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Grass Eaters 3 | 69 | Crazy
🕑 Added 2025-04-02 15:47:01 +0000 UTCHigh Council Palace, Malgeiru-3
POV: Cerbos, Malgeir (High Councilor of the Federation)
“High Councilor, the default penalties for that contract are astronomical. We can’t afford to shuffle that one around. Our only course of action is to take out additional loans with the Schprissian Central Bank. The Terrans have offered to subsidize a few of them, but they are in the hole themselves with their new naval construction projects.”
Cerbos shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he shrugged. “We are at war. Whatever is necessary to win, we will have to make do. Our cubs and grand-cubs may question us for saddling them with these terms, but at least they will survive.”
“Yes, High Councilor. On to the next agenda item, there has been a growing number of Federation citizens complaining about the censorship measures that the Navy has implemented on reporting on battle losses near the—”
“Can’t we just censor those?”
“We can, but there is—”
“That sounds like a problem that solves itself then.”
“There is an additional issue. Two well-known anti-alien Senators from the Terran Republic have been complaining loudly about these measures, and on top of that, they are spreading misinformation about us in their own media.”
“Again?”
“Yes, High Councilor.”
“Is it that Senator Eisson? I thought he promised last year that they were on board now—”
“No, it’s another two this time.”
“Can we get someone to—”
“These Senators have been evidently unsusceptible to bribery. Instead, they have used those offers as further evidence of our corruption. Our sources say the speaking fees they receive for speeches railing against Republic assistance to the Federation far dwarf what we can possibly pay them to stop."
“Ah. Hm… That is troubling news. Does their ambassador know about this?”
“Yes, High Councilor. Their Minister for Alien Affairs seems… embarrassed about this, but there is nothing she can do. Their own laws do not prohibit such meddling in our internal affairs, or if they do, they are not practically enforced. She did suggest that we enact corruption reforms, and I’ve told her that we are trying our best, but the war must come first.”
“Well, it looks like there is not much we can do. On the subject of censorship, perhaps we can coordinate with the Terrans for some improvement. Lift it in some areas without compromising our fleet positions and such.”
“Yes, High Councilor. I will ask them for proposals, even if they must involve their digital intelligences.” She seemed to shudder involuntarily at that but settled down immediately.
“Good. Next?”
“A group of Terrans who have emigrated to the Federation have filed a petition with our authorities on Datsot. They have been— they have formed close relationships with some of our people.”
“Like friends.”
“Closer. Marriage.”
“Ah… Don’t we have those with the Granti and Schpriss?”
“Yes, and they want a similar official recognition of their unions. It is important for them.”
He nodded. “I understand. It is important that society recognizes the harmonious relationship between couples, even if procreation is not biologically possible. It is a near-universal experience that strengthens the bonds between creatures, a beautiful kinship that all can understand and celebrate. A bond that allows people of all kind to share joy in success, give them a paw to hold in tough times, and to join clans together—”
“Actually, no… they say there are tax exemptions they can get within their own Republic for being married. That is primarily what they are after.”
“Ah. That is… hm. I guess that is a fair reason too.”
“Should I—”
“Yes, make the necessary adjustment to our laws. No one should object. Next?”
“Some good news. Federation currency adjusters have revised their projections of year-over-year inflation down to twenty-five percent.”
“Wow! Excellent! Finally some great news!”
“Indeed. With the use of those new Terran spreadsheet programs, they’ve managed to calculate a new optimal interest rate that balances unemployment rates—”
“Hold on. High Councilor, I just got a message— There is something you need to see.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a high-priority FTL feed from the Terrans. It’s from… Znos. They’re broadcasting something live for everyone to see.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Grand Chancellery, Schpriss Prime
POV: Sonfio, Schpriss (Chancellor of the Confederacy)
“Is that…” Sonfio extended his claw involuntarily as the image on the screen shifted.
“We believe it is, Chancellor. The planet-moving engines that the Znosians are rumored to have. Some of our scientists have attempted to replicate them based on wreckage of Znosian ships, but…”
“And the Terrans have them.”
“Yes, and it confirms some of our intelligence reports from one of the border Znosian systems. Of one of their… splinter factions utilizing something similar to invade a single Znosian border planet.”
Intelligence was supposed to be one of the Schprissians’ main advantages over all of their neighbors. They had their eyes and ears everywhere, but what could you do when a new species came along and moved faster than you could confirm information reliably?
Sonfio flicked his tail uncertainly. “That is… troubling in many ways.”
“Indeed. Our primary concern is our investments in the fuel relay network we built to supply the Terran Republic’s ships between Sol and Datsot…” They’d been strong-pawed into that one, but it was still supposed to return a good chunk of cash over the next twenty years. “With this technology, they could potentially find a way to circumvent the monopoly they’ve granted us. We also think they knew this at the time they gave us assurances they would respect—”
“Of course they did.” Sonfio sighed deeply. “They’ll respect their agreements… It’s just that the agreements didn’t mention what would happen if they found a way to… somehow turn their stars into refueling stations… or something. With these planetary engines, anything is possible.”
“Actually, due to our initial caution, we bought heavily into a Terran insurance scheme that ensures our expected profit losses would be limited, but yes… it seems like our monopoly on their fuel supply would last at most ten years if— when they fully utilize this technology. And obviously, this adds… fuel to the rumors that the destruction of their gas giants…”
“That their destruction was intentional. Strategic, somehow.”
“Yes, Chancellor.”
“And they’re now using the same thing on…” Sonfio squinted at the markers on the screen. They were labelled in four or five languages, none of them Schprissian.
“Znos-4-C. That’s the Znosian naval high command moon.”
Sonfio swallowed. “That’s the heart of the Dominion Navy… Aren’t the Terran afraid of… escalation?”
His advisor nodded solemnly. “Our ambassador did pose that question to one of their military officials privately. They said… Ahem.” She cleared her throat to read off her datapad. “The critters sent an extermination fleet to our home system. Escalation? We’ve been thoroughly escalated. This is the first shot of our return fire.”
“First… shot?” Sonfio asked with growing alarm.
She pointed at the footage. “They claim there is nothing stopping them from doing what they’re about to do to this planet… to every planet of the Dominion. Our military analysts have some doubts about whether they meant that in the literal sense. The resource costs of this campaign are enormous for the Terrans, and it seems unlikely they can do this to more than another three or four Znosian planets before their ships have to return to the Republic for rearming. But…”
“But they have been true to their threats so far,” Sonfio concluded.
“Yes, Chancellor.”
Sonfio stared at the screen for another half minute. Then, he shrugged. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about that. All we can do is handle our own affairs in response.”
“What do you want me to tell the naval chiefs, Chancellor?”
Sonfio made the obvious call. “Lower our readiness to peacetime levels. With the increased involvement of the Terrans, this threat has never been further away from our borders.”
That is the only logical response, after all. The budgetary savings will be enormous.
“Yes, Chancellor. What about the Terran ambassador’s recent demand that we increase our defense expenditures so we can send them ships to backfill their regular duties?”
Sonfio waved a paw dismissively. “Bah. A formality. Simply shift our payrolls and retirement payout structures to pad the deficit to their demands.”
He took one last look at the screen showing the imminent planned demolition of Znos-4-C as his advisor made some adjustments on her datapad. It was worrying, but there was only so much the Schpriss could do.
When two apex predators are fighting to the death outside your den, what else can you do but go back to sleep?
“Anything else on the alien policy agenda for today?” he asked after a moment.
“Just one more thing… the Malgeir are requesting another repayment deadline extension on their last tranche of…”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dominion Navy Central Command, Znos-4-C
POV: Sprabr, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Eleven Whiskers)
The entire control room turned to stare straight at Sprabr as the communication station lit up with the urgent beeping of an incoming message.
“Eleven Whiskers?” Dvibof asked.
“What?” he snapped at his subordinate impatiently.
“It’s the predators. They’re calling—”
“I know who’s calling.”
“Right.”
Sprabr had failed.
Failed to secure his own planet from the cursed predators. He had an entire planet, billions of troops, versus their three squadrons and a few battalion’s strength on the ground. Maybe two. And a handful of orbital weapons. With that pitiful arsenal, they had managed to secure a beachhead, and they held it for more than a week against what he could throw at them.
When the instruments recorded the planet shift under their paws, Znos-4-C’s ancient stabilizing engines turned on… and subsequently were turned off by the enemy. Some kind of heavy kinetic round that vaporized the entire underground tunnel complexes where the sensitive machinery was housed.
Yet another new weapon. He’d stop keeping track of how many of these they’d decided to unveil this week.
Dvibof was the first to dare to speak. “At least— at least our planet has not begun moving towards the Znos star yet,” he said.
Sprabr wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be humor or… what it was. “Well, not the star,” he corrected.
“Not the star?”
“If I were them, I would not go for the star,” he predicted matter-of-factly. “I would go for Znos-4, the home world. Two of our worlds… for one action.”
The chilling silence in the command room lowered by another degree.
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
That was it: his final failure. And now, they were calling to gloat.
About the imminent destruction of his planetoid… and soon the homeworld, probably. The rest of the Dominion would fight on, he was sure, but this was— well, it was already the worst catastrophe the Znosian people had faced the day the predators blinked into Znos. But this moment was worse. The Znosians had become the predators they exterminated. Helpless in the face of an overwhelming threat. Like they’d reverted from civilization back to the natural order of things.
Predators and prey.
If he still believed in the Prophecy, he would despair at how its faithful Servants had been abandoned. But he knew better than the pitiful creatures who were praying at their stations around him. This was not an act of the Prophecy; this was the consequences of their failure. His failure, partially at least.
Sprabr supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. The predators worshipped entropy and spite, and these Great Predators were no different.
Not that he could complain; that was his plan for all the planets in their home system too, if the Grand Fleet had been successful. His last hope that they would be following some bizarre ruleset that forbade such incredible waste died with his fleets.
Noticing that his subordinates had mostly stopped working or praying to stare at him as he contemplated running away… somehow, Sprabr sighed audibly. “Accept the communication request from the predators. Maybe they will reveal some actionable intelligence to the Dominion in our dying moments.”
The face of the same Great Predator fleet master appeared on his screen. “Eleven Whiskers Sprabr and all planetary authorities on Znos-4-C,” she addressed him. “This is Rear Admiral Carla Bauernschmidt of the Republic Navy. As over eighty percent of the residents on this planet are considered combatants, we have designated all of Znos-4-C as a military target. In the pursuit of that objective, your orbits have been cleared of all space combat ships. Our ground teams have emplaced a planetary tug on your planet — we have literal control of your orbit.”
He glared into the screen. “What do you want from us now? Even if you destroy us, all of us here on this planet, our people will fight on. This is one planet. One system. The rest of the Dominion will avenge us here. They will persist and—”
Carla continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “As per my orders, I have been authorized to demolish this planetary body by modifying its orbit to intercept with your Znos star. With all your billions of troops and people on it.”
He took a sharp breath.
She continued, “Or… without. As such, I am willing to grant you 30 days to evacuate the surface. Your forces near our surface site are to cease their fighting and move more than a hundred kilometers away from our beachhead immediately. In exchange, you will be allowed to evacuate every Znosian, combatant or not, from the surface of Znos-4-C, and any personal possessions that can be carried without mechanical assistance. Those are the terms.”
He snorted in disbelief. “So you can draw in and use our shuttles for target practice?”
The predator shook its head. “Your unarmed shuttles will not be harassed. Unarmed shuttles only. All other ships that approach the planet will be shot.” Seeing his incredulous expression, she pointed a finger at him. “And don’t act so surprised. This isn’t the first time we’ve allowed you to evacuate your troops.”
“30 days is not enough time, predator. This is not a colony like Prinoe. This is… our planet. We live here. We’ve lived here for thousands of years, longer than the age of your primitive civilization. And there are billions of us down here. We will not even be able to begin our evacuations until—”
The predator appeared unsympathetic to his appeal. “Then I suggest you get started as soon as possible.”
Sprabr was tired.
So tired.
“Why are you doing this? Why?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are your people in this war in the first place?! From the very beginning, our war was with the others. With the Slow Predators. The Lesser Predators. This entire war— Would you really risk your people—the lives that you ostensibly care so much about— why would you risk them all, just for your neighbors that you never even met before you started this fight? Just for the brief lives of a few predators?”
Carla stared back at him without blinking. “We knew you’d never stop at a few.”
Sprabr shook his head. “And your people are full of contradictions. Why do you shoot our ships but ignore our evacuation shuttles? Why are you destroying our planet but letting our people go?!”
“Because… we are not like you. We don’t need to be. We will do the right thing. We will show restraint when appropriate, even in a war of total destruction that you started. That you pursued. Because that is how we fight, and in the end, that is how we’ll win.”
“The right thing? What are you talking about?! That doesn’t make any sense. You’re not making any sense!”
The predator’s face showed some discernible emotion for the first time in the call, her lips curling up. “I know. You don’t understand. Not yet…”
She stared straight into the camera, and he felt his whiskers curl up at the intensity.
“But you will.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
TRNS Crete, Znos-4-C (15,500 km)
POV: Carla Bauernschmidt, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Rear Admiral)
“The ground team on 4-C reports they are ready to withdraw. Should we cycle them out for another team?”
She nodded. “Do that. And make preparations to burn us to 4-B. They have more habitable planets, and I have more ammo.”
There was a brief moment of silence as they watched another wave of Znosian evacuation shuttles lift off from the planet at full burn.
“That’s a lot of troops,” Speinfoent commented. “Troops our people might have to fight later.”
Carla shrugged. “Maybe.”
“And you plan on allowing them to extend the deadline again?”
“In 24 hour intervals if they continue to evacuate speedily in good faith.”
“I’m sure there is some deeper meaning—”
“It’s not that deep,” Carla said. She pointed at the battle map showing the circular perimeter around Objective Zulu. “Look at how long that took us, to control the ground site. And how much resources we’ve expended, just to come here and demolish one single planet. What we have here is… nearly all the combined resources of our civilizations.”
“A couple weeks on the planet, and it’s our first time doing it. Next time we’ll get it done faster. We can be back… I guess it would take us a while to come all the way back here with a fresh rearm, wouldn’t it?”
She nodded. “Exactly. We’re not here to kill enemy troops, or even to kill enough of them to make a difference in the war. There’s far too many of them.”
“Then what was this mission for?”
“We… are here to teach them a lesson.”
“A lesson? What lesson?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Carla grinned at him. “That our way is better. The same lesson your people learned when we first met you.”
“That’s— that’s totally different!” Speinfoent looked down at the planet battle map on his console. “It’s not the same at all. And your idealism is all well and good in theory, but I’m not sure that’s a lesson they are even capable of learning… harsh as it will be.”
She shrugged. “Not all of them. Probably not most of them. But a few? Hit them with it on the head enough times… I think we’ll manage to get through to some of them. Eventually.”
“If not? If it doesn’t work out?”
“Then we’ll lose the war. One way or another. To them, or to our worse nature.”
“I prefer one of those to the other. By a lot.” Speinfoent tilted his head in thought for a few seconds. “This whole plan seems a bit… mad, if I may say so myself, Admiral.”
Carla’s grin widened. “You know how we are. Crazy Grass Eaters, the whole lot of us.”
Comments
TheArchivist
Chapter 69 titled Crazy??? You mean Nice 😂
Eric E
loved the last scene and line. great stuff !
