Surefoot 66 By Fire And Water

There was no warning about the transmission. It appeared on every Vivid media channel in every province on Cait. It appeared as a message in every government, business and personal mail account, triggered to send an alert to those sections of the planet where most of the people were asleep. There hadn't been such a mass communication on Cait since the beginning of the Occupation by the Ferasans.

The image that greeted the planet this time wasn't Ferasan, however, but Caitian: an older male, butter-furred with a swept-back mane over his large frame, clad in basic black, his identity known and loved by tens of millions of cubs throughout the world, his expression sober and direct.

"My fellow Caitians: I am Mi'Tree Shall. Many of you will know me as an actor, a performer, a Taleteller. You are used to seeing me immersed in fiction. Today, I offer you the truth.

The Ferasans have not come to us as allies, but as murderers, as thieves and plunderers and conquerors. They are the ones who slaughtered our brave males and females in the Militia and the Planetary Navy. They are the ones who have overthrown our lawful Government and installed a puppet to speak their lies. They are the ones who are killing those who voice dissent..."

* * * * *

In the Capitol's Operation Centre, chaos reigned, as Ferasan technicians battled to shut down the global transmission, while Master Governor Melem-Adu stood in the background, caught in a battle of his own to remain composed in the presence of the insufferable Dominion liaison, the Vorta Weyos, standing nearby with his Jem'Hadar lackeys.

He breathed in, fixing his steely glare on his remaining offspring, ThirdSon. "Report!"

The younger male stopped frantically moving from station to station, in order to straighten up and face him. "We're trying to pinpoint the source of the transmission, but our efforts keep bouncing it from city to city: Illehull, Winterwane, First Landing... even here!"

"What, here in the Capitol?"

"I mean here in this facility! I mean, they're not

really

here, of course, but-"

"Get back to it!" Melem-Adu snarled and looked away. Three sons he brought him to this miserable woman-worshipping world, on the most ambitious campaign in their Pride's -- in their entire people's -- history. Now, one is dead, at Melem-Adu's own paws, for showing cowardice in public, and another is missing, leaving him with this miserable final one, as spineless as a scientist-

"Master Governor," smarmed Weyos.

Melem-Adu gritted his teeth and turned around. "What?"

The Vorta offered what could have been a sympathetic smile as he indicated the image of Mi'Tree Shall on the screens above. "You really should be doing something about this."

Yes,

Melem-Adu agreed silently.

I really should rip you open and string your intestines around the room like garlands, while the cubs kick your head about for fun.

"I am, Vorta. But I can assure you, their feeble efforts will be for naught." He waved his paw at the screens. "He is calling for prey to become predators. They will not. It is not in their nature. We eliminated all those Caitians with any proper aggressive instincts when we first arrived."

"Not all," Weyos corrected, still smiling.

I will turn you inside out. Literally inside out.

"No, you are correct of course, not all. But

nearly

all. We will wheel out our Caitian puppet to reassure the prey that they are in good paws with us, and not to trust the lies of our enemies. You focus on bringing in Captain Hrelle, as you promised-"

"Father..."

He turned back, ready to demand a reason for the interruption... only to see the expression on ThirdSon's face. "What is it?"

The younger male swallowed, looking shaken. "The terrorists have included data subscripts with the transmission: evidence of the real reason for the Treatment Camps, of our attacks on the Militia Camps... and... and they have a recording of Hap-Tek... confessing..."

Melem-Adu stiffened, his furless tail twitching behind him, speaking through clenched, bared teeth. "Show me."

He strode forward with ThirdSon to one station, smelling the scent of fear from the operator sitting there, bringing up the relevant recording.

It took all of the Master Governor's considerable willpower to remain calm as he bore witness to the sight of his battered, broken, bloodied second son filling up the screen, speaking in choked tones of the reasons behind their presence on Cait.

By the Patriarch... those animals... what have they done to you?

* * * * *

Shanos Minor, Nashea Province:

"And their accounts of a Metremia Threat to our people are false. The so-called Treatment camps are prisons, prisons to gather our fertile females and our cubs, and take them for their own exploitation.

They have taken these terrible actions because they are dying. Their hideous genetic Augmentation of long ago has now become their undoing, and infertility and deformity is rife among them. They face imminent Extinction. But rather than openly seek help in a civilised manner, they have taken this course... and they are taking our females, and our cubs, for their own, perverting the wondrous gifts of life and youth with which we are blessed..."

In their apartment, Mreia and Shau Furore sat watching the transmission, aghast at the revelation. Shau had been preparing signs for another student protest when the transmission started, but now the adolescent male stared. "Is it- Is it true?"

His mother didn't have the answers. In the weeks since the Ferasans arrived, she had been all too prepared to believe what they said about the Caitian Militia and the Planetary Navy, no matter what her ex-husband Jhess had protested otherwise. But as more and more of their freedoms disappeared, along with many people she knew who openly spoke out against what was going on, including the senior partners of her law firm, her certainties crumbled.

She rose and retrieved the secret communicator that human Sasha Hrelle had given her and sent a signal, wishing to speak with Jhess again. After a moment, when there was no response, she hid it again, knowing from his briefing that under the circumstances, he wouldn't always be available to respond, but would get back to her as quickly as he could.

She never thought she'd feel that longing to have her ex-husband in her life again.

* * * * *

Mroara-Lnee Shipbuilding Industries, M'Restir Province:

"I swear to you in the name of the Great Mother, on the lives of my cub and grandcubs, that I speak the truth. But the testimony of one of the Ferasans, and the evidence we have gathered to support my truth, will accompany this message.

The Ferasans have always been, and always will be, our Enemy. Do not believe them. Do not collaborate with them. Do not capitulate to them. And do not believe the lies they say now of my beloved kin-son, the celebrated Starfleet officer Captain Esek Hrelle. He's out there now, pursued by the Enemy, who will stop at nothing to hurt him, and my most wonderful infant granddaughter Sreen...."

Jnill Mroara-Lnee stood before her office monitor, watching and listening to Mi'Tree Shall emote before the Motherworld. She had never been one for popular entertainment, and her respect for this male's florid career had never been high. Now... now she was almost sorry she hadn't seen him perform in one of his more serious roles-

"Enough of that!"

She switched off the screen and turned, glancing at the recurring visitor to her workplace, the Ferasan Pridemaster Ubar-Sin. As opposed to her brother Hrulish, currently propping himself up at her office bar, Ubar-Sin was a ball of agitation. "Forgive me, Pridemaster. I thought that it might have been something of some small importance."

"It's nothing!" he spat. "The ranting of some perverted libertine! He'll be dealt with in due course!

Your

attention should be focused on the here and now, and the promises you made! Promises you're not keeping!"

Jnill glanced over at Hrulish, who shrugged and reached for what remained in a bottle of Saurian brandy. Not that she needed or cared for anything her younger brother might offer. She ran the company, she kept their Clan's legacy here and in the annexes around Cait alive and well.

And she kept a pretence up with the Enemy. "I can assure you, Pridemaster, that we are doing everything in our power to fulfil our contract."

"Then where are the transport ships? You're behind schedule!"

Jnill steeled herself. She was not easily intimidated by others... but this was not some disgruntled customer or government bureaucrat; he would easily kill her and take over her company if he thought she was deliberately delaying the production of the transports. "Everyone is behind schedule; production and shipping throughout the Motherworld has decreased radically with the introduction of your people's Security measures. There are shortages of food and other essentials in the stores-"

"You don't look starving," Ubar-Sin sneered.

"No, I'm not; I am fortunate compared to most of the population. But even my wealth can't make factories produce interocitors and Klystron drives if the essential materials aren't there, many of which we depended upon from off-world sources... sources

your

people have now cut off."

"EXCUSES!" the Ferasan roared in her face, teeth bared, one arm raised, claws extended, ready to strike down upon her.

Jnill stood her ground.

Then, surprisingly, Hrulish overcome his usual timidity to speak up, albeit in a slurred voice. "Pridemaster, my older sister is insufferably stiff-tailed and proud about her success in business matters; I daresay the only time her nethers heat up is when she reads the quarterly financial report. I assure you she would not admit to such failings on her part if she can possibly help it."

Ubar-Sin stared at him, grunting contemptuously, before turning back to Jnill, drawing in closer to her, his breath hot and foul on her muzzle. "Inform your workers, wherever they are, that no excuses will be accepted... and failure will be treated as an act of terrorism. And I believe it's already clear how we deal with terrorists."

He reached up to his transporter control and disappeared in a red quantum mist.

Jnill stepped back instinctively, as if she might have been accidentally pulled away with him, and took a moment to let her pulse slow down to a more salubrious rate.

"What a charming fellow," Hrulish noted, pouring himself another drink.

She looked to him, having little patience with her brother in the best of times. These were not the best of times, but she had hoped that he might have appreciated the calamity that they, their company, the entire Motherworld, faced. "Why are you still hanging around?"

He stopped, seemed to regard the question seriously, before raising his glass in salute. "Well, there's

your

delightful company, dear sister. And maybe I can help out in your hour of need? You used to allow me to have some small responsibilities around here, once upon a time." He sipped a little. "Oh, those halcyon days..."

"Are your senses permanently dulled from drinking?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "Our world, our people are threatened!"

"Hyperbolize much, Jnill? Maybe you should run off and join Ptera and Mirow wherever you've sent them?" He sipped a little, before adding, "You

did

send them away, didn't you? They wouldn't have just disappeared without your assistance. Are they staying now with the brave and redoubtable Captain Hrelle, and his nasty little bitch human cub?"

Jnill regarded him with raw contempt. "When Ptera told me about those serpentine aliens attacking you and she and the other Caitians on the

Surefoot

, those years ago, I only half-believed her. Then I did my research: about the incident, and about Esek Hrelle and that human cub you despise so much... and my respect for both has only increased.

Lieutenant Hrelle nearly died saving your worthless hide.

She needn't have bothered.

As for the location of my daughter and bond-son, I can honestly say I have no idea where they are, or who they are with. All I know is that they are most fortunate, for not having you in their presence.

Leave these grounds."

Hrulish blinked. "Excuse me?"

She stepped up to him, took the glass from his paw and carried it to the cabinet. "Leave these grounds and don't come back. Go home, pack your bags, take the company flyer to Kamar-Taj, get yourself a suite at the White Shore, and spend the rest of the Occupation losing at the casinos, bedding prettytails, or just drinking yourself into Oblivion.

Do what you like. I don't care. I am fed up with being constantly reminded that I am related to such an utterly disgraceful excuse for a Caitian as you."

Her brother stared in abject disbelief, before tugging at the lapels of his jacket. "Who in the Seven Hells do you think you are, Jnill? I'm part of this clan! I have as much right to be here as you! You can't just order me about! How

dare

you, you withered old kussik?"

In response, she stared back and called out, "Shikor!"

Immediately, her Chief of Security, a large-framed, ash-furred female, entered from the adjacent reception area, eyeing Hrulish suspiciously. "Ma'am?"

"With immediate effect, my brother is banned from the company premises. Stick him in an autocar and send him home, he has a flyer to catch." She glared at him. "If you're there when I get home tonight, Shikor will take you someplace less pleasant than Kamar-Taj. Someplace no one will ever find you."

Shikor grunted and stepped forward, cracking the knuckles in her paws. "Are you going to make this difficult, Sir? Please say Yes."

He didn't, to Shikor's visible disappointment. Alone again, Jnill moved to her desk, settling down behind it, feeling a measure of comfort in the feel of the sablewood frame. It had been part of the furniture here since her great-grandparents' day.

It would no doubt outlast her, too. Once again she wished she had accepted Kami's offer to accompany their cubs with her into hiding... especially with Ptera so close to giving birth to Jnill's grandcub-

No. Had she been so selfish, someone else would have been drafted in to assist the Enemy. She may not have a rifle in her hand, but she can still do what she can to help the Resistance.

* * * * *

Paramount Vivid Studios, Deepmere, Hsova Province:

"We cannot look to outsiders, or to our warriors, to shoulder the burden of ensuring our liberation. We must depend upon each other. We are all of us responsible for the salvation of our Motherworld and our own people.

Organise. Protest. Resist. Protect each other. Know who the Enemy is.

The Enemy has ships, weaponry, technology. They may

seem

invincible.

But they are not.

For we are strong, and we are brave, and we are fierce. And though we would rightly always prefer peace and cooperation, that is not an option for us now, for it will only lead to our deaths. And what good is peace and capitulation when we are dead?

We are at War. But this War is far, far from over. Whatever happens, the flame of resistance must not be extinguished, and will not be extinguished.

May the Great Mother watch over all of us."

The collective crew of the studio had gathered around the screen, watching, listening, ignoring the protests of the Ferasans who had repeatedly called for them to disregard the unauthorised message and return to the work at hand.

Studio Manager Horash folded his arms. "Mi'Tree was looking pale. I'd fire whoever was lighting him."

Sitting at the console before them, the cameraman N'Remma leaned back. "Is that all you have to say? What about what he told us? Look at the data accompanying it!"

The other male nodded absently, stunned by the horrors it warned them about. "The Ferasans wouldn't be so ruthless- so murderous-"

"And you think their crap about a Militia conspiracy and a Metremia Threat is more believable?"

Horash looked ready to respond, before shaking his head. "We- We have to get back to work. We broadcast in five minutes."

Standing nearby, Stori, Mi'Tree's former PA, just stood, lost in a miasma of thoughts. In the weeks since the arrival of the Ferasans and the disappearance of Mi'Tree, they had been kept employed by the Occupying forces, in the production of their own twisted version of the classic Vivid show

The Taleteller

... imparting lessons no right-minded Caitian parent would ever want their cubs to learn.

But now, all he could think about was his sister C'Ira. She had been informed four days ago that she was one of those infected by Metremia, and had willingly boarded one of their flyers to go off to their treatment camps. They hadn't been able to contact her since then, excusing the silence as issues of security and protection.

But if Mi'Tree was right... if they had taken her to make her

breed

for them...

Seven Hells, please, please don't be right-

"Stori?" N'Remma looked up at him. "They need you on the studio floor."

The young male moved like the puppet that sat on the lap of the Ferasan in the chair on the studio floor --

Mi'Tree's chair, and you have no right to take his place you Ferasan bastard

-- as he took his place and the crew began their work.

And the Ferasan Taleteller sat there with his Ferasan puppet Faro, smiling at the cameras, his sabreteeth reflecting the studio lights above. "Hello once again, Cubs of Cait. Have you been strong today? I hope so." He looked down at Faro. "What do we say about strength?"

The puppet's head moved to face the camera, the mouth opening to announce, "Strength is Good. Strength is Power."

"That's right," the new Taleteller agreed. "Strength is what makes you better than the cowards and the weaklings around you-"

A crewmember passed in front of the camera on his way out of the studio.

It threw the Taleteller, but only for a moment. "N-Now, today I'm going to tell you a new Faro story, about how Faro fought and killed his enemies in the Mountains of Miavar, in order to conquer their lands and-"

Someone else walked in front of the camera... pushing the camera off of its view of the set as she too went.

Lights, microphones and other equipment in the studio began shutting down.

Horash looked around, as more Caitians walked out, and the Ferasan Studio Liaison demanded, "Stop this! Where are you going? GET BACK TO WORK!" He looked to Horash. "Stop them! Now! DO SOMETHING, FOOL!"

Horash stared back at them... and joined those leaving.

Stori looked at them all... then dropped his PADD to the floor and marched out with everyone else, as the studio went completely black.

* * * * *

Kaetini Provisional Headquarters, Mrell Province:

Several thousand kilometres west across the Free Seas, Mistress Nvell, the Head of the Kaetini Order, nodded with approval at the end of the transmission, ordering, "Send a message to the Syphers, tell them to distribute that again when they can, maybe even try to get it off-world. The Ferasans will do their best to wipe it from the Cynet, and we want to make sure no one forgets it."

"Yes, Ma'am."

The elderly female regarded her aide. "You have a problem with this, Wserin?"

The younger, cream-furred male turned and looked up from his station. "People will die resisting the Enemy."

"They're dying now, cooperating with them." She turned and hobbled away, unwilling to discuss or contemplate it further, holding onto her staff for support as she ventured out into a corridor, and then to a smaller, guarded, featureless room, entering to stand before the manacled, prone figure on the bare stone floor. She held back her visible reaction to the mephitic scents here, given the circumstances. "I thought you should know: our transmission has gone global. Including your confession. The tide will begin to turn in our favour."