MALGEIRGAM, MALGEIRU
Grionc’s rage simmered, a quiet storm brewing beneath her stoic exterior as she perched on the ornate chair in the empty lobby. She knew the Schpriss were making her wait on purpose. This was some kind of petty political power play, a further waste of her time on a trip that she already knew was going to be fruitless.
As a reward for her “victory” at Datsot, the Defense Ministry was sending her around the diplomatic circuit to beg for another tranche of military assistance and donations from their closest allies, a thinning pool of neighboring species that were growing less and less interested in helping out what they were seeing as a lost cause as the Znosians gradually consumed more and more Malgeir territory. The leadership clearly hoped that her newfound status as a war hero might win some respect.
Or at least pity. At this point, the Malgeir weren’t being too choosy.
“The Ambassador will see you now,” the assistant chirped primly from the reception desk.
Grionc stiffly entered his office.
The Ambassador’s red eyes were typical for his species. His outward appearance didn’t show his full age of 65, but that was only because of extensive plastic surgery that veiled his age-worn wrinkles and restored the youthful shine of his red-brown fur. In terms of his personality, Ambassador Prinlaex was slimier than the most brackish swamps of Malgeiru, even by the low standards Grionc held in her heart for the Schpriss. She tried not to be prejudiced, but he was a living, breathing reminder of all the things Grionc hated about their species: smug, insincere, and utterly self-interested.
“Greetings, Fleet Commander. It has come to my attention that you are garnering quite a bit of attention and acclamation in the diplomatic orbit,” he said, grinning at her as if he meant it as some sort of honor instead of an insult.
Grionc masked her disdain with a practiced diplomatic smile. She replied, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Ambassador. I’m here because we need your help.”
The ambassador’s expression changed from a grin of faint amusement to a scowl of barely disguised annoyance.
Ignoring his discomfort, Grionc took a deep breath and began to explain the situation. The Malgeir Navy needed ships, she explained. It needed technology that was promised to the Malgeir months ago. It needs faster, stronger ships. It needed spacers. And yes, at the end of the day, it needed raw resources that they were now short on because of the war.
The ambassador listened attentively but said nothing as Grionc pleaded.
Prinlaex listened, his face an impassive mask. Then, when she was done, he replied in full diplomatic monotone, “We acknowledge and respect the significance of this request and will provide our response as expeditiously as possible. As you may be aware, due to the importance of safeguarding Schpriss space, a thorough examination of both your suggestion and our own security must be conducted prior to any potential decision regarding assistance for those outside our borders. We hope you can understand the necessity of this process.”
No, she did not understand. The Schpriss were next on the Znosians’ list. There was no way they didn’t know that… Maybe they were planning on just giving up if that ever happened, rather living on their bellies than dying on their paws. Not that the Grass Eaters were even going to allow them their preferred choice…
Grionc had been to Schpriss Prime twice before. It was a beautiful ecumenopolis, a city planet. The food there had been compatible with Malgeir biology and entirely made of meat, like a proper civilized race. And if it weren’t for her experience there, she could have sworn the Schpriss were a prey species the way they folded in the face of adversity…
Ambassador Prinlaex continued, “However, I have been authorized to extend an offer to you. This one is of a more personal nature—”
“A personal offer?” she echoed suspiciously.
“We have seen the impressive manner in which you lead Sixth Fleet and would like to extend to you an invitation to join our Schpriss Navy as a high-ranking officer, should Malgeiru fall. We are happy to provide a safe passage out for yourself and those under your command following the event.”
Grionc stiffened even more. “You’re asking me to commit treason!”
“Certainly not,” the greasy ambassador waved. “We merely provide an opportunity for you to find refuge and new purpose within our Navy, should the unfortunate event of a total collapse occur in your Navy.”
“Ah, not treason, just desertion then. This war is not over yet, Ambassador! We still hold dozens of sectors, and our capital is still guarded by the most powerful Home Fleet.”
“With all due respect, Fleet Commander, the evidence points to an unfavorable outcome for your forces. Keep in mind that I do get reports of the war that haven’t been edited by your government’s censors. For example, we know your offensive in Datsot did not go as smoothly as has been claimed in your Defense Ministry’s press releases. And please… Home Fleet. Even you can see how absurd placing your faith on them is.”
“And what will you be having me do for this favor?” she asked angrily.
“Nothing much. We would like you to provide us with updates and insights from time to time. We are friendly neighbors, after all. This is simply an effort to ensure that we remain in the loop and can share beneficial knowledge with one another. And of course, when the inevitable does come to pass and Malgeiru falls,” Prinlaex continued with unwavering confidence in his morbid prediction, “we would request that you transfer as many remaining Malgeir and Granti ships to Schpriss Prime as possible.”
Oh, not just desertion either. Espionage too. Fantastic.
She was coming up with an appropriately indignant retort when he interrupted the simmering rage in her heart.
“I do not need an answer now. I encourage you to go home and carefully ponder your decision. You have a great deal of talent, and I would hate to see you squander it in a conflict where the outcome is, unfortunately, not in your favor. I suggest taking some time to consider all of your options before making a final decision.”
He was barely done talking before Grionc stormed out of the room and building.
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After the conversation with the repulsive Schpriss ambassador, the first thing Grionc did was to take a long shower to wash off his stink. The second thing she did was to look up the Oengro’s contacts directory for her tactical officer’s information. He had a reputation among the ship’s senior officers for being resourceful, which she would need.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Which is why Grionc was sitting nervously on the park bench, looking around furtively like a contraband trader with a guilty conscience.
“Hello, Fleet Commander,” Speinfoent said as he awkwardly approached her bench.
“Sit, sit,” she said hastily, “How was your leave? Did you visit your pack?”
“No, my parents were both on Gionlu. They didn’t get out before the Znosians overran it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said genuinely.
“It was months ago,” he shrugged, “I like to think they would have been proud of what I’m doing.”
“Is that why you joined the Navy? I saw your aptitude scores. You could have gotten into any of the prestigious research institutes for a cushy, well-paying job or—”
“Gionlu fell after I joined up. And you’re thinking of the old Navy, Fleet Commander. Nowadays, we frontline officers are getting pretty good recruiting offers too since the Defense Ministry’s gotten desperate,” Speinfoent grinned, then continued more seriously. “I do want to help prevent what happened to Gionlu from happening to other colonies, though. Call it a sense of duty or… whatever.”
“I understand,” she said simply.
Speinfoent looked over at her solemn expression and instantly believed its genuineness. Grionc had that effect on people. “What about you, Fleet Commander, why did you join up?”
“I was a migrant worker on Grantor. When the war came to the Granti, they were our hosts and allies. It was just natural that many of us enlisted or were commissioned. My first position when I was an omega leader was staffing the tactical station of a small Granti gun cutter,” she recalled with a slight smile.
“You were in Tactical?!” Speinfoent exclaimed. “I guess I’ve never thought of you as anything but in command of the Sixth.”
“Yeah, we all had to start somewhere. Pretty soon after that, the Malgeir officially joined the fight, so we transferred over. That’s when I got my first ship command: a tiny Omega-class ship. We all thought the war would be over quickly. A few months, maybe a year. I remember a discussion on the news where xenobiology experts kept saying the Znosians were a prey species, so they had to be bad at fighting.”
“Must have been a shock to see one of them in battle in person for the first time.”
“Yeah, nah. We figured that one out pretty quick. Back in the day, the censorship wasn’t quite as strong. And then I truly got a taste of it the first time my ship got boarded—”
Speinfoent’s eyes went round and asked, “You’ve even seen a Znosian boarding party?”
“Oh yeah. We relied pretty heavily on close ranged ship-to-ship weaponry early on because we didn’t have much else, and they took advantage of that. The Omega-class I was on got boarded by a small elite squad, just five or six of them… We didn’t have any Marines. They chewed through half our crew and got to the fusion reactor room, and we had to abandon ship.” Grionc shuddered at the memory. “Less than a dozen of us got out.”
“Ah, my condolences, Fleet Commander,” he said.
She nodded her appreciation. “The news kept repeating the same line ‘prey can’t fight’, ‘prey can’t fight’ for a while after. Then, the official line became, ‘they only win because they breed a lot of them’.”
“That’s… not wrong. There are a lot of them. Endless waves of them.”
She snorted. “Yeah, but we’d probably be in trouble even if we fought them one-to-one, too.”
“No doubt. What a cosmic joke. Who knew the only prey species to get to the stars would be so combative and unreasonable?”
Grionc found herself nodding in agreement. “Yeah. It makes sense though, doesn’t it? Intelligent species that originated as predator species learn to only expand as much as there was enough food and learned to make the best use of the resources we got. But prey… in nature, they just grow and grow and grow until they eat all the foliage and then starve. That’s probably why the Grass Eaters are the way they are, except there’s plenty of us left for them to graze on. And the selection bias: I imagine a species of prey less inclined to constant violence wouldn’t make it to the stars in the first place!”
Speinfoent nodded slowly as he tried to digest her hypotheses. He was kind enough not to point out the fatal flaw he immediately picked up in the first one: some of the non-sapient predators in their own people’s history did that as well.
They sat in awkward silence for another moment until Speinfoent spoke up. “Why did you want to talk to me today?” Then he hesitated and asked, “Are we… planning a coup?”
“A what? Coup? No! Where did you even learn that word?”
“Ancient History class.”
“Don’t lie to me, Speinfoent.”
“Yeah, okay, it was an old movie I watched. And besides, you know the whole Sixth Fleet will back you if you do, right?”
“Speinfoent. We’re not launching a coup,” she insisted, putting as much sincerity into her voice as she could. “What makes you even say that?!”
“I just thought… you can certainly do a better job running the war than the cretins in the Defense Ministry. Commander Vastae asked us—”
“Wait, Vastae’s mentioned a coup before?!”
“N—no…” Speinfoent said hurriedly, “Nothing of the sort. He just made us dig out the remote hard locks on Oengro’s control systems that Home Fleet built in decades ago… just in case Home Fleet is ever compromised.”
Grionc narrowed her eyes. “I see. And did Vastae mention how Home Fleet could be a potential threat, given it hasn’t seen battle in over nine hundred years?”
“It’s just a precaution,” Speinfoent replied, averting her eyes. “Anyway, if it isn’t a coup, what did you need me here for that we can’t talk about on our communicators?”
She thought for a while and answered, “They made me talk to the Schpriss Ambassador.”
“Those slimy cretins. Are they finally sending the ships they promised months ago now?”
“No. Same answer, we’ll need to investigate it, blah blah blah. Then, this time, he tried to poach me to the Schpriss Navy ‘when Malgeiru falls’, as long as I pass them information,” she said, curling her lips and claws at the outraged memory.
“And… you want to know what I think?”
“I already know what I’m going to do, but what do you think?”
“I think it’s a good deal. But I would personally rather die a Malgeir than live as a Schprissian coward, hiding behind my neighbors as they fall in battle to a xenocidal enemy.”
Grionc thought for a second and nodded. “That’s what I would have said to him right then and there if I didn’t care about tossing my career over nothing.”
“Are you going to report him?”
She barked a short, sarcastic chuckle. “To whom? The Home Fleet internal security commandant? I bet he’s already bought his own tickets to Schpriss Prime. Besides, their ambassador has diplomatic immunity or something.”
Speinfoent shrugged. “Well, at least that means a few of the Malgeir will live on, for a while. Until our ostensible friends discover the bottomless appetite of the Grass Eaters.”
“Speaking of the aliens,” she said, shifting. “What did you think about that Znosian prisoner’s talk of another species out there?”
“It seemed genuine, and the rest of the interrogation checked out, but it was all based on rumors and conjecture. It could just be prey ramblings.” Speinfoent then added, “They mentioned that these new aliens are silent protectors, but when—”
“But when did they protect us, right?” Grionc continued his question. “I had a thought about that, too. What if a Znosian raiding party found a star system that belonged to this unknown alien species on their way to attack us, and they got wiped out by them? Some kind of territorial reaction by a new species out there. Repeat that a couple of times, and their prey mentality start to see a pattern where there is none.”
“That’s as logical as any explanation I’ve heard so far. I wonder who would have been able to not just go toe-to-toe with them but beat them so hard that they didn’t even get a full picture of the threat.”
“That is precisely why I am curious. If the Znosians suffered a major defeat somewhere, there must be evidence. Some kind of anomaly. Maybe a few missing ships between two battles. Or an anticipated raid that never happened. Or something like that. Speinfoent, that’s why I asked you here. I need you to investigate this for me.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, ma’am. I assume we can’t just go through the official channels?”
Grionc shook her ears. “No. If this is true, there’s too much riding on this. The Defense Ministry has given up, like a wild old animal with cancer, waiting to die. I reported this days ago, but I wager it will be months before anyone even looks at the request. If they even bother.”
“I see. I will try to get access to the Archives and see what I can find. I might have a way in.”
“Stay safe, Speinfoent,” Grionc cautioned. “The Defense Ministry… it might be dying, but the vultures are not. Its Archives are not a safe place for honest creatures. It might even be more dangerous than any battle we’ve been in. If you see something you know you shouldn’t, don’t dig too deep unless you have to, and let me know as soon as you find anything.”