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Grass Eaters 3 | 45 | Book Club II
🕑 Added 2025-02-05 16:47:01 +0000 UTCZNS 1687, Znos-4-C (40,000 km)
POV: Plodvi, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Six Whiskers)
It wasn’t easy. The FTL radio was not meant to be used covertly by a couple of low-ranked officers in the Digital Guide section nor a supervisor for the life support module.
But they had a few advantages. Their adversaries were officers in the Dominion Navy, bred and trained for very specific tasks, and few of them worried about internal security. Unlike the predators, Znosians had far fewer formal barriers between the ranks and functions of the ship. A life support module supervisor asking questions about computer logs regarding power usage should have raised some suspicion, but nobody on board would really suspect sabotage or corruption from others. Most of the structures designed around responsibility were put in place to guard against incompetence, not deliberate subversion. If that was going to be a problem, it was an issue for State Security.
As for State Security, they didn’t send their best to the 1687 either. The onboard computer could have been a detection threat, but Rirkhni assured them he knew what he was doing from his experience working with it.
They routed the messages through another seven whiskers’ datapad, secured with the Dominion Navy’s regular encryption schemes and a long quantum key, knowing that whatever predator out there was listening would probably be able to break it.
When the book club finally gathered up the courage to do it, they sent a message out into the abyss, asking questions about the predator’s offer.
Less than three hours later, they got a response, also secured using the very key they used in the first place. The message evaluated their secrecy measures and suggested improvements. And by the end of Plodvi’s day shift, they had secured communication with the Great Predators.
As they huddled around their datapad in the life support module in anticipation, an alien face appeared on it: a bald predator, with only a ring of thin fur around its crown. Plodvi had seen images and videos of them before, but knowing that the other end of this one was live — it was a different level of exhilaration.
It looked directly into the camera with its front-facing eyes. “Hello. My name is Hersh. I work for the Terran Republic. How do you do?”
The three of them shot a look at each other, wondering how to respond. “Hello,” Plodvi replied after a few seconds.
“Three of you, huh?” Hersh asked. “What are your names?”
“Before we start,” Plodvi said, “how does this work? Your people said there would be a reward. What and how?”
The Terran leaned back. “Very practical, that’s what I like to hear. There are a few ways we can help you. And it depends on what you’re looking for. Most of the people who talk to us are people trying to surrender on the planets whose orbits we’ve liberated; if you’re near the frontlines, we can get you to safety or help you avoid danger. Others are like you, deep in the Znosian Dominion. Unfortunately since your people don’t have the concept of money, we can’t offer that to you. But we can still give you tangible things that improve your life.”
“Such as?”
“Some of your people are looking for the truth. That is fairly straightforward. We can give you information that you want with almost no restrictions. Others are dissatisfied with their stations in life. That is slightly more complicated, but we do our best for people who help us. We can arrange events in your corrupt system, to help you move up in ranking, to transition to different careers or deployment locations. A few people want to leave the Dominion entirely. That is… more difficult, but it can also be arranged. And finally, when we win this war, your contributions to the cause will be recognized and compensated.”
Plodvi arched an eyebrow in doubt. “When you win this war?”
Hersh’s voice didn’t waver. “When we win this war.”
Plodvi glanced briefly at his two companions, and both of them shrugged. “We’re not interested in a physical reward, or more information. What we want is… liberation. True liberation for our people.”
“Sure,” the Terran said. “That is what we are offering.”
“No, what you offer is a chance to help you fight our Dominion,” Plodvi objected. “It’s a subtle difference, but we can see it. You are predators. No matter what you’ve made our prisoners say on the radio, your objectives are not to free our people. If it turns out to be convenient—”
“Yes, you are right,” Hersh said bluntly. “I won’t sugarcoat it, and I won’t bother lying to you. We’re only interested in individuals like you because you can help us in our war against the Dominion. But… that doesn’t change what we can do for you right now, does it?”
“That means you’ll sell us out if the price is right. If Dominion State Security agrees to serious concessions to your people — say it surrenders and leaves the Slow Predator’s system — in exchange for you giving us up, you would take that deal.”
The Terran didn’t blink an eye. “In a heartbeat.”
“Then why should we trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.” He tilted his head. “Then again, you don’t have much of a choice, do you?”
“We can fight for our own freedom. Without your help,” Plodvi insisted. “The books you’ve provided us over the FTL radio have proven instructive in many circumstances.”
“Sure. You can certainly try. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell every one of your kind who asks the same: your system is rotten to its core, but it has lasted for centuries. It can continue on its momentum, like how a dead tree can continue to stand tall for years before it collapses. Without us, you are doomed to failure.”
Plodvi shifted uncomfortably. “What would you do if we manage to succeed?”
Hersh did not look surprised by the question. “Succeed? What does success look like?”
“Say we manage to topple State Security and institute a new system, one built similar to yours, based on your concepts and values of fairness and freedom, best that we can. Would you stop your war against our people?”
“Probably not.”
“And your war demands?”
“They would remain mostly unchanged.”
At least you’re honest about it.
Plodvi frowned. “So in addition to treachery, you are not above hypocrisy.”
“We are not, but that was immaterial to the question. Your people have dominated your neighbors for centuries. The Dominion has murdered billions of innocent people from dozens of intelligence species. There must be an accounting to all of it. Reparations. Justice.”
“Responsibility assignment.”
“Kind of.”
“But… don’t you believe in individual responsibility? We’ve done nothing wrong, the three of us here. If we help topple our system and make a better one, why would you punish us collectively for the actions of our bloodlines?”
Hersh shrugged. “I’m no lawyer, but we don’t believe in collective punishment.”
“But you just said—”
“I said, we won’t stop this war. Not until your people give up the fight. And when we win, we won’t be executing or imprisoning you for the crimes of your ancestors. That is not what we believe in. But as you all have benefited from the conquests from Dominion, as you all have contributed to its continued existence, and as you have allowed State Security to kill in your name, you are all on the hook for the cleanup. ”
“But it wasn’t us! It was the imbeciles at State Security! Those are the ones who call the shots! This war is on them!”
“It was not State Security officers invaded our homes, shot at our ships, and put our peoples into camps. Not only State Security officers. That was done by Znosians, wearing uniforms produced by regular Znosians, eating rations grown by regular Znosians, and on ships built by regular Znosians.”
“But— but— I don’t understand!”
The human tilted his head. “Let me put it another way: if you steal extra ration portions from your mess hall, and distribute it to your squad, what happens if you get caught?”
“I’d be held responsible for theft, possibly sabotage,” Plodvi answered without hesitation, “and any of my squad that knew about it would be too.”
“What if one of your squad members opposed it and reported you?”
“Then… they might not be punished. It is counter-productive to punish people who report crimes.”
“Would they have to return their portion of the stolen rations?”
“Of course!”
“Well, your entire Dominion is built on stolen rations. Stolen planets from your exterminated neighbors. And so, you must all pay.”
“That is— that is not an apt analogy!”
“Why not?”
“It just— it just isn’t!”
“Maybe not the way you see it. But… that is where we stand. In the end, there will be a full accounting. There must be.”
The three of them mulled it over quietly for a minute.
“You are not what I expected,” Plodvi said after a while.
“People rarely are.”
“You will not help us liberate our own people,” he said, disappointment evident on his face.
There was a pause on the other end. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then what?”
“If you don’t want to defect and join us directly, what about a mutual exchange of information?”
Plodvi asked, “What do you want to know, and what are you offering?”
“You are spacers, calling from a Dominion Navy ship in Znos,” Hersh deduced. “You’re trying to start an organized resistance from within. Under your system, you are isolated. You need allies, fighters of your own people. We can tell you who you can trust.”
“And how would you know that?”
“You’re not the first of your people to have contacted us. Of course, we wouldn’t be revealing to you any of our important sources, but others who are like you? We can give you a few names. Just to get you started.”
Seeing reluctant nods from his two companions, Plodvi agreed, “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“I understand you are from the Znos Defense Fleet?”
Plodvi nodded. “We are on the ship numbered 1687. We are stationed around Znos-4-C.”
“Znos-4-C, huh? That’s… your Navy’s moon?”
“Yes,” he confirmed.
Znos-4 had three moons, all habitable. Plodvi didn’t know the history of it, but it seemed likely to him that at some point — several hundred or thousand years ago, they were probably towed into orbit of Znos-4, or terraformed. 4-A and 4-B were mostly industrial and residential in nature, like the homeworld itself.
Znos-4-C was unique. Its purpose was war. The entire planetoid built around this purpose, billions of Znosian troops were bred, hatched, trained, and garrisoned down there on Znos-4-C. It was the nerve center of the Dominion Navy and Marines. As such, its orbits were now diligently guarded by just under 32 squadrons of the Dominion’s finest Forager-class missile destroyers. Recent events in the war had blunted some of that pride in their equipment, but it was still a substantial tonnage held in reserve in defense of the Znosian home system.
But Plodvi was fairly certain the predators knew all that already.
Hersh nodded. “Excellent. Now, I know you have some access to most of your ship’s systems, especially since you’ve gotten to the FTL radio. There are just a few things we want to clear up about your deployments.”
“Hold on, what about your end of the bargain?”
“Sure, in addition to the three of you, there are… at least three more like you in your squadron. Would you like to know their names and ranks?”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dominion State Security Office 2905, Znos-4
POV: Saminki, Znosian (Agent)
Saminki verified the numbers on his datapad, blinking rapidly as he did.
Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be checking at all. There was no stated procedure in the handbook for confirming whether the actual numbers stored in the delicate machines matched the policies of the Dominion State. Such integrity checks were supposed to be done by Digital Guides and people above him.
Something had obviously gone wrong. Very wrong.
With trembling paws, he dialed for his counterpart in the neighboring 2906 office on his datapad. The other end of the connection picked up in less than three seconds.
“This is Agent Saminki. I need to talk to Agent Kvinkt right now,” he demanded.
“Yes, Agent Saminki. I will connect you as soon as possible. I take full responsibility for any delay.”
There was some light scratching over the receiver and another voice joined the call. “How may we be of service to the Security of the State today?”
Long-winded as always. That was the Agent Kvinkt he knew.
He sighed and replied, “Agent Kvinkt. It’s Saminki from 2905.”
“How is your station doing, Saminki?”
“Fine,” he said distractedly. “Agent Kvinkt, I’m seeing a discrepancy with some of our machines here in our district. I want to double-check, to make sure— to see where the issue originates.”
“Malfunctioning machines?” He could hear her frown as she asked, “Which machines?”
“Some regulatory chips in the hatchling pools.”
There was some rustling in the background as she queried the records on her end. “Alright, let me see… regulatory chips in hatchling pools… which model?”
“We use the Dominion Model 4-8-0 in ours.”
“We’ve got six of our hatchling pool facilities using those new ones,” she said after a moment. “What about them?”
“Dig into the chip settings, specifically the special configuration option, zero zero four.”
“Hm… it requires a security override. Give me a second… ah, there it is.”
“What’s the ratio on your machines?” he asked.
“Zero point zero eight three three three three—”
His heart pounded in his white, fluffy ears. “How many zeroes after the decimal did you say?”
“Zero point zero eight— Just one zero after the decimal. Why?”
“There are supposed to be three zeroes there.”
“No… that can’t be right,” she said after a moment. “It’s a special configuration. The machines would catch the integrity error a dozen times before they make it to Znos, not to mention our districts. There would be at least—”
“I’m looking at it right now,” he insisted. “The numbers straight from the Dominion Archives.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Very. I’m looking at the two numbers right now. They don’t match. They’re off by two orders of magnitude!”
“And you say you’re checking against the Dominion Archives?” Kvinkt asked.
“Yes, I requested a copy of the original configuration records. They approved the request and sent the file over last night to—”
“Maybe the file was corrupted during transfer. Or maybe the original has been… altered?” she suggested. “Surely that is a more likely explanation than such a major error in the special configuration entries of machines in such critical roles.”
He hesitated for a second. That was a possibility. He had other reasons to be suspicious, but he declined to voice them. “That is… possible,” he hedged. “I can go and check the Archives physically myself.”
“I would recommend that,” she said, “before you go around raising the alarm on an issue of such magnitude. Remember last time when you claimed that the drinking water in your district was contaminated by old pipes or something?”
How could Saminki forget that embarrassment? The water was mildly contaminated! It wasn’t his fault the detector machines also happened to be malfunctioning at the same time — through no responsibility of his — and the final testing showed the levels to be lower than the reportable threshold. But that didn’t stop his colleagues from making fun of him or HQ from issuing a quiet reprimand. A reprimand that was probably the reason why he was still stuck out here in District 2905 instead of a more prestigious posting that his superior breeding deserved.
He harumphed at the jab. “Fine. I’ll go check it myself.”
“Have fun on your wild predator chase,” Kvinkt teased, then hung up.
Saminki packed up his datapad and marched down to his office garage. His attendant was already in the driver’s seat, ready with his travel bag.
“Spaceport now,” he ordered as he got into the backseat. “And tell them to schedule me for the next flight to HQ.”
“Yes, Agent,” his attendant answered. “Next available flight is a shipment of electronic screen components in six hours.”
“That’ll do. Bump off their least prioritized cargo.” He turned his attention back to his datapad, idling browsing the bulletin feed as his attendant navigated the crowded city streets outside his car windows. The predators had trashed the production facilities in another couple systems out near the edge of the Dominion. Nothing that would really affect his job, but Saminki liked to stay informed, on the off-chance he’d be promoted out of this district one day…
Feeling a sudden jolt in the car’s acceleration, he looked out the window right as it hit a bump in the road and he smacked his snout on the seat in front of him.
They were going fast. Really fast.
Annoyed, Saminki addressed his attendant in front. “We don’t have to go that fast, you know? We’ve got six hours, and I’m sure they’ll wait for us if we call ahead—”
His attendant’s response was full-blown panic. “Agent! I am not responsible for this. The vehicle is not fully responding to my controls!”
The vehicle swerved twice and the roads outside became a blur. “What do you mean, not fully—”
“The brakes are non-functional!”
He watched in horror as his vehicle weaved through traffic, his attendant desperately trying to maintain control… and failing. They careened, out of control, into the ditch next to the road.
Bang.
The last thing going through Saminki’s head was a paw-sized chunk of the vehicle’s glass windshield.
Comments
Valdis Trautmanis
I'm liking the direction this is going. Bun resistance sabotaging the Bun Gestapo
