THREE HOURS, FOUR MINUTES, THIRTY SECONDS... TWENTY-NINE... TWENTY-EIGHT...
Classified Location, Planet Cait:
R'Taara Aris did her best to keep calm for her cub Srira. Her own mother had always seemed to make it easy, whenever the younger R'Taara had been upset over a storm or a missing pet or an unrequited love, offering soothing purrs and soothing words, and R'Taara had striven in the years since then to emulate her strength and composure.
Now, however, all of that had fled her, and all she could do is grasp Srira's paw and hold onto it.
She had received the notification that her eight-year-old son and she had been identified as infected with Metremia, and were due to be collected for treatment. Yes, she had heard the transmissions from Mi'Tree Shall that accused the Ferasans of lying, but she didn't believe him; he had always been a bit of an egocentric windbag, and she suspected it might even have been some publicity stunt for a new Vivid. So she had had no problem with packing a bag for herself and Srira, terrified about the disease. Still, some doubt lingered.
On the other paw, the Ferasans who appeared, though they looked intimidating with their height and sabreteeth, were courteous enough, seating them with everyone else in the Crescent district of Shanos Major who were similarly infected, taking them to the local park, where a large transport vehicle awaited them.
"Mama," Srira had mewled, picking up the scents of fear and uncertainty in the females and other cubs around them.
"It'll be okay," she had assured him.
The transport had been windowless, but they played soothing music in the background, and the front of the seats had entertainment centres, and Srira distracted himself with playing games. They travelled for some time; the Ferasans onboard offered water and snacks, but no clue as to where the treatment camp was, or how long it would take to get there, or how long they might be.
They arrived in a blinding light and hot, dry air that blasted through the opening doors of the transport, as the passengers filed out into an wide open clearing of many square tathes in area, surrounded by high wire fences topped in places with dark towers -- and weapons mounted on them. Buildings of various sizes sat within the area, and there was a bustle of activity, unchecked by the strong bright light of the sun in the cloudless blue sky.
R'Taara looked beyond, trying to find some clue as to where they were: southern Ujanaka Province, or even Pakui. Did they really have to be so far from home? And it felt more like a military camp than anything medical, but she supposed the scope of the emergency did not allow for niceties.
"Mama?" Srira called, over the strange sounds and scents, his tail twitching.
"It'll be okay," she assured him.
Then a Ferasan male in a decorated uniform approached, flanked by armed guards, and he smiled and held out his arms, raising his voice over the surrounding noises of activity. "Welcome, Cousins! Welcome one and all! I am Ubara-Tul, Commander of Camp Sunnyday! Here you'll receive all the care and attention and treatment required! I know it's all been very rushed and I'm sure you're all anxious and tired and hungry, but I promise you, we will take care of your every need here! Now, we have more transports due in shortly, so you need to be quick tailed and follow me to the Processing Centre!"
R'Taara took her son's paw and led him with the others towards the nearest building, a drab, windowless structure. Around her, the fellow new arrivals spoke to each other, some voicing the same thoughts she had, others anxious to finally get treated for the horrible disease inflicted upon them by the Starfleet terrorists.
In the distance, a smaller, black building rose up, with tall, narrow chimneys, belching smoke and ash high into the sky. What was the purpose of
that
?
Before she could ponder it further, they arrived at the entrance, where more Ferasans were running checks on their datapads as to the identities of the new arrivals, while Ubara-Tul caught their attention, smiling once more. "Well, Cousins, now here we'll begin! Some of you will be berthed here in the Main Medical Labs, others we have alternative arrangements. And for all those lovely cubs, we have a very special surprise! We have an Entertainment Centre, where you'll get to eat and play and have all sorts of fun! You'll even get to meet Faro the Ferasan and have a great time! But you need to be good and obedient and follow our instructions!"
Tension rose among the new arrivals, sparked by the cubs not wishing to be separated from their families, and vice versa -- she understood that feeling. When Ferasans came to collect the cubs, Caitians began protesting, asking to escort the cubs to the Entertainment Centre, or to bring them in the Labs to ensure that everything was going to be fine. Cubs began wailing.
"Please, Cousins!" Ubara-Tul called out, "You need to stay calm! All is as it is meant to be!"
A Ferasan swept up Srira, as he cried out, "MAMA!"
That did it. R'Taara went to retrieve him, but another Ferasan roughly shoved her backwards. Horrified at being treated like that, driven by his cries, driven by her own fear and outrage, she turned to Ubara-Tul, striding up to him and demanding, "Give me my son back!"
The Camp Commander offered an open paw and a confident, mollifying tone. "Please, Ma'am, you need to stay calm... you need to follow instructions-"
"DAMN IT, I WANT MY CUB-"
The rest of her protest was lost as he drove his fist into her stomach. She doubled over, her pain blocking the sounds of horror from the other Caitians who witnessed it... but not the cries of Srira being taken away.
Or the growl of the Ferasan who now dropped to one knee beside R'Taara, grasping a pawful of her blonde mane and lifting up her head to face him, as he intoned, "You need to shut your bitch mouth, and do as you're told. Assuming you don't want to see any harm come to your whiny little cub." Louder now, he added, "Technicians! Get the Breeders inside and out of this heat! Take the rest to the Factory!"
R'Taara wanted to struggle, to protest, to cry out, to call for help from the other, equally-terrified Caitians. They couldn't do this. They had rights!
THEY COULDN'T DO THIS!
She still thought this as she was lifted up and dragged inside.
*
THREE HOURS, TWO MINUTES, FIFTY-NINE SECONDS, FIFTY-EIGHT, FIFTY-SEVEN...
Ferasan Occupational Headquarters, Capitol, First City, M'Mirl Province:
When he was a cub, Nusum-Adu would stay in the background and study his father as he dealt with others: other Pride members, subordinates, potential allies and definite enemies. He may have been the quietest, most unassuming of his father's three sons, but he also knew that he had been the most intelligent, the most observant. And, as he was the only one to have survived the Caitian Campaign, that must have meant something. He learned his father's many moods, his many scents and expressions and tone of voice.
Today, as he conducted the latest Status meeting, Nusum-Adu kept studying his father, seeing a concealed expectation, an anticipation. He had something planned, and he was keeping it to himself. And Nusum-Adu didn't like being kept out of the proverbial loop; especially not as he was now shouldering the burden of administering to the occupation of an entire planet, while his father took the glory.
They sat on opposite ends of the conference table, with the Pridemasters serving in various capacities here sat on one side of the table, providing their respective reports. The other side of the table was occupied by only two figures: Welros, the Vorta representative of the Dominion, silently observing the proceedings, and the Caitian Renthri Lessade, a former minor Governor here, whom Melem-Adu elevated to the symbolic post of First Minister in order to act as a mouthpiece, but who had since proved to be about as useful as a glove for a snake.
Then Nusum-Adu commenced. "Before we begin, Pridemaster Lu-Shalim has demanded an audience with the Master Governor on what he claims is urgent business."