MNS TRASSAU
Speinfoent turned around to face Loenda and reported the battlegroup status. “Commander, all ships have successfully completed the blink. Squadrons 4 to 12 all reporting in.”
“Good. Now let’s find out if this ridiculous scheme of yours gets all of us killed,” Loenda said. “Are you sure your sire and dam were not Grass Eaters?”
Speinfoent ignored the jab and continued with the report, “Our sensors are still resolving the enemy ships, but I am certain we are in the right place.”
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ZNS 1841
Ditvish woke to the urgent cry of the ship’s klaxon. Wiping sleep from his mind, he picked up his communication device. “Did Skvanu get the raiders from Sixth Fleet?”
“No, Ten Whiskers, you must come to the flag bridge at once!”
“What is it this time? Can’t you ask your combat computers?” he grumbled tiredly.
“Ten Whiskers, the enemy fleet is here!”
He woke up in a hurry. “What?! Here? In Datsot?!”
“Yes, they just blinked in! Their fleet is heading our way, and they have just gone into a full combat burn!”
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MNS TRASSAU
“We are seeing two to three squadrons of space combat ships, mostly Forager-class missile destroyers, and their Thorn-class battleship, the 1841. In orbit of Datsot are another thirty-two orbital support ships and several dozen other support vessels,” Speinfoent reported. “The enemy combat ships are stationary and in a loose formation. It looks like we did catch them off guard.”
“For now,” Loenda hedged. “They’ll be ready and engines hot hours before we come into range. And we don’t have the Nile’s magic sensors working with us this time.”
“No, but we did get the other fishing supplies in the last shipment.”
“We have only been exercising with those for a week!” Loenda exclaimed. “It is risky for our first live use to be against a fully capable combat fleet.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in exercises…” Seeing the ugly expression forming on her face, Speinfoent hurriedly moved on. “Anyway, the missiles will work. They may be barely fastened to the outside of our hulls, but I’m sure they work. After all, we didn’t make them.”
Loenda counted up the enemy ships on her console and did some calculations in her head. “Against my every instinct, we will go ahead, but with the most risk-averse option you came up with earlier. Execute Option Charlie.”
“Affirmative. Maintaining burn. Execute vector change in three minutes…”
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ZNS 1841
“Ten Whiskers, they are performing an orbital transfer,” Ditvish’s computer officer called out, eyes glued to the glowing screens of her console.
Ditvish leaned forward. “What is their heading and intercept now?”
“It appears there is no intercept. If they continue their current burn, they may eventually move into a parallel orbit to us.”
“Parallel orbit? That doesn’t make sense. They didn’t come here just to make us wet our pants. Ask the combat computer, how far from us will they be at their closest?” Ditvish asked, puzzled.
A minute of calculations later, she relayed from her console, “It depends on whether they execute another vector change, but at their current burn and at their closest, they should come no closer than twelve times the maximum effective range of our missiles.”
Ditvish peered at the sensor panel, racking his brain for ideas.
None of this made any sense. Skvanu reported in earlier with a blink relay ship since the FTL radios were not working. In the data packet, he said that he was chasing three squadrons of the enemy fleet and planned to run them down with the superior blink fuel capacity of the Znosian ships — these must be the other nine squadrons from Sixth Fleet.
What were they doing here?
If these Lesser Predators forced him to engage in fleet battle here, they very well might have an upper hand, with their nine squadrons to his mere three. But they weren’t cutting him off aggressively or forcing an engagement. If they did move in boldly, he could always back off… delay until Skvanu finishes, returns to Datsot, and coordinate to trap this fleet in the system. But the enemy seemed almost… disinterested in combat; it did not even look like they were going to transfer into range.
“What are your orders, Ten Whiskers?” the computer officer asked.
For the first time in a long time, Ditvish felt at a complete loss. “None for now. Continue to observe the enemy and stay on high alert. Be prepared to move. And update me when Eight Whiskers Skvanu reports anything.”
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MNS OENGRO
The vacuum of Plaunsollib once again filled up with the communication chatter and munitions of the Malgeir fleet.
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“Weapons-free… Kraken away.”
“Bandits deploying glow-worms.”
“Anchor gadgets to Jackal. Tracking.”
Grionc sat back and watched the controlled chaos of the Oengro bridge unfold as they engaged the outnumbered supply convoy escorts in front of them as they continued to stay one step ahead of the massive armada right behind them. The task remained familiar. The practiced crew could have completed this in their sleep. The stakes were higher now, but the job remained the same.
“Vampire swarm. Defending.”
“Popping confetti and turning up the music.”
“Vampires trashed.”
Either through luck or because they had gotten really good at it, most of the projectiles the eight escorts launched at them went wild, flying off into space chasing dazzler signals in errant directions. A few did come closer but were fooled at the last second by decoys and other countermeasures. The remaining were shot down by the Malgeir’s native close-in defense systems that were now being boosted by superior gravidar sensors aboard the Nile seconds away.
The enemy convoy was not so lucky. Their sensor signatures disappeared from Grionc’s console, one by one.
“Splash four Forager. No, make that five.”
“Kraken away. We have two more on the way. They’ve gone pitbull.”
“That’s splash six and seven. Can someone confirm number eight?”
“Check. I have number eight.”
“Roger.”
Finally, Captain Vastae turned to Grionc to confirm. “High Fleet Commander, the supply convoy has been destroyed. Looks like the supplies self-destructed too.”
Grionc nodded in acknowledgement, not taking her eyes off the sensor console.
To underscore how common this type of success had become, even the crew’s cheers were subdued. In tonnage, this was no less a victory than it was the first time it was pulled off, but this was a crew who had been there before. They’d seen it. They’d done that.
And there were still the hundreds of enemy combat ships trailing them. Some were getting uncomfortably close to entering their missiles’ maximum powered ranges. None had fired yet; the Znosians were not so undisciplined, but it was close enough to make Grionc nervous.
She nodded at Captain Vastae. “Follow the vector we have been provided towards the systems limit. I don’t want to be one second behind schedule.”
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ZNS 2228
Eight Whiskers Skvanu had known from his hatchling-hood that he was different than the others. His educators and caretakers always complained he asked too many questions and never took enough responsibility for his own actions. He learned to suppress the questions and to fake contrition, even when it didn’t make sense, saving those thoughts for the privacy of his own brain. He found this practice useful, and he used it to quickly ascend the totem-pole of rank in the Znosian Navy.
A meritorious society with supposedly transparent accountability, it should not have been so easy for him to breeze past promotion after promotion in his career. But when it was so easy for him to think for himself and simply obscure failures when they occur, his competitors didn’t stand a chance.
That was until he met Ten Whiskers Ditvish.
There, he met not only a kindred soul, but also one who could see right through him. At times, the senior fleet master made him feel like a fraud; at other times, he felt special, as if he’d been given a gift. Under Ditvish, he thrived. He was given more responsibility than normally assigned to regular eight whiskers officers by Ditvish, and here he was proudly commanding the bulk of his fleet.
Skvanu was determined not to let his mentor, and increasingly his confidant, down.
He looked at the sensor panel on his console. They will catch these Lesser Predators.
“Eight Whiskers, we still can’t talk to the Datsot fleet on FTL radio,” his computer officer reported. “I take full responsibility for this continued failure.”
“Don’t worry about it, Six Whiskers,” he replied casually. “We expected this to happen. It must be those Lesser Predators. Either a device on their fleet, or somewhere else hidden in this system. It is truly a war-changing upgrade, in ways that they might not even fully understand. Once we defeat them, we will take apart their wreck bit by bit and chase down every lead until we find it.”
“Yes, Eight Whiskers,” the officer replied. She hesitated for a moment but then decided to speak her mind. “I am— Don’t you find it deeply unsettling to know we are out of contact with the fleet master and— and the rest of the Prophecy?”
He looked up at her, gazing into her frightened eyes. “No, not at all. In fact, I am comforted by the silence. No micromanagement. No orders from above. Just our own wits to survive and win this battle. Full responsibility, for my actions, for all our actions. Today, there is truly no one else to blame.”
“Yes, Eight Whiskers,” she bowed, thankful for his insight and her confidence bolstered by his self-assurance. “That is an enlightening way of thought.”
“Indeed, it is. And besides, we still have our blink relay ships, even if they are slow in getting information through.”
“Yes, Eight Whiskers. Another has just departed with news of the supply losses.”
“Now, tell me what the enemy has done since they rejoined Six Whiskers Mgnats and his ships with the Prophecy,” Skvanu ordered, looking at the console in front of him. The enemy’s three squadrons had taken apart the eight escort ships like they were a knife through water without losing a single ship. It would have been difficult to believe had he not watched it happen through his sensors in real time… Almost real time. The two-hour light speed delay meant that his fleet died before they saw it get engaged. But the fleet was closing on the cursed Lesser Predator ambushers…
“They had been a half leap ahead of us the whole time, but the combat computer evaluates that one of their ships may have been damaged in the… skirmish with Six Whiskers Mgnats.”
Skirmish was an… ambitious word choice, Skvanu thought. Slaughter might have been closer. He prompted, “How did the combat computer come to this assessment?”
“Their acceleration is now slightly but measurably lower than when they went into the fight. It’s about a ten percent reduction. It thinks that one of them sustained minor damage and the rest of the fleet is matching its acceleration profile to mask the identity of the wounded ship.”
Skvanu frowned. “That does not seem right. Is there any evidence that Mgnats’ ships scored a hit on the Lesser Predators?”
“No,” she admitted. “Our sensors saw no debris. But it may be an accident, friendly fire, or some kind of a technical malfunction aboard one of their ships. The combat computer is speculating. But they are moving slower now: that much is clear to the sensors.”
“How does that affect our intercept timeline?”
“Given our current vector and accelerations, we will intercept slightly after they reach the system limit. They will probably attempt to blink out, but all we have to do is observe their blink vector and follow.”
Skvanu nodded. “And at that point, for all the upgrades these Lesser Predators have received, there’s only so much blink fuel they could have retrofitted a combat ship to carry. They can’t have improved their blink range much. Not enough to overcome our two-to-one fuel capacity advantage, at least. Today, the predators shall become our prey.”