“It was a joke Ok?”

  “Well. It wasn’t funny. We fight, whether it’s Christmas Day or not. And take that stupid hat off.”

  “Do we get presents?” Bikky laughed as he said it, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Ho bloody no! Now shut up and stay alert.”

  Bikky laughed, “That was quite good… for you.” He returned his Santa hat to his pocket.

  To their relief, no more had landed through the night. They were bashing cross-country to one of the drop ships that had landed away from the other four. The three humans had point, the cats were spread wide covering the edges.

  They checked in every five minutes, sounding off. They each had the QI’s terrain map with its tags although the cats thought it was Feebee doing this with the help of magic. A fact the green, ever present, mote re-enforced.

  The QI was working with the drone. No Drexari had been tagged yet, but it was tracking them and their drop ship, which they were closing in on.

  Feebee called a halt. “We rest for five, drink some water, eat your rations and watch the perimeter.”

  It was hot and they were making good time; it would have been quicker if Feebee hadn’t brought Hissy. Fifty kilos of brass instrument would slow anyone normal down, whether they’d been shot in the back half a day earlier or not. But Feebee was far from normal. In fact, she continued to get weirder.

  It wasn’t just the military nanites; or the QI wrapped around her nervous system; or the sentient green mote that occasionally popped into existence near her. Although that was a recent addition to the weirdness. It was … what had the medic called it?

  Her unique DNA signature.

  She’d looked that up, even asked the QI. The best the QI would give her was that while everyone’s DNA was unique, hers had codons within it that were particularly unique. One set in particular had to do with the levels of a Ubiquinol analogue she produced and the way her body utilised it. The uniqueness in her DNA that coded for them was “other worldly” and made her energy production “scarily efficient”. “Uniquely unique”, the medic had said.

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  At times like this she was thankful for her uniqueness. Hissy seemed to be getting heavier.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ was all the QI would say on the subject.

  They were in a clearing. The cats sat together, the humans slightly apart from them but also together.

  “Shit, are you for real?” It was Bikky. He’d opened the ration kit that Feebee had issued them.

  Before Bikky could say more, she held up her hand for quiet, even the cats hushed. And watched.

  She checked her watch, more for effect than for anything else.

  “Based on ship’s time, Happy Christmas boys.” And with that, Feebee produced a ration pack and started munching her way through rehydrated turkey with roast potatoes and gravy.

  “Hey. Alpha-2.”

  He turned, still eating, alternating between tubes of nutrient paste labelled ‘Eggnog’ and ‘Cranberry sauce.’ Flecks of the yellow and red pastes were caught in his beard.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Tom Thomson ma’am. They call me Tom Tom. Well Alpha-3 does, I mean Bikky.”

  She laughed, “And you know, the cranberry paste is for the turkey.”

  He nodded, “Tastes good on its own.”

  Bikky then piped up, “This explains why the camo wrapping had operation Yuletide on it.”

  “Indeed, I suggest you keep the ‘Holiday Cheer’ stim shots for when the action starts.” She continued, “There should also be some high-energy ‘Gingerbread’ protein bars in there too; keep ‘em for later.”

  One of the cats approached, the others a step behind, curious and aloof in a distinctively feline way. It pointed to their food.

  “How? Our claw eats same each day.”

  “If we tried to do that, there be a mutiny.”

  “I heard, but did not believe. Is true?”

  “Kinda true. Our people like their food.”

  “Who is?” asked the cat, pointing.

  “Before I answer,” Feebee stood, “Your Charlie-4.” The cat nodded. It was a statement. The cat purred. “Are you and your team named, do you have names?”

  The cat raised itself to its full height. “Rear Guard – Anchor.”

  “Nice to meet you Anchor. I am Feebee.” She covered her eyes with both hands, the tips of her fingers resting on her forehead. Then opened her hands palms out, making a triangle.

  “This gesture is a sign of respect, of hope.” She made the sign again, “It’s called the Diri.”

  Anchor nodded. A simple, direct response.

  The other cats stood. Then one by one they spoke; their clipped and efficient manner reflected in the translation. Role and name.

  “Overwatch – Kestrel.” Charlie-1’s tag updated to Kestrel.

  “Nice to meet you Kestrel. I am Feebee, The Silent One.” And again, Feebee made Diri to Kestrel. This was repeated with the two remaining cats.

  “Point – Vex, short for Vexation.”

  “Close – Grim.”

  The cats reflected the Diri back to Feebee.

  She then stood tall in front of them and called the two marines to attention behind her. “We welcome you to our team. Anchor, Vex, Kestrel and Grim.” Feebee then turned to the marines inviting them to speak.

  “I am Tom Thomson, known as Tom Tom,” said Alpha-2 making Diri to them.

  “I am Oliver Bickson, known as Bikky.” He made Diri.

  The cats as one echoed the Diri back to the marines.

  Anchor spoke, “We are Nightclaw.”

  Anchor approached Feebee and again pointed, this time making it clearer. She was pointing at Hissy, “What is?”

  “This is Va’thruan, ‘The One that Bends the Fault.’ But I call her Hissy.”

  The cats made Diri to Hissy, she responded with a long deep note in response.

  “Cats like. You play.”

  “Later, we’ve been here long enough. Vex, take point. Bikky, you and Anchor cover our rear. Grim, Tom Tom and Kestrel, on me. Let’s go kill some Drexari.”