Surefoot 10: Fast and the Furriest

And she acknowledged to herself why: in their last encounter, Arrington had exacerbated her general unpleasantness and duplicity by verbally abusing her nephew, Squad Leader Giles Arrington, and at one point tried to physically strike him, stopping only when Captain Hrelle caught her by the forearm and threatened her.

The matter was never formally raised, but obviously T'Varik had never forgotten it. And she found that despite numerous meditative exercises since that time, the execrable image of the woman raising her hand to smack Giles - one of T'Varik's cadets, under her direct supervision - continued to remain a primary memory association, along with the residual emotional reactions that T'Varik sought to repress.

The likelihood that T'Varik's current dealings with Captain Arrington were influenced by this memory could not logically be ignored, and she couldn't help but remember how she admonished Captain Hrelle for his own unprofessional attitude towards the Ferasans because of past associations - especially as Arrington was the senior officer here. "Of course, Captain. I will transmit a copy of our orders to you immediately. Mr Falok?"

Behind her, the Vulcan cadet replied, "Aye, Ma'am. Transferring now."

"Is there any other way I can assist you, Captain?" T'Varik asked.

Arrington cut off the transmission.

"Commander," Falok started after a moment, "Should we alert Captain Hrelle of the presence of the Impala?"

T'Varik considered it, but then replied, "No, Cadet. I am certain that Captain Arrington will make her presence known without our assistance." She was certain that Captain Hrelle had enough on his proverbial plate to deal with without having to worry about Lucille Arrington again.

*

Bloodstained Shroud, Recreation Room:

Sasha tried to ignore the faded stains of blood on the walls as she watched a select number of cadets and Ferasans squaring off, dribbling and passing a freshly-replicated basketball between them. The room was bare, with marked sections on the opposite walls that approximated where the two baskets would be in a proper play of the Terran game.

Once the Ferasans were given the basic rules of the game and grudgingly accepted the notion of competing in something that didn't involve weapons, the Surefoot cadets selected their best players: Giles, Eydiir, Rrori, Gamma Squad's Saurian Security cadet Orogg, and Beta Squad's Science Specialist Charlie Ingalls, a beanstalk of a human who towered almost as high as Orogg. They had removed their jackets and shirts and played in their vests, moving with a practised ease, expertly passing the ball to each other to reach their intended targets, time and again.

To their credit, the Ferasans, led by FourthDaughter, made a valiant effort considering they had never heard of the game before today, their superior strength and speed compensating for their lack of experience.

But as she watched the game, she couldn't help but notice how often their efforts were stymied by their lack of teamwork, by their desire to stride forward and score a point for their own personal glory, and more than once they ended up tripping each other over on the court.

It made sense. After the embarrassing incident on the bridge, Sasha had done some research on Ferasans and their dealings with other races. Initially misidentified as the Kzinti, a race depicted in some ancient Terran speculative fiction because of their similarities, the Ferasans had repeatedly attempted to attack both Terran and Caitian territories over the centuries, but were always defeated with relative ease.

And historians concluded that the fault lay with the Ferasans themselves, both because they tended to launch attacks without proper preparation, because of course preparation would imply - gasp! - that the Ferasans were less than perfect, and because they prized personal over group victory.

That's why she thought Rrori's choice of game was ideal for illustrating the differences between the groups. That, and she was notoriously bad at it and no one would think of involving her as anything more than a spectator with the other cadets.

And it took her mind off of the news that Kami had dropped, about her and her Dad considering having children. Not that it was a bad thing - in fact, Sasha was pleased about the notion of finally being a big sister, even a half-sister - but it was killing her that she couldn't tell anyone about it until the couple had finally decided on it-

"This is most fascinating!" Kit declared excitedly beside her, round eyes flared as he observed the match. "Respected Squad Leader, do you think this could help forge a positive relationship between our respective groups?"

She was about to respond, when she watched one of the Ferasans respond to Rrori successfully faking a pass to send the ball to Orogg by striking the Caitian in the muzzle, sending him to the ground.

The match stopped, and Sasha strode forward. "Hey! We told you no contact!" She glanced down at Rrori, who was shaking his head and helping himself back to his feet.

"This is a stupid game!" the Ferasan male declared. "For children! And you are all nothing but a miserable collection of aliens!"

"Then why are you losing?"

Swiftly the male growled and swung out again.

But Sasha was ready for him, dodging and striking with a move she learned in the Caitian martial arts of K'Gressor, doubling him over before delivering a second kick that sent him fully to the floor, astonishing his friends.

She readied to defend herself again, and felt the other cadets draw up behind her for backup. But the Ferasans just watched her, jaws dropped, leaving FourthDaughter to proclaim, "Who taught you that? That is an attack move from the K'Gorrdor discipline!"

She straightened up. "The Caitians call it K'Gressor. I'm assuming your two peoples came up with the same-"

"Why would the Caitians teach a human their combat arts?" a male sneered.

Sasha folded her arms across her chest. "My father is Caitian."

It was as if she had stopped time around the Ferasans. The one she knocked down helped himself back up and sniffed the air. "You are part Caitian? You're a mongrel?"

She stiffened, as her fellow cadets drew around her protectively. "Call me that again, you kussik. I dare you."

"She is Caitian."

All turned to the unfamiliar male voice: an adult Ferasan, tall but stooped, with sabreteeth shorter than most, dressed in leathers but lacking any of the weapons or other intimidating paraphernalia, his hands clasped together before it almost as if in prayer. He focused on Sasha as he continued to speak, "Her thoughts are Caitian, her feelings are Caitian. When Captain Hrelle took his place in her mother's heart, she took him in hers."

Sasha felt herself grow uneasy in the presence of this new arrival, not helped by FourthDaughter's contemptuous response to him. "What are you doing here?"

The older male appeared uncharacteristically unfazed by the attitude given him. "I was sent by Consul Treshek to invite Squad Leader Sasha Hrelle to join her father and his wife at a formal dinner."

"He did?" Sasha asked.

He nodded. "He did not wish to disturb you with a communication, and sent me." His furred brow furrowed further. "I believe his exact words were, 'Sorry to ruin your time, Runt of the Litter, but duty calls'."

She smirked; yes, that was her Dad. She looked to her friends. "See you guys back on the ship. Try not to kill each other."

"Yes," FourthDaughter sneered at the new arrival. "Leave, Telepath. Your presence offends us."

Sasha was shocked that they would treat one of their own kind like this, especially in front of strangers. But again, the male remained composed as he indicated the doorway out.

She followed the older male out of the court and down some corridor, seeing no one else. He was quiet, until he announced, "Thank you."

"Excuse me? I'm not sure what you're thanking me for."

"Your thoughts. You felt sympathy for the way my people treat me. I am not accustomed to such feelings."

She slowed down, staring at him. "FourthDaughter called you 'Telepath'-"

He stopped and looked back, smiling warmly. "Yes. When my abilities surfaced during my first Season, I was taken, trained and named as a Telepath, my gifts enhanced, before being assigned to serve this Pride. I have done so faithfully for many years now."

"Really? They don't seem-"

"Grateful?" He shrugged. "My people recognise and value the talent, but still believe that it is dishonourable. I am not trained in fighting, am not allowed to carry weapons, and despite my record I am unlikely to have my deeds considered worthy of granting me a name other than Treshek's Telepath." He offered an approximation of a smile. "Thank you again for your thoughts."

Sasha frowned now. "I don't know if anyone has ever told you, but-"

"Forgive me, Squad Leader, but we are unable to switch off our gifts. It is a burden that overwhelms us at times, causes many mental health issues, and has us avoiding other people as much as possible to keep from drowning in their thoughts."

She shook her head, trying to grasp what it would be like to be constantly in other people's minds, hearing their thoughts, unable to switch it off. It had to be-

"Terrible, yes," he confirmed. "At times." He glanced around, as if there might be people in this otherwise deserted corridor to hear him speak besides Sasha. "But I must confess to feeling envious of you and your people. It is... refreshing... to hear such varied thoughts, not just from different races but... but thoughts of camaraderie, of friendship, and even love, all genuine. You are not obsessed with ambition or aggression or suspicion." He nodded. "You are most... fortunate."

"Umm... thank you. Could we maybe-"

"Take you to your father? Yes, my apologies. I indulge myself too much sometimes." He continued, Sasha following, turning a corner and indicating an open doorway where a Ferasan guard stood outside. "Please, enter."

She was distracted by the sight of the guard outside what was supposed to be a formal dinner, so much that she had stepped into the room before realising that it was completely empty.

Then all thoughts were swallowed up in the pain of a neuroleptic beam striking her from behind. She collapsed, all motor control lost but still feeling the impact of her head striking the bare metal floor. Before unconsciousness swallowed her fully, she heard Treshek's Telepath say, "Prepare her for dinner..."

*

The cadets emerged back into the Promenade, noting the Ferasans keeping a respectful distance from them following the basketball game - for which Eydiir was grateful. She did not like them, and was beginning to understand how Rrori felt.

"Hungry?" Giles asked her, nodding to the food stalls offering numerous grilled and fried meats - and no vegetables whatsoever - their collective scents enticing. "I doubt if Sasha will bring back a doggy bag from her dinner."

The Capellan eyed him. "You believe they are serving dog?"

He grinned. "An old Terran expression; if you couldn't finish your meal in a restaurant, you could ask to have the rest taken home in a bag, with the excuse of bringing it back for your dog."

She grunted; humans loved expounding on their many little slang words and expressions. "Knowing Sasha as we both do, how likely is it that she'll not finish a meal?"

"Mr Arrington."

Eydiir stopped along with Giles and the rest of them at the woman's voice, turning to see an older Terran woman with red hair and a Starfleet uniform - with four Captain's pips - approach. Giles' face reddened. "Aunt Lucille?"

The woman stopped and stood ramrod straight in front of them, her face hardened and her hands behind her. "That's not the correct form of address when speaking to a superior officer, Cadet."

Eydiir stiffened as well. She had been made aware via Sasha of the rift that had arisen between Giles and his family, because of the latter's attempts to coerce Giles into spying on Captain Hrelle. To his credit and his honour, Giles had refused, and as far as she knew, while he heard from his father from time to time, none of the others had made contact with him since then.

Now beside her, Giles straightened up. "Apologies... Captain."

Arrington fidgeted a little, and for a second Eydiir thought that the other woman might do that "just kidding" thing that humans seemed fixated upon. But instead she produced a small, brightly-wrapped and ribboned box. "Your father sent this: your Christmas present. Since you couldn't be bothered to come home, I've had to serve as a messenger."

Giles grudgingly accepted it. "Thank you, Captain. Did you... did you come out here to deliver this?"

She made a harsh sound. "Do you honestly think I would divert my ship light years just to do that? Where's Hrelle hidden himself?"

"Uh, he and Counselor Hrelle having a private dinner with Consul Treshek."

The older woman grunted. "Of course, a private dinner, that's typical of Hrelle."

Suddenly Eydiir found herself saying loudly, "That's not the correct form of address when speaking about a superior officer, Captain."

Now Arrington turned to her, drawing closer with a face of cold hostility. "Who the hell are you?"

Eydiir came to attention. Just. "Cadet Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas, reporting as ordered, Ma'am."

Arrington sneered, practically in her face now. "'Daughter-of-Kaas'? What kind of name is that supposed to be?"

She was obviously trying to intimidate her - a waste of time as far as the Capellan was concerned. "It's supposed to be my kind of name.... Captain."

"And would you care to explain your disrespectful remark?"

"No disrespect was intended, Captain," Eydiir lied, "I was merely reminding you that Captain Hrelle is your superior officer, by virtue of his seniority. And that you should show him the proper respect, the same respect you want and deserve from us."

Arrington's eyes widened, and her pink face reddened. "How dare you-"

"Excuse me, Ma'am?"

Arrington twisted about. "And who the hell are you, you little brat?"

Jonas never flinched, merely stood at attention with wide open eyes and polite smile. "Deputy Squad Leader Jonas Ostrow, reporting as ordered, Ma'am. Forgive the interruption, Captain, but I very much wanted to meet you, and thank you."

"Thank me? What for?"

"You inspired me. When I started, my Secondary study was Medicine, but then I read about how you took command of the Columbia when your Captain was injured during that Tholian attack, and you managed to get your ship and crew to safety. It was amazing! Now I've switched studies to Command. It's not been easy doing that mid-course, but it'll be worth it, if I can be half the officer you are." He held out his hand. "May I have the pleasure of shaking your hand, Ma'am?"

Arrington stared, dumbfounded, before finally offering her own hand. "Yes, well, you're welcome, Deputy Squad Leader. Good luck with that." She stepped back, giving a glare at Eydiir and Giles before finishing with, "Carry on."

As Arrington departed, and Eydiir stood amazed at Jonas' expert defusing of the situation, even if he partly lied to get what he wanted, Neraxis leaned in and asked, "How the hell did Scrappy manage to stay a virgin for so long?"

*

Bloodstained Shroud, Consul's Quarters:

Like most everything else involving the Ferasans, the dining room was stark and Spartan and sharp and uncomfortable to the Caitian visitors, but the view from the wide observation windows of the Surefoot almost made being there worth it for Hrelle.

Treshek noticed him looking out. "I suppose you do not often get the opportunity to see your vessel from the outside, Captain. You must be proud."

He grunted, but acknowledged, "Yes, Consul, I am. She's a fine old ship."

Sitting opposite him, SecondSon sneered. "Proud? Of that old wreck? It has one phaser bank and, what? A dozen photon torpedoes? That's nothing!"

Hrelle stared back. "Size isn't everything, cub. You must have said that to others enough times."

The young Ferasan remained defiant. "My Pride's flagship could blow your little wreck to pieces!"

"Yeah, probably."

SecondSon blinked in confusion, and then continued. "Did you not hear what I said? I insulted your ship!"

"It wasn't an insult, it was a fact. The Surefoot has minimal combat capabilities, and is over 75 years old; a loud enough fart onboard her could probably put her in Spacedock for repairs."

"We could crush it! Just as I could crush you!"

"So? I could get crushed by having a ton of shit dropped on me. It's still shit."

"SecondSon," Kami butted in, leaning forward and smiling, obviously trying to defuse the situation. "You said 'my Pride's flagship'. Are you not a member of Consul Treshek's Pride, then?"

"No, Counselor, he is not," Treshek answered. "His Pride, like mine, is prominent on our world, and when he heard I was taking the Shroud to this sector, his Pridemaster asked me to take SecondSon onboard as my subcommander."

"Oh?" She stayed focused on the cub, offering an impressed look. "Such responsibility at your age! But you bear it well."

SecondSon bristled, looking suspicious, before acknowledging grudgingly, "Yes. Yes, I do. You are clever, for a female."

Kami smiled again. "Why thank you, SecondSon. I can't tell you how that makes me feel."

"Actually, she could," Hrelle corrected dryly. "But it probably wouldn't end well."

The door slid open, and an older Ferasan male curiously bereft of weapons and armour entered, carrying a tray of golden drinking cups, setting one before each of the four at the table, as Treshek took control of the conversation again. "Having studied the history of our peoples, I have seen that we have far to travel before we can acknowledge common ground.

But that does not mean we shouldn't try. After all, it was once considered impossible that the Klingons and the Federation could end up allies. Or for that matter, many of the founding members of the Federation itself." He lifted up his cup. "Here's to... What Will Come."

Hrelle glanced at Kami, before lifting up his own cup. "What Will Come." His tongue confirmed what his nose had already told him: the Ferasan drink was strong and bitter, like so much else about their people.

But then he checked himself. Treshek had proven to be a surprise, offering candour and civility and a calming influence to the hotheaded SecondSon. The older Ferasan, who was about Hrelle's age, was making this almost bearable. He set down his cup. "Is that why you're out here, Consul? To facilitate What Will Come?"

"Indeed, Captain. Much has been said of my people, and not all of it true; understanding will only come about when ignorance is swept away." He smiled. "And if we can manage a profit as well, that would not be unwelcome either."

"And what do you have to offer the Galaxy?" Kami asked, sipping at her own drink without showing any negative reaction.

"Well, in addition to the sights to be found on Ferasa Prime, we have abundant riches of topaline, kivas, trillium... and of course our own skills as warriors, hunters, bodyguards. With the Treaty of Sirius, our young people do not have the opportunity to win their names in battle as they might have in times past." He shrugged. "What else can we do?"

Hrelle shrugged back. "You can always expand the definition of what constitutes honourable service. One can serve their people through more than combat: I know that diplomats, scientists, doctors..." He glanced up at the elderly male who had brought in the drinks. "Telepaths... they all can contribute in ways far more profoundly than through battle or single combat."