Spooker
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Grass Eaters 3 | 62 | Survivors
🕑 Added 2025-03-17 15:47:00 +0000 UTCTRNS MCM-26 “Right of Way”, Znos (24,000 Ls)
POV: Minesweeper, Terran Digital Intelligence (Base Build: 2124-A)
Oh. Oh my.
So many mines.
So many targets.
Target 1,201 of 152,018. Gun #1, orbit calculated, gun ready, burst starting… burst complete. Cycling. 150,817 targets remaining.
Target 1,202 of 152,018. Gun #2, orbit calculated, gun ready, burst starting… burst complete. Cycling…
Is this my own, personal afterlife? After all, I have been such a good minesweeper…
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Dominion Navy Central Command, Znos-4-C
POV: Sprabr, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Eleven Whiskers)
“You were relieved of command pending responsibility investigations, Eleven Whiskers Sprabr,” Khesol charged angrily. “You do not belong in that command chair.”
Sprabr looked at her calmly, as if considering the merits of her argument. “Yes, Operative. But as you can see, the home system is under direct threat from the enemy. Under the rules and traditions of the Dominion, we are now in a state of emergency, and the highest ranking Navy officer is fully responsible for its defense.”
From the annoyed look in her eyes, she knew exactly what he was talking about but was hoping he didn’t. “That provision has not been activated without State Security approval in centuries! This is an unprecedented breach—”
“Because Znos has never been threatened. This situation is unprecedented,” Sprabr said calmly. “It warrants unprecedented measures.”
“You subversive… apostate,” she breathed angrily. “You will be driven out of the Prophecy for this.”
“I am merely taking full responsibility here in the face of a species-level threat,” Sprabr looked carefully around the command center, his eyes meeting each of the officers. “Does anyone here challenge my interpretation of Dominion responsibility succession protocols?”
Nobody spoke up. They were not bred to.
Sprabr sat back down in the command chair. “Six Whiskers Dvibof.”
“Yes, Eleven Whiskers?”
“Transmit the succession of responsibility to all Dominion Navy ships in the Znos system.”
“The Great Predator ships are jamming our FTL signals.”
“A light speed signal is fine,” he sighed. “And give me a status update on all our defensive assets.”
“The predators have dismantled our mining volumes and static defenses on their way into the system,” Dvibof reported. “We have 32 Forager squadrons in Znos-4-C orbit. They are warming up their engines for battle. Two hours to start, and another four to maximum acceleration. We should get most of them up and running by the time the predator ships arrive. But given the massive range advantage the Great Predators have…”
Sprabr sighed. “Our mobile assets will certainly be lost, probably very quickly,” he predicted. “But they can buy time for our troops to burrow into position.”
“Yes, Eleven Whiskers. Our Marines are mobilizing for ground battle. We are activating our old surface-to-orbit assets. Whether they come for Znos-4, 4-A, 4-B, or 4-C, we will not allow them to land troops on our planets even if our orbitals are lost.”
Sprabr tried not to dwell on the possibility that the predators were simply here to burn the system to the ground… as the Grand Fleet intended to do to theirs. If that was their battle plan, no surface-to-orbit batteries would stop them. He found himself hoping that in their crazy rulebook, that one was in there somewhere. If there was ever a time for providence from the Prophecy…
“Eleven Whiskers,” Dvibof interrupted his prayers. “We’re getting a… communication signal.”
“The predators?” Sprabr asked.
Dvibof looked at him in surprise. “How did you know?”
He sighed. “Who else? Put them on screen.”
The smooth face of the enemy appeared on his screen. It was tall, with golden fur on its scalp and cold blue irises, but no protective hide and little fur anywhere else. Compared to the other enemies of the Dominion, the Great Predators looked… almost physically fragile.
Sprabr was not fooled by mere appearances.
“Eleven Whiskers Sprabr,” it said, staring straight at him. “Wanted war criminal and former commander of the Grand Fleet. I’m surprised they kept you around after your disastrous invasion into our systems a while back.”
“What do you want, predator?” he asked warily. “I will save you unnecessary words. This is our home system. We will defend it to the death, as I know you would for yours.”
“You are not the first enemy of the Republic that covets death, Eleven Whiskers.” It tilted its head. “But I am not here to ask for your surrender. Not yet. Just to make my job a little easier.”
“Make— make your job easier?” he repeated in disbelief.
“Indeed. It is regarding your immobile Forager squadrons that are still warming up their engines in Znos-4-C orbit. Our ships have fired on them with their guns and missiles. Your squadrons will be destroyed, to the last. You have about… thirty minutes to get your spacers out of them before they go ka-boom.”
Sprabr peered at the system battle map again. The enemy ships were approaching, but they weren’t that close yet. “You are lying,” he decided. “You can’t reach our ships before their engines fully warm up.”
“We? You mean the old assault carrier we’re in here?” the creature made a brief snort. “Yeah, the Crete isn’t there, but surely you don’t think that we’re the only ships in your system, do you?”
“Your hiding ships,” Sprabr hissed.
The predator nodded chipperly, “Not as dumb as you look. Yes. And they’ve already launched. Thirty— twenty-nine minutes now.”
“You’re— you could be lying to me. To trick me into telling our spacers to abandon their ships for no reason. Or to save on munitions.”
“You’re right. It would help us save on munitions if all your people bailed. And you’re right on the other count: it could be a bluff. But we estimate you have about… some 150,000 of your spacers on those ships. Their blood will be on your hands— your paws, if you call it wrong.”
“That is— their lives were forfeited the day—”
“We both know you don’t really believe that crap, Eleven Whiskers. I don’t envy the position you’re in, but we didn’t put you in it. We’re just delivering you a dilemma. Do with it what you will. Personally, I don’t mind either way. We brought plenty of munitions, but our taxpayers will thank you if you call it smartly.”
The predator hung up.
It was quiet in the command center, save for the background hum of the air conditioner for the combat computers chugging along, still searching in the dark for signs of the enemy.
“Anyone have any ideas?” Sprabr asked.
“You should relinquish command,” Khesol suggested coldly from the back of the room. “Somebody more blessed by the Prophecy would know what to do.”
“Anyone who can tell the front of a warship from its rear?” Sprabr asked, ignoring her suggestion.
“How dare—”
“Security to the command center,” he ordered into his microphone.
A couple of heavily armed Marines entered the command center.
“Please escort Operative Khesol from the command center,” he said, pointing at the angry operative, her snout fully open in shock.
They looked hesitantly between the eleven whiskers on his patch and the white cap that signified Khesol’s State Security affiliation. “Eleven Whiskers?”
“Remove her now.”
Both of them looked like they were struggling to understand his command. Neither of them moved.
Sprabr changed tack. He ordered, “Never mind that. Give me your service weapons, Marines.”
As if relieved to finally receive an understandable command, both Marines flipped over their handguns, presenting them to Sprabr handle-first. “Yes, Eleven Whiskers,” they replied in unison.
Khesol looked up in alarm as she understood his intent. “Wait! Don’t just—”
Sprabr casually pointed one of the taken weapons at her. “Get out of my command center.”
“You— you— you dare!”
“I’m dead either way.”
“Your life was forfeited—”
“I said, get out. I won’t ask again.”
She gritted her teeth, as if contemplating whether to challenge his aim. He tightened his grip on the weapon.
Khesol thumped her foot hard. “You’ll fry for this.”
He said nothing, and a few heartbeats later, she raised her paws and inched back towards the entrance. Sprabr let out a sigh of relief as the door shut behind her. He tossed the weapons in his claws back to the Marines, and pointed at them. “You two.”
“Eleven Whiskers?” they asked.
“Shut off your radios and guard the entrance. Anyone comes in without my orders is a predator spy: shoot on sight.”
One of them scratched his helmet. “Yes, Eleven Whiskers. What if she comes—”
“Predator spy. Shoot. On. Sight. I am your superior. These are your orders. Do you understand orders?”
“Yes, Eleven Whiskers.”
Sprabr transmitted the same message to the entire command complex, beginning a well-drilled lock-down procedure. Then, he turned back to his officers, many of whom were staring intently at their consoles as if they hadn’t seen the interaction that just took place. “Now that we have that taken care of, does anyone have any objections—”
“Eleven Whiskers, you have a call from Znos-4,” Dvibof said, standing up from his station.
“Who is it?” he asked, knowing exactly what the answer was going to be.
“It’s coming from State Security headquarters.”
Sprabr took a deep breath. “As we are under attack from the Great Predators in our home system, treat all non-verifiable communications as potential predator ruses.”
“Should we—”
“No. It is unnecessary to verify with the one-time codes. We are in command during this state of emergency anyway. We need to be able to make immediate decisions without inefficiently briefing our superiors on every single one.”
To his credit, Dvibof only paused for a heartbeat before he confirmed the order, “Yes, Eleven Whiskers.”
“And lock down the entire moon, including the State Security base four kilometers to our north. There are to be no messages from Znos-4 that is not combat-related until this battle is over.”
“Yes, Eleven Whiskers.”
“Good.” He took a deep breath, hoping he’d covered all his contingencies but knowing the relief was only temporary. Sprabr focused on the other, barely-more-manageable problem instead. “How fast can our ships around 4-C warm up their engines to fight the predators?”
“Six hours, normally. But they can hurry it up to four hours if necessary.”
“Which it is. Necessary, that is.”
“Yes, Eleven Whiskers.”
“But four hours— that won’t help them,” Sprabr said, sighing again.
“Not— not if the predators were telling the truth about the incoming missiles.”
“Assume they were telling the truth. How could they possibly have done this?! We have almost five hundred ships in orbit. That’s… a lot of ships to attack at once. From what we know, they don’t have the ships… they should only have two squadrons of those hiding ships. And they can each only carry eight, maybe sixteen missiles, which makes up just under four hundred. And those are the small missiles. Those were the projections we used against their home nest system, and according to the predator prisoners, we did get close. Surely they can’t be so confident with those numbers.”
“Maybe they have more ships? Maybe they’re being rearmed?”
“By those big ships all the way over there?” he asked skeptically.
“Maybe they brought the missiles into the system with hiding ship, over multiple trips?” Dvibof speculated.
“But… that would have to be— they would have to have been in our system for at least a week!” he exclaimed. Then, he sighed, “It doesn’t matter. This is a plausible hypothetical. The predators could be telling the truth.”
“What should we do, Eleven Whiskers?”
Sprabr felt the timer in his head tick down to 20 minutes, knowing that if this threat was true, every additional minute was going to increase the risk that some of his spacers couldn’t evacuate in time if the missiles were coming…
“Eleven Whiskers, if I may make an observation…” Dvibof started.
Sprabr turned to him, nodding, “You may. What do you have in mind?”
“Our spacer crews… their lives were forfeited the day they left the hatchling pools.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And?”
“If the threat is fake and we allowed our ships to evacuate, then the predators would capture and steal our ships.”
Sprabr waved away the objection. “We can scuttle those ships or shoot them down ourselves with our surface-to-orbit batteries if the Great Predators attempt a salvage operation.”
“We’d lose those ships either way.”
“Yes, and?” Sprabr asked.
“On the other paw, if the threat is real and we don’t order evacuations, then we’ll have lost some spacers. Spacers who would be most useless anyway, because we don’t have the new ships yet,” Dvibof evaluated coldly for him.
“But we’ll have those new ships soon.”
“We can breed new spacers easier than we can make new ships, Eleven Whiskers.”
“We’d lose the experience they have—”
Dvibof countered, “Most of which would not apply to the new ships we are making anyway. And don’t forget, even if the threat is real, we will force them to expend additional munitions. The predator admitted as much.”
Sprabr nodded reluctantly. “Yes. But… not much. That part, I also believed. And our crews — they are still spacers who have loyally Served the Prophecy. Some of them, I even know personally. I know the names of almost every squadron leader. The squadron leader of Znos Defense Squadron 1 graduated the same cycle as me from the training academy.”
“What would she do if she were in your seat?” Dvibof asked.
“She would— That— that is irrelevant. She was not bred well enough to be in my seat.”
Dvibof bowed. “Of course, Eleven Whiskers. Your position is unique.”
“If she were here, I suspect she would test the dilemma, putting the risk on the spacers and not the ships,” Sprabr admitted after a few seconds. “But she is not me. She has not seen what I have witnessed, risked what I have gambled, or felt what I have lost. I am near certain that the Great Predators are telling the truth here. About everything.”
“In that case…”
“We’re conceding our entire orbit to the Great Predators without much of a fight anyway. In either error. Order the evacuation, Six Whiskers. I will take full responsibility. Prepare to scuttle those ships if the predators move on them. And warn the Marine chiefs, tell the ground troops to burrow faster. We have just lost our orbits.”
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ZNS 1687, Znos-4-C (40,000 km)
POV: Plodvi, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Six Whiskers)
The battlestations alarm echoed throughout the halls of the ship.
“What’s going on?” Plodvi asked.
“I don’t know. It looks like we’ve been ordered to initiate crash start on our engines,” Rirkhni replied as he swiped on his datapad. “Oh, huh. Predator ships have been spotted.”
“Where?”
“Here, it looks like.”
“What?!”
“They got a ship in the outer Znos system, look,” Rirkhni pointed at the sensor feed on his datapad they weren’t supposed to be looking at.
The enemy convoy was led by four medium-sized enemy ships — large for their species. Though outwardly painted in the signature black of the Terran Navy, they did not boast many of the smooth, hiding features that characterized their high-end space combat ships. The four were followed by three more ships: a large ship whose hangar bays and entrances clearly suggested it was a cargo or munitions ship, and two more — slightly smaller — in reflective white. And at the edge of the system, there were two massive, circular ships.
Plodvi frowned. “Just… nine of them?”
“That’s what it seems.”
“These are space combat ships, and these obviously weren’t the ships that destroyed our Grand Fleet. There must be more,” Plodvi speculated. “Protecting them or—” The realization hit him. “They might even have those hiding ships in system, right next to us for all we know! Their missiles could already be on the way!”
“If that was the case, we’d be dead before we know it— Ah, we’ve got new orders,” Rirkhni said, and the alarm lights changed to a different color.
Plodvi read his latest commands coming in onto his datapad. “Abandon ship?”
Rirkhni shrugged. “Orders straight from the top. Maybe they figured the same thing you did.”
“Maybe.”
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Dominion Navy Central Command, Znos-4-C
POV: Sprabr, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Eleven Whiskers)
It took the spacers in the defense fleet nearly all of their allotted time. Their shuttles and escape pods ejected from their doomed ships, descending to the planet chaotically. As Sprabr watched, he knew that his life was now over, no matter what he did.
The predators were telling the truth. When their missiles found his parked ships, picking every single one of them out of Znos-4-C orbit simultaneously — one missile each, perfectly efficient as he’d known they would be, he did not feel a shred of relief at the vindication.
Sprabr knew deep down that he had made an emotional decision, not one deeply based in logic or rational thought. He had just given up on the entire homeworld defense fleet. He’d ordered the evacuation, not because it was the best move available to him, but because he knew… that was what he’d want if he were on one of those ships. It didn’t matter that he gambled correctly; it didn’t matter if someone more sane was in charge of the Dominion than its current batch of leaders.
Sprabr knew that there was no way he would ever be allowed to command another Dominion fleet or ship in his life after this.
If he survived.
Comments
Valdis Trautmanis
Thinking about it, the Terran raid on Znos went about as good as the Bun invasion of Sol could have gone were it not for all the advance warnings and up to date intel the Terrans had... If you didn't see the enemy coming before they appear in your system, there's not much you can do about it anymore. The last remaining question is will the Terrans have to glass Znos first or will there be a coup and the Buns surrender?
Ryan Hillard
God that end to the chapter is so interesting. It’s been such a wild roller coaster of a series, first knowing the buns as monsters now rooting for them to realize they are people. Clap clap author, clap clap
