ZNS 2228
“You seem to be recovering rapidly,” Skvanu said happily to Ditvish, who sat up on the medical bed with some effort.
“The marvels of modern medical technology,” Ditvish remarked dryly. “What is the status of the fleet?”
“We have retrieved all the troops that we can from the planet, Ten Whiskers, and the remaining on the ground have been given instructions to fend for themselves until we can return in force again. We are ready to proceed to return to Gruccud whenever you give the word.”
Ditvish nodded. “Once we get back to Gruccud, we will gather as much supplies as we can find, and escort them back here.”
“Is that… wise, Ten Whiskers?” Skvanu asked. “There are so many indefensible systems between the two. We would have to find another orbital support fleet and conscript… dozens of ground divisions to replace what we have lost on Datsot just in the past few months.”
“Those are our orders, Skvanu. Moving as a whole fleet is… unconventional for us, but it is now a necessity given the clear information advantage the enemy has over us. The Lesser Predators’ Sixth Fleet is still out there,” Ditvish said darkly.
“Yes, we are taking precautions, but we think that even now, they do not have the numbers to challenge our entire fleet,” Skvanu replied. “I have been studying our recent failures. So far, they have relied on clever tricks to surprise us, and we have been so used to their incompetence that we fall for them. I do not believe their twelve squadrons of ships, even with the upgrades, can defeat us in large fleet battles yet.”
Ditvish nodded. He said nothing for a while. Then he asked, “Did we ever find your ships? The few that jumped in after the Oengro?”
“Unfortunately not, Ten Whiskers, I believe them to be dead. I take full responsibility for failing to pull—”
“I think we both know that to be an unnecessary ritual here, Skvanu. Besides, there will be plenty for us to take responsibility for when we get back to Gruccud.”
“I don’t suppose we can talk our way out of this one, Ten Whiskers?”
“Oh, don’t worry. It will probably just be formal reprimands. They won’t have our heads. State Security knows exactly who and what we are. Regardless of whether they order us to come back for Datsot, they still need us for the Lesser Predator home world,” Ditvish said, coughing. “After that, we will be heroes and our bloodlines will be honored… or we will end up in a shallow ditch on the very planet we conquer after a very brief trial hearing.”
Skvanu absorbed the information, thinking for a long time. He asked in a low voice, “Do you think what we have is the best… way to go about it?”
“You know, the last Znosian I know who asked that question too loudly, it didn’t end well for her.” Ditvish chuckled, knowing exactly what he meant despite the ambiguity. More seriously, he replied, “I don’t see a better way. Just look at the Lesser Predators, the chaotic bunch of them, look what good all their… strange ways have gotten them. The Federation and their… what do they call it? Snout counting to elect their leaders? Absurd!”
“It’s not over for them yet.”
Ditvish sighed. “No, I guess it is not.”
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BLACK SITE DEIMOS
The TRO’s black site had never been this busy. Hundreds of scientists and military officers had moved into the base to study and interrogate their new alien prisoners.
TRO operatives like Kara and John fit right into the crowd. Sitting in the corner of the room during lunch in the mess in their casual dress, they looked just like any two other civilian scientists here to get answers about Znosian social hierarchy or to evaluate their ability to do puzzles like rats in a maze.
Kara asked between sips of her fourth coffee of the day, “You think they will buy it yet? It’s all very circumstantial.”
“I don’t know,” John shrugged. “From what we know from our own history, security apparatuses in these kinds of societies can get paranoid. And from what I know from our own history, paranoid people do stupid things. I certainly think it’s a better idea now than when you first pitched it to me.”
“What changed your mind?” Kara asked curiously.
“Nothing changed my mind. Circumstances changed. Their recent losses have them shook. And the chaotic changes opened up opportunities. For example, that synthetic transmission gambit Mark routed to them wouldn’t have worked if Ditvish was still commanding from their battleship flagship. His original communications officer would have reported it,” John explained.
“Wouldn’t have mattered, I think,” Kara speculated. “Even if the Big Bun got wind of it and got suspicious, there’s not much he could have done. Maybe gotten to the planted supply ships first, but what was he going to do? Go ‘oh gee sorry, we actually found those ships we swear we lost but then they exploded when we got close’. Imagine how suspect that would have looked.”
“If he figured it out, he could have destroyed them himself,” John said.
Kara grinned. “You know what they say? It’s never about the crime; it’s about the coverup. The more he tried to cover up the mistakes, the more suspicion we’d be able to pin on him.”
John sniffed. “Maybe, but like I said, paranoid people do irrational things, and it was the losses that made them paranoid.”
“Hey, I’m not impinging on the honor of our Blood Drinker friends,” Kara said, raising her hands. “They’ve done great work… for being simple-minded Lesser Predators.”
John snorted. “You know, they call us paranoid too. Our whole species, not just our little book club.”
Kara smiled innocently. “I have no idea what they are talking about. We’re so open and transparent and we share everything we do with them.”
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The operatives gathered around the computer to listen to the decrypted call intercepted by the listening ship in Gruccud. No one spoke for a minute.
Kara broke the silence. “Oof, that’s basically excommunication, isn’t it?”
“No,” Hersh corrected, “Worse. The standing order is more like arrest, torture, excommunication, and then execution.”
“That seems a little redundant. What’s the point of the excommunication then?”
“It’s religious. You wouldn’t get it,” Hersh replied dismissively.
“Hmmm… no I probably wouldn’t. Do you think he’ll come quietly when they call?” Kara asked.
Hersh shook his head. “Not like he has another choice. Lives forfeited to the Prophecy and all.”
“Do you think they’ll see through the ruse?”
“Maybe. After a while.”
Mark thought for a moment. “We don’t have to wait and see, do we? Let’s see if we can do something about it. Get me Admiral Waters. Actually, get me the Senator too. We’re going to need a bigger task force for this golden opportunity.”
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TRNS MISSISSIPPI
The bridge crew watched as a single Znosian ship blinked out from their sensors.
“Of all the wrong lessons the Buns learned in the last month,” Admiral Amelia Waters commented, “This one right here might be my favorite.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Captain Chuck Harris frowned. “Where are they sending that single ship?”
“If I’m not wrong,” Amelia said. “And I rarely am, they are sending a scout through to their destination first. To make sure Sixth Fleet isn’t waiting for them at the other end. Or I don’t know, maybe a black hole from our black hole generator weapon.”
“We have a black hole generator weapon?” Carla asked from behind her.
“That’s way above your paygrade, Commander Bauernschmidt,” Amelia winked. Then, looking at the massive enemy armada in front of her on the sensors, she sighed and added, “I wish we had a black hole generator now.”
“So… they are telegraphing the exact vector where their fleet is blinking to next,” Chuck summarized, the realization of the implication hitting him.
“Yup. Convenient, isn’t it? Makes it so we don’t even need our stealth drones. Setting us up perfectly for what I am from now on calling the Sphinx Gambit,” Amelia said smugly.
“But he didn’t invent it and I wanted to name—” Lee called out from her station.
“Well, XO, get yourself a few stars on your collar and you can name your own Bunny killing scheme.”
“You’re pulling rank for this?!”
“Yup, and it’s a perfectly good name… Anyway, playtime’s over. Get that blink vector and move us into their way. Oh… say, a couple light years into it. Make sure it’s a long drive either way. You know what they say… if you’re trying to kidnap someone, you don’t do it in the middle of downtown Olympus; you wait for them to drive somewhere nice and remote where no one will come looking for them for a long, long time.”
“Who says that? Nobody says that. Remind me never to go on a road trip with you alone, Amelia.”
“Just blink.”
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ZNS 2228
“The scout ship arrived in Preirsput, Ten Whiskers. Everything is normal. They’re scouting the system with drones to ensure that it’s fully empty,” Skvanu reported.
“Good. Can’t be too careful with these Sixth Fleet Lesser Predators,” Ditvish nodded.
After a few hours, Skvanu reported that the system is clear of enemies… as far as they could tell.
He asked, “Where do you think they are going to go next?”
Ditvish thought for a moment, and replied, “The combat computer thinks they will dance back into Datsot and retake it.”
“What do you think?”
Ditvish smiled, proud that his subordinate now instinctively knew the difference. “Not sure. Datsot is a logical choice. Other than that, maybe a surprise attack from Stoers Shipyard into our main force garrisoned near the main front before we adapt to their new weapons and tactics.”
“In any case, nothing we should worry about?”
Ditvish nodded. “Hopefully not, though I did quietly file an analysis about that with Znos to make myself look good in case that happens.”
“That’s genius, Ten Whiskers.”
“Flattery doesn’t work on me, Skvanu. Is the fleet ready to go? Good. All ships, execute blink.”
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A deafening noise that resembled a magnified crunch of a shuttle crash echoed throughout the battlecruiser’s hull. Sparks flew from electronic consoles. Dozens of klaxons activated simultaneously. And the bridge crew was inundated with hundreds of errors and alarms. Which only indicated that something was wrong, but its instruments were unsure what it was.
Ditvish sat up in his chair as he regained his bearings. “What is going on? I thought we were not scheduled to exit blink for another hour.”
Skvanu skimmed through the notifications on his console. “We are not where we are supposed to be, Ten Whiskers. Our propulsion and navigation sections are reporting numerous anomalies… and the same problems are repeating across the fleet. All squadrons are reporting in, scattered around us but still in formation.”
Ditvish looked at the computer officer, expecting her report.
She looked up. “Using the starfield outside, combat computer calculates we are exactly 2.3 light years from both our source and our destination. It speculates that our blink drive has been sabotaged by enemies.”
“Sabotaged?”
“Yes, Ten Whiskers. That is the most likely option it presents at this moment.”
“Did it elucidate a mechanism for how someone sabotaged every ship in my fleet?” Ditvish asked, his voice deathly calm.
“Yes, one of the recent software updates being tampered with is the hypothesis it favors at the moment.”
Ditvish shook his head. “Try again. Learning from a malfunction like that with another fleet two years ago, I ordered Squadron 14 not to apply the recent updates, and they’re right outside with us.”
“Yes, Ten Whiskers. I take responsibility for not checking the response appropriately,” the computer officer replied, her whiskers twitching in embarrassment. “All other possibilities were rejected by the computer for being too unlikely.”
“Tell it to keep watching and come back when it comes up with an actual theory. Skvanu, any updates from propulsion?”
“Ten Whiskers, propulsion is reporting— ahem, propulsion is reporting that we are out of blink fuel.”
“Out of blink fuel?” Ditvish asked incredulously. “How do we run out of blink fuel in the middle of a blink? Is that even possible?”
Skvanu deflected, his knowledge of the blink drive rudimentary at best, “That’s a good question, Ten Whiskers. The five whiskers in charge of 2228’s propulsion is on the line now.”
Ditvish looked straight into his console. “Five Whiskers, what just happened to my ships?!”
The panting officer with tussled head fur appeared on the screen. “Ten Whiskers, I take full responsibility for this failure in my department. We are still diagnosing the issue, but it seems that over the course of about 11.5 seconds, all the fuel in our blink drive was drained. We dropped out of blink because we ran out of fuel, which is a safety measure designed into the blink engine. Again, I take full—”
Ditvish interrupted his groveling. “Drained? To where? Where did our blink fuel go? Did we spring a leak?”
“That’s just impossible—” the officer replied instantly, before he remembered protocol. “That is… an extremely unlikely scenario, Ten Whiskers. There are very few conventional hydraulic pipes in the blink engine. If we did spring a leak, we would have all rejoined the Prophecy by now. However, we will check all possibilities… including that one. I apologize, Ten Whiskers, for our lack of knowledge and incompetence—”
Ditvish cut the connection. The bridge crew was suddenly very quiet.
He looked around. “As you have heard, we are out of blink fuel. Any suggestions?”
The computer officer reported, “Combat computer recommends we call Gruccud for help with refueling our ships.”
“Ah,” Ditvish said. “That might be a problematic, considering our recent supply line issues… but it looks like we don’t have a choice. Communications officer, get in contact with Gruccud and start looking for a good solution with them. We are sitting prey, more vulnerable the longer we are here.”
“Yes, Ten Whiskers.”
“And we must make contingencies,” Ditvish said. “If we can’t get refueling ships out here, what are we doing?”
Seeing no one else speak up, Skvanu hazarded a guess. “If we transfer all the regular engine fuel in the fleet to the largest ships and put non-essential crew members in the deep hibernation pods, we might be able to get a few ships to the nearest system with a refueling source near us. It will take…” He did some numbers in his head. “A little over six months on our sub-FTL engines. And that’s with aerobraking at the other end… There are stories of ships surviving without resupply for years—”
Ditvish shook his head. “We won’t last a week. We have combat ships, not long-range explorers. Half the fleet will be dead from lack of maintenance or supplies before we are even prepared for such a journey… Anyone else? No? Looks like our only real choice is relying on the fleet at Gruccud to come refuel us. Communications officer, see if they can cobble together as many combat ships as they can and have it escort some fuel to us.”
The communication officer bowed her head. “Ten Whiskers, I am trying, but they have not been responding to my requests. I take full responsibility for my inability to get into contact—”
Ditvish stood up, alarm rising in his chest. “Allow me a guess. None of the other sectors are responding, and none of the other ships in the fleet can get in touch with anyone else either.”
“Yes, Ten Whiskers.”
“I see. In that case, we have a much bigger problem than blink fuel,” he said, projecting a calmness he did not personally feel. “Fleet-wide, warm up the weapons and prepare for combat. Boost all sensors to maximum sensitivity. The enemy is near us. Find them.”
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TRNS MISSISSIPPI
“The Buns are sweating,” Carla reported. “Or panting, really. There was just another intercepted local transmission. Their propulsion sections are under increasing pressure to find the answer. Rumor from the transmission is that a few of their captains have exercised field discipline on their equivalent of the head engineers. No executions yet, but we can only hope.”
Amelia nodded, “Good. Let’s give them another few hours. Unless they start spreading out and getting out of our jamming range to call out, the longer we wait—”
“—the lower their combat readiness?”
“Yup. They can’t be at red alert forever. We know where they are, and they don’t know where we are. We hold all the cards, so we get to dictate the terms of this engagement.”
The admiral looked towards the main external camera viewscreen. There was nothing on it but distant stars. Having to stay at the edge of the enemy’s effective detection range, the Znosian ships were too far away to see with the naked eye. And if she could visually spot any of the squadron of stealthy next generation missile destroyers assigned to her task force in the dark, then someone was not doing their job—
“Anything I should tell the other captains?” Carla asked, tracking her gaze.
“Nothing new. Regular shifts and break out the good stuff for dinner. Our spacers will be well-rested and well-prepared when we engage. And remind the Python-class captains to monitor those new heat sinks of theirs. If anything goes wrong, I want them to blink away and explain it to me later. Frankly, we might be facing down the armada, but I’m not too worried about us.”
“You’re thinking of the Puppers in the other task force?” Carla asked, concerned for them herself.
“Who else?”
“They just reported in they’re ready to go over there. We’ll be getting updates from the Amazon,” Carla assured her.
Amelia nodded reluctantly. “I know. I just can’t get images of what happened the last time they tried this out of my head. Remember that battle I told you about where they blamed the one—”
“They’re a different fleet now. Besides, we’ll finally get to try out some of our new equipment.”