Spooker
patreon
Grass Eaters 3 | 87 | Sewers
🕑 Added 2025-05-14 15:47:01 +0000 UTCDominion Navy Logistics Base 02 (Grantor City), Grantor-3
POV: Insunt, Granti Intelligence (General)
“What in the Prophecy is going on here?”
Insunt bared his teeth in a big smile. Smiling was one of those things that the Granti were still getting used to. Casual display of their massive canines during the occupation, in front of a Znosian, was an automatic death sentence, even if they bore no ill will and even if it wasn’t directed towards the natural prey species.
But here, the punishment would almost have been justified. There was nothing genial about his massive grin, and it absolutely was directed towards the State Security officer in charge of the large Dominion Marine base.
“I am here to take control of this base,” Insunt declared. He glanced at her nametag. “Officer Slartchin, how are you doing this fine afternoon?”
The State Security officer’s whiskers quivered. In rage or fear, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t really care. “You— you— Come back in seven months when our evacuations from this Prophecy-forsaken planet is complete!”
“Hm… I don’t think I will. This is our planet, after all.” Insunt slightly shifted his body, as if emphasizing his brigade’s newly acquired armored carrier behind him. There were some early fears in the exiled Granti leadership that Grantor wouldn’t be able to fully stock up on its defensive armaments during the one-year armistice period, but that was before they had a look at the Terran Republic’s seemingly bottomless inventory of “surplus policing equipment” being retired from their law enforcement units in former Red Zone colonies.
Slartchin thumped her foot. “You are violating your own ceasefire treaty? You will take full responsibility for this?!”
“Let’s not point any claws, Officer. Your people breached the ceasefire sixteen times in the last Grantor day. And over three hundred incidents in the last four weeks.”
“It’s always your people shooting first! And look at you, here! We can add another violation to that list!”
“I haven’t fired on you. We are just going to come in for…” Insunt said nonchalantly. He turned to his second-in-command. “Major, what are we going in for?”
His deputy glanced at her datapad. “Health and safety inspections for the sewers main below the base, General. Matter of civilian administration, which is squarely within our jurisdiction and right as part of the treaty.”
“Pack of predator lies!” the officer thumped her foot again. “This is obviously just pretext for your sinister takeover plans!”
Insunt ignored her and pinched his nose in mock disgust. “Ah, right, sewer inspections! Ugh. Looks like we’ll be here for a while, won’t we?”
Slartchin’s paw went straight for the handgun in her holster, and her squad at the gates tightened their grips on their rifles.
Insunt kept his shoulder relaxed. He stared her down, empty-pawed, as if daring her to do something. Anything.
The State Security officer took a nervous glance at his “police” APC’s 25 mm autocannon trained on her face and seemed to come to her senses, at least partially. She said angrily, “This is still our base. We had an agreement! Your people agreed you will not take over our bases until the evacuation is complete!”
“How about this?” Insunt pretended to think for a moment and then lowered his voice. “There is an easier way. How about… I do you a favor, Officer Slartchin?”
The officer narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but at least she wasn’t gripping her handgun so tightly any more. “A favor? What favor?”
Insunt continued conspiratorially, “I hear your people are having some trouble getting your evacuation ships here. Trouble back home?”
She reddened. “That’s none of your business, abomination! And your ships in orbit are breaking the treaty too, harassing our unarmed evacuation ships with their prolonged inspections!”
“Not what I heard, Officer. In fact, I heard they simply aren’t sending any more ships for you guys.” That was, in fact, one of the things that the New Granti Navy was doing, intercepting the Dominion Navy evacuation ships under the guise of security inspections. It was really more for training and practice for the fledgeling Granti fleets, a purpose they were taking seriously. For good reason. They were going to be the frontline when the armistice expired.
But recently, even those incoming ships were more rare. There really just weren’t many ships coming out of the Dominion anymore.
“More predator lies,” Slartchin hissed. But this time, her denial wasn’t fooling anyone, not even herself.
“Now, my eyes might be deceiving me, but it doesn’t look to me like any of you are from around here.” Insunt chuckled lightly as his own joke. “And I’m sure all of your people want to go home. And I… just might know someone who makes unofficial deliveries into the Dominion.”
“What are you saying, predator? And what do you mean, unofficial deliveries?”
“Humanitarian supplies.”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind. It’s not important… So, how’s that for a favor? All you have to do is come with us. We’ll conduct a few interviews, all completely voluntary, of course. And then we’ll put you all on a ship headed to the border. You can be home in a couple of months. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“I will never betray the Prophecy,” she replied coldly. “And we would rather all perish here and be eaten than to help you predators kill more of our people.”
“Ah well, I tried the easy way.” Insunt sighed and stepped back.
The State Security officer and her troops tensed up. One of her security detail pressed a paw to her ear, speaking urgently into her headset. A pair of operators behind the guard house ducked down, taking cover behind a set of sandbags as they prepared to set up a machine gun—
“Hold!” About a dozen Dominion Navy spacers in combat fatigues hopped up to the gate from the direction of the base main office, each holding one of their signature space-black submachine guns. The officer at its head yelled at the gates again, “Hold!”
Insunt felt his deputy tense next to him. “General?”
He squeezed her shoulders in reassurance and shook his head gently.
“Base commander! Just in time!” Slartchin greeted the Navy officer, gesturing animatedly with her paws. “Have your spacers set up a perimeter around the gates, Seven Whiskers. Make sure that these predators do not sneak in with their excuses and—”
Click.
She stopped talking, staring at the fresh barrel pointed at her face.
Insunt nudged his deputy quietly. “Watch this. It’s about to get good.”
“Seven Whiskers?” Slartchin asked in a high-pitched voice. And Insunt was still unsure whether that was fear or anger. “What are you doing?! What is the meaning of this?”
The seven whiskers waited for his squad to fully surround and forcefully disarm her much smaller squad at the gatehouse before he formally addressed her. “Officer Slartchin, you are under arrest.”
“Arrest?! By whose authority? Did you forget who I am?! I am a State Security officer. You and your base are under my direct—”
“By my authority,” the seven whiskers replied calmly, his weapon not wavering from its target.
“Your authority! What authority?!”
“As the ranking commander of the Free Znosian Navy, I have been authorized to detain traitors to the species.”
“Traitors— no— no!” Slartchin sputtered.
“You are charged with abuse of power, conspiracy to commit treason, and the murder of at least—” The seven whiskers looked down at a strip of paper on his paw and then glanced at the Granti formation waiting patiently outside the base. “Wow… that’s a lot of murderin’. You State Security folks have sure been busy. At least we won’t have any trouble finding witnesses.”
“You— you are with the schismatics! Your places in the Prophecy are forfeited. Your bloodlines will all be terminated!”
“Eh, I never planned on having kids anyway,” he said. “And we can add to your charges… threatening a naval officer.”
Slartchin eyed his weapon coldly. “You’ll never hold me for long. The people in this base, on this planet, they will recognize my authority over yours. You’ll be the one in a pen by the end of the day!” she taunted.
The seven whiskers’ voice turned bitter and cold. “And more charges, obstruction of justice—”
“You’ll never be able to hold me!”
“Obstruction of justice, resisting arrest, attempted murder of a naval officer—”
She frowned. “Huh? Idiot. I’m not resisting or trying—”
Bang.
Slartchin dropped dead to the ground with a big new hole in between her fluffy ears.
Rat-at-at-at-at.
The seven whiskers’ squad followed his cue. At point blank range, they executed Slartchin’s security detail ruthlessly. Without complaint, without mercy. And, being the well-prepared Znosian troopers they were, without casualties. Wordlessly, they split up into pairs and began dragging the bodies of the State Security troops away from the gates.
Psychopathic Grass Eaters…
At least they’re our psychos.
“I see the sewers inspection team is here,” the seven whiskers said dryly as he approached the waiting Granti.
Insunt tapped his foot. “Took you guys long enough.”
The seven whiskers snorted. “Impatient predators. We’re the second base in the area, as far as I’m aware. I’ve been too busy to follow the other units on my secret radio, though.”
“Fifth,” Insunt corrected. “Fifth base this morning. And that’s in Grantor City. Our cells in Prunei secured full control earlier this morning… Well, it’s yesterday for them now, given the time zones. You’d think my lieutenant down there’s gunning for my job, the way he’s been pulling overtime. And we’re dealing with an annoying number of your loyalists here, what with this being the capital and all.”
“Bah. No need to worry. The Navy and Marine bases on the outskirts of the city will come around soon. Lots of hatchling commanders out there, and a bunch of their State Security officers got liquidated last week… Some incident at an air defense base, I heard.”
Insunt frowned. “I haven’t heard from some of those bases yet. You think they’re having trouble? I can send a few of my—”
“Nah, we got full control of the armories last night. They’re probably just trying the easy way first.”
Insunt looked down at the trails of blood smeared away from where Slartchin and her security had been eliminated. “I just hope their superiors are more reasonable than yours.”
“Can hardly be less reasonable, can they? I’d be more worried about the State Security bases. Their internal security is tight, and we’ve been having trouble getting into them. You guys get permission from your Great Predator handlers to flatten those with your new jets?”
“Nah. They’re not very flexible on that subject, with the armistice still officially in place and all that. But… I’m not too worried. We’re in no hurry there.”
“No?”
“Because if we start fighting them with Terran help, that comes with monitoring; we’ll be obligated to give them a chance to surrender. Then, we’ll need to give them trials and all that. Very tedious.”
The Znosian scratched his ear in confusion. “Wasn’t that exactly what your government said it was going to do? To bring all our State Security officers to trial?”
“I mean… that’s what we say to all the other, sane people in the galaxy.” Insunt shrugged. “But if you guys get to them before we do during the period of the armistice, that’s an internal Znosian affair, isn’t it?”
“I will never understand you predators and your irrational politics. But… noted. For another day.”
“For another day,” Insunt agreed. With a gesture, his deputy brought up a large cloth sack about twice the size of the Znosians. He accepted it from her and dropped it in front of the seven whiskers with a grunt. “Here. A small token of our appreciation. For more… fruitful cooperation in the future.”
The Znosian sniffed at the massive sack. “A reward? We… didn’t do this for a reward.”
“Think of it more like a housewarming gift.”
“What is it?” he sniffed again.
“Fresh carrots. It’s a root, for eating. We grew it here, but it was originally from—”
“We know exactly what that is.” The seven whiskers then excitedly muttered to one of his troopers, “Secure this and keep it under close watch. No one touches a stick of it without my permission.” Three of them took possession of the sack and began dragging it away with a hop in their step, a bigger hop than normal anyway.
He turned back to Insunt. “Thank you, predator.”
“No problem. That’s what good neighbors are for… We just have one last thing: we were here to search through your base and interview some of your people. Suspects, criminals, witnesses. Just to get a full accounting for our side for what happened during your occupation. Responsibility assignment and all that… I’m sure you understand.”
“Responsibility assignment, huh? I can make this easier for you… help you weed out those in our ranks who have… offended your people, but we will need to retain some of our combat strength for the moment. After all, we do have a schism to fight. Do you have any flexibility in this matter?”
The Granti intelligence officer nodded after only the briefest hesitation. “My current objectives are… fluid. What are you offering?”
The Znosian pulled up his datapad and began browsing through its screens for a moment. “I have a list of personnel who have reported killing predators during the occupation. Would a subset of these be enough for you?”
“Possibly. What about… all capital criminals, six whiskers and below?”
“Would your people be satisfied with… five and below for whiskerborn for combat roles, and seven whiskers and below for all others?” the Znosian officer counter-offered after some more searching on his datapad. “And of course, all those who actively resisted our transition of power.”
He handed his datapad to Insunt. Insunt inspected the full list on the screen. It was a sizable list. He nodded his agreement after a minute. “This works for us. You’ll… carry out the sentences?”
“Not a problem. We’ll send you proof of full responsibility by…” The officer glanced at his watch for a moment. “Sunset?”
Apparently, due process was not very big in Znosian culture, even in the newly formed Free Znosian Navy units. That made things easier for Insunt…
Internal Znosian affair, after all.
“Deal.” Insunt held out his paw. And after the slightest moment’s hesitation, the Znosian placed his tiny paw on his much bigger one to seal the deal.
“Deal.”
The Znosian base commander turned and passed the datapad to one of his subordinates and nodded. The officer put a paw to her headset and spoke into it in low tones.
“Given that it is unlikely the Dominion sends more evacuation ships for us, our departure from your planet might not be—”
Insunt kept his face neutral, but his heart skipped a beat in relief at the emphasis. There were any number of reasons for rebellion. Some Znosian rogue units did it out of desperation; others, for a variety of grievances that ranged from the existential to the downright petty. On the subject of future treatment of non-Znosian aliens, most took a contrarian position to the Dominion. But still, respect for the Granti and their sovereignty was not always a given. A few rogue units awaiting evacuation had actually taken the position that they were losing the war because State Security was not effective enough at killing predators, with the implication that they could do better if they were in charge; after night visits from Insunt’s unit of saboteurs, most of those were now gone, or at least had the sense not to broadcast their views too loudly.
“An unavoidable delay will not be a problem for our government, for cooperative units,” he reassured the Znosian officer.
“If, during our extended stay, we can be of service… Especially regarding those stubborn State Security bases you were talking about earlier…”
“We will give you a call.” Insunt nodded. “Pleasure working—”
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Insunt’s head snapped towards the rhythmic, purposeful-sounding gunshots in the direction of the base barracks before looking back to the unsurprised expression on the seven whiskers’ face.
“Like I said, by sunset.”
Insunt gave him a brief nod and continued with a little more enthusiasm, “Pleasure working with professionals, Seven Whiskers.”
The Znosian’s mouth curled up slightly in an odd-looking but serviceable smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”
Comments
Spooker
It's common branding, from a bunch of unrelated sources. The Red Zone's puppets call themselves that, as a way to sort of taunt the Buns when they were trying to push through to Bunnyland. Plodvi's little book club calls themselves that, probably got the idea from the Terran propaganda on their radio. These guys here are suborned by or just working with Granti intelligence. They're not working together, yet, but given that there's very little locality overlap, there's not going to be infighting between these guys ala People's Front of Judea style.
Bayliner1980
I'm a little confused on the origins of this free znosian navy. Are these the same guys from the red zone? Are they related to dvibif? Or did they just start by themselves?
M
I wonder how many factions the Dominion will split into...
