt of the Litter! At last you've come to claim me-"

She stormed up to him and slapped him hard cross the snout. "Shann Connree! You miserable, lazy, insufferable, good-for-nothing sot! Mother's been worried sick about you!" To uproarious laughter from Guardsmen and citizens alike, she grabbed him by one ear and led him out the door and into a street now being assaulted by a horrendous downpour, one that was already overloading the district's inadequate drains, and flooding the streets.

Quickly she let go of his ear as they raced to their parked groundcar, though both of them were thoroughly soaked by the time they climbed into the back seats. Esek Hrelle shook his arms in a vain attempt to rid himself of some of the water, cursing. "Seven Hells, haven't these people heard of Weather Modification?"

Beside him, C'Rash Shall cursed as well, more because of his actions than the weather. "Haven't

you

heard of soap, you stinking pig? Where'd they keep you in, a slurry pit?"

He grunted. "A slurry pit would at least have some ventilation. The Skarosians don't put a high price on the welfare of those caught in what they laughingly call their justice system-" Then he stopped himself in alarm, looking to her and speaking in Old Caitian, "

Is it safe in here?"

She nodded, replying in Standard, "I scanned it for monitoring devices." More loudly she told it, "Back to our hotel." As the groundcar verbally acknowledged, started up and moved out into the street, she removed her blouse and wrung it dry. "Seriously, you reek-"

"Drop it, and give me an update."

C'Rash ran her hands over her furred breasts, speaking through clenched teeth to prevent them from chattering. "I've spent the last two days trying to see if any of our contacts here had escaped the raid on the bar; if they did, they're in hiding, and not willing to risk their necks to help. I assume your dermal communicator malfunctioned at some point?"

Absently he raised a forefinger and pointed it to his swollen eye, and the ugly purple perimeter of bruising where the implant sat.

She grunted. "Yes, well, I've since been on my own, trying to locate where they took you. Assuming they didn't just shoot you and bury you in an unmarked grave."

He squeezed the longer fur on his head, feeling the water run down into his pointed ears. "They don't kill offworlders as a general rule; if we're here, it means we or others who know us have money, which seems to be almost as important as their Imperium. Is Mr Rrori okay?"

"He's still in the port, in the ship, and the cargo's secure. The Port Authority sometimes stops by to threaten an inspection, but fortunately they're as corrupt as everyone else here, and can be bought off with a bottle of Aldebaran whiskey or vivids of Orion porn."

"Has he updated Starfleet?"

"He can't; he says the Skarosian Imperial Fleet is flooding the subspace channels with interference as part of their numerous war games exercises. He could probably override it, but-"

Hrelle nodded. "That would just alert them to our true identity. Seven Hells." Two days overdue already; Kami must be climbing the walls by now.

Damn you, Tattok...

*

"It will be a straightforward exchange," Admiral Tattok had promised them over a week ago in the

Surefoot

's Ready Room, his diminutive stature having no effect on his authority. "The Skarosian Empire is strictly off-limits to Starfleet, but we've created a verifiable civilian profile for you, Captain, and Captain Pnarun is lending us a Caitian warp shuttle with no Starfleet connections."

Hrelle nodded. "We'll see if our Caitian cadet Rrori would like to play chauffeur. He'll be expert at handling the controls."

"Some Empire," Lt C'Rash had noted, glancing at the stellar map of the Skarosian system. "One system, and one Class-M planet. The Klingons and Cardassians aren't exactly going to be peeing themselves in fear."

"Size isn't everything, Lieutenant," the Roylan admiral replied dryly. "I can assure you. They are a brutal totalitarian regime who can afford to leave most of their population in abject poverty while they maintain a large planetary army and a warp-capable space fleet.

The Skarosians also allow a wide variety of interstellar criminal individuals and organisations to operate on their world with impunity – for a price, of course. And one such criminal, an Orion named Lur Dissak, has been dealing with the Obsidian Order, selling them stolen military data on the Starfleet strength, deployment and military resources in a particular sector of Federation space."

"How do we know this?"

"He told us."

"He admitted to stealing classified Starfleet information?" C'Rash exclaimed in disbelief. "And selling it to the Cardassians? And he's not afraid of being arrested when we get there?"

"There will be no arrest. We have no extradition treaty with the Skarosians, and if this information he has is verified, he can be valuable to us staying there. Your mission is to go to Skaros, disguised as a party of Caitian civilians, meet Dissak and pay for the same information he provided the Cardassians."

"And what will we be paying him with?"

"He asked for 100 kilograms of stabilised trilithium; I've brought it with me."

Hrelle had frowned at that: trilithium was an explosive of tremendous power, highly valuable, and highly regulated. "Admiral, I have strong reservations about handing over something like that to a criminal."

"As do I, Captain. But I have stronger reservations about sitting here waiting for the Cardassians to strike and our not being prepared for it. Not just because of the immediate effects of such an invasion, but how it will be perceived by all the other hostile powers out there who might try to take advantage of our perceived weakness. Just go, get the information and leave."

"Sir, why us? You said SI already has operatives on Skaros."

"Dissak stated one of the conditions was that you were involved. He wants to meet you."

"Me? Why?"

Now the Roylan's blue-green face darkened almost as much as his eyes. "Apparently he's seen you fighting... in the Orion deathmatches."

Hrelle stiffened. "No." He tried, he tried every day to put behind those terrible, terrible years as a slave, forced to fight in an arena with others for the amusement and profit of the Orions, losing his decency as much as he lost his freedom, to become the creature they called The Beast. And yet, circumstances continued to conspire to keep it coming back to him, reopening all the old wounds. "He can stroke off."

"Captain," Tattok reminded him, "The information he has could save hundreds, even thousands of lives. If it helps... I'll remind you that you're under orders."

"It doesn't... Sir." Hrelle swallowed. "But don't worry, I'll do it."

Tattok nodded with approval. "Bear in mind, however, that while Dissak and his people will be aware of your Starfleet connections, as will the local contacts who will lead you to him, under no circumstances are you to reveal yourselves to anyone else there. Certainly not to the authorities; the Skarosian Empire is ready to ally themselves with the Cardassians, and such a revelation could be enough to tip them over fully."

"Admiral," Hrelle spoke up again, "My wife is near to giving birth, I don't want to be away when her time comes."

Tattok seemed sympathetic – but just as resolute. "Captain, this mission should take five, maybe six days at most for you to complete and return."

*

Eight days later, Hrelle was rubbing at his eye sockets, wincing at the swollen one. He was already sick of being on this world. He wanted his wife. He wanted his daughter, and crew, and ship, and most of all, to hold his son as he emerged into this life.

"At least tell me you got the information we needed before the Guardsmen raid?" C'Rash groused. "Otherwise we might as well go home now."

"I got it. Dissak has a business in the hills overlooking Asker; it's a popular place for offworlders as well as the Skarosian upper crust, and his villa is on the same grounds. We're going up there tonight and making our acquaintance with him."

She made a sound.

He glared at her challengingly. "What?"

She pretended to be interested in the rain-soaked view outside her window. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"It's a hell of a time for you to change character and start being restrained. What is it?"

C'Rash looked to him again. "You should let me go alone."

"Kiss my furry ass."

"I mean it, this is dangerous work. Uncle Esek, you're... you're old. And not in the best of shape. I mean, I'd trust you to handle a couple of Ferengi or win a pie-eating contest, but this is something different."

"Thanks, cub. Your confidence in me is inspiring."

"You should be back on the

Surefoot

with Aunt Kami. She's going to be worried sick about you, and in her condition that can't be good for her or the cub-"

"Oh, really? Well, gee, thanks for that, because that thought never occurred to me until you mentioned it!" he snapped. "Now put a cork in it! Or I'll put my boot in it!"

The black-furred Caitian sensibly refrained from antagonising him further.

*

Sasha rushed into the Sickbay Suite, immediately divining where she needed to go, based on the privacy screens and the sounds of cursing coming from behind. "What's happening?"

Kami was there, being helped out of her uniform by two Caitians Sasha didn't recognise, a female and a male wearing Planetary Navy Medical insignia. Doctor Ling was also there – holding her left wrist, where some blood was seeping out of a wound. "Ensign Hrelle, you are relieved of your scheduled duties pending the imminent arrival of your younger brother into the open air. Though I would advise you to not get too close to the Counselor at this time."

"It's okay, Doctor," the nurse assured her. "Sasha is her family, her scent won't trigger Kami's aggressive instincts. Why don't you go tend to your wound?"

As she was helped up onto the biobed, Kami looked to the departing human, imploring a panting, "Sorry, Juliet- didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," the woman replied dryly, "My fault for not believing the accounts I'd read about Caitian births. Good luck." To Sasha she added, "You too. I'll be outside if I'm needed."

Sasha drew closer, looking to the female Caitian. "What can I do, Doctor...?"

"Shalom."

Sasha grinned. "Really? Shalom to you, too."

"What does that mean, Ensign?"

"Never mind, Ma'am. What can I do?"

"She'll be on her side, facing you, during the birthing process. Hold her, stay close, let her breathe your scent in, smell your father's scent on you; it'll keep her calm. We can't use drugs for the stronger pains, the cub will be hyper-sensitive at this time, but your presence will help."