GLAENT CITY CENTER, GRUCCUD
“Code yellow. Code yellow. All civilians. Immediately head to your nearest designated underground shelter. Do not bring any non-essential belongings. Code yellow. Code yellow. All civilians…”
For the second time ever, the warning sirens of Gruccud blared this particular message with urgency.
At the thousands of bunkers seeded throughout the planet, lines of Malgeir waited patiently as emergency supplies and equipment were distributed. Only a fraction of the original inhabitants of the planet still remained after years of brutal Znosian occupation, but the ones that did were hardened survivors, selected by the harshness of the camps.
They knew what to do.
“One rifle for each snout, only! Take three magazines and pass the remaining to the paw behind you. Six grenades for every den and a rocket launcher for every clan! Hoarding will not be tolerated!”
This time, the planet would not fall before its people did.
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MNS OENGRO, GRUCCUD-4 (3,000 KM)
POV: Grionc, Malgeir Federation Navy (Rank: High Fleet Commander)
“The Copproe is still ahead of the enemy fleet and should arrive at the outer system defense perimeter before the Grass Eater fleet, High Fleet Commander,” Vastae called out as the bridge cheered the small win. “If the enemy fleet continues the chase as we predict, they will be here in four days.”
Grionc stared into the abyss, her heart unsteady. “When he gets back, debrief Captain Speunirtio immediately and double-check his sensors. I want to see if we’ve missed anything.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are the alien mines in the outer system positioned?”
“We’re towing the last few we can into position, ma’am,” Vastae responded confidently. “We’ve got enough seeded throughout the system to make whatever orbital transfer they take towards Datsot extremely painful.”
“Vastae… you— you know this is probably the end for us, right? They have two thousand combat ships; we have under ten times their numbers. Even with the technological wonders we got from our friends, our chances are—”
“High Fleet Commander, you know that stupid thing the Grass Eaters say before battle?”
“The Grass Eaters say a lot of stupid things,” Grionc answered diplomatically.
“The one about the hatchling pools.”
“That their lives were forfeited when they leave the hatchling pools or something?”
Vastae nodded. “Yeah, exactly that one.”
“What about it? Grass Eater fanatic persistence is well-documented.”
“They say that because they don’t have a choice. As they say, their lives were forfeited long ago.”
“And?”
He looked her in the eyes. “Unlike them, we do have a choice. And we are choosing to follow you. Voluntarily. All of Sixth Fleet is. We have been for years. That means something— something more. If this is the end for us, we’ll have gone out serving under people we believed in. That I believe in.”
Grionc reached up with a paw to wipe some unrelated moisture from her eye. “Heh, well said, Vastae. The best of our people against the best of theirs, right?”
“Well,” Vastae smiled, clasping a paw to her shoulder. “I can’t speak for them.”
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ZNS 1006, REUBLEPRI (12,000 LS)
POV: Stsinkt, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Ten Whiskers)
The newly promoted Ten Whiskers Stsinkt gazed upon the thousands of ships of her mighty Grand Prophetic Fleet. Not for generations had the Znosian Dominion needed to deploy such a large offensive formation. Most predator civilizations encountered by the Servants of the Prophecy were not formidable enough to warrant such an awesome response.
For the few that did, the Znosian Navy knew exactly what to do with them.
She returned to her command chair. “Computer Officer, where is the grand fleet commander?”
“He is still stationed at Grantor with the secondary fleet, Ten Whiskers. Should I call him?”
“Yes. Disable our FTL jammers temporarily so I can talk to him.”
“Yes, Ten Whiskers.”
The grizzled face of the experienced Navy officer appeared on her screen. “Ten Whiskers Stsinkt, are you ready for the challenge the Prophecy has given you?”
She bowed her head. “Yes, Eleven Whiskers Sprabr. One of their scout ships caught us off-guard, by total chance it appears, while a few of our ships were still refueling at the gas giant. But we have since completed our preparations, and we are ready to execute the Will of the Prophecy. I have transferred my command to the ZNS 1006, a missile destroyer instead of the regular fleet flagship.”
From the look of Sprabr’s face, he clearly approved. “There is no shame or dishonor in that kind of deception… and I would recommend against transmitting that information again in the future, especially in range of the enemy. The predators will likely wreck our biggest and most valuable ships with their new weapons as soon as possible. There is very little we can do about that and the honorable Servants of the Prophecy on it who will likely perish, but your command must survive.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
With her head still bowed, Stsinkt muttered a quick, “Their lives were forfeited the day they left their hatchling pools.”
“Additionally, I see you have factored into your battle planning that we will likely lose contact with each other when you get into battle due to the usage of jamming devices.”
“Indeed, Eleven Whiskers. Our relay ships are ready. They will blink out of the range of FTL jammers to exchange status updates with you. And in a minor engagement with their scout ship, we have learned that our jammers are indeed effective against the predators’ communication systems. Or else their scout ship would not have revealed their ability to identify and destroy the exact ship carrying the device to warn their Sixth Fleet at Gruccud of the incoming attack.”
“Logical deduction, Ten Whiskers. And that is an unexpected development.”
“That is of little concern,” Stsinkt waved casually. “We have many ships with jammers. We will ensure we always have multiple of them active in battle to keep the net closed.”
“Excellent planning.”
“It is my combat computer that gave me the inspiration.”
Sprabr nodded. “It is a tool, like any other tool. But what is most important in battle is what is in between your ears. Maybe, one day, the planning skills of our combat computer will exceed the capabilities of even our most well-bred, well-trained captains. And our weapons of war can become fully autonomous. But we — the biological Servants of the Prophecy — are not obsolete. Not yet.”
“Unfortunately not, Eleven Whiskers.”
“One more thing — this is not a directive, but advice — Ten Whiskers. In battle, turn off the part of you that prejudices you against the predators. Abandon your pride. This enemy we now face, they are not the enemy we faced just three years ago. These predators are experienced. They are cunning. And they will do everything they can to stop you. If you find yourself in trouble, do not hesitate to call on us at Grantor for reinforcement, and my secondary reserve fleet will come to your aid.”
“I’m sure it won’t come to that, Eleven Whiskers. We outnumber the enemy at least ten to one… But as you command, we will be cautious against any new traps they conjure as we deploy new gadgets against the predators ourselves. We will manage our resources carefully as to not be wasteful of the abundance that the Prophecy has gifted us.”
“Good, good. I am now more confident of this campaign than I was five minutes ago,” Sprabr beamed. “May the Will of the Prophecy be fulfilled through you.”
She saluted. “May the Will of the Prophecy be done through me.”
The connection cut out.
Stsinkt turned back to her computer officer. “Tell them to reactivate the FTL jammers.”
“Yes, Ten Whiskers… It’s done.”
“How far are we from Gruccud?”
“If everything goes as planned: three days, Ten Whiskers.”
“Good. Tightbeam the Grand Prophetic Fleet: all squadrons, prepare your crews for battle. Today, we begin our great campaign,” Stsinkt said, looking out towards the direction of the predators’ star systems. “And when our job is done, a mighty civilization will meet its end.”
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LIMA MINE, TITAN
POV: Ace of Clubs, Terran (Republic Most Wanted #1)
The Ace of Clubs stared at the latest news dump in despair.
The financial networks had all been shut down. The supply lines were empty. The Resistance Navy was crumbling around her. Many people in the Red Zone may still support the Resistance, surely, but she keenly understood that a fight was about more than the determination to win. It helped; morale was important in battle, but the ability to effectively strike at the cursed Republic was not a function of how mad people were at them. It was a function of weapons, money, communications, safe locations, and yes — the drive to fight was one factor, but it was one of many.
The SRN still had its rusting capital ships in its underground hangar here in Lima Mine, and they could take off for maybe one fight. One great strike against the Rep Navy. And then they would all die.
Deep down, the Ace of Clubs knew that she believed in the Resistance and its cause, but not enough to want to go out like that.
And morale. Morale was… not great. That tended to happen to people who hadn’t been paid in a while. Belief in the great cause only went so far. It didn’t feed the families, that’s for sure. Not that anyone really went hungry in the Republic colonies, but their families being forced to take public assistance like good little Rep citizens? Her people were not happy at all.
She stared out the window of the office for a minute, watching her people work. Most of them were technicians and a few spacers. They maintained and guarded the Resistance Navy’s great ships in what was turning out to be their forever hangars.
The Ace of Clubs recognized one of the men walking by. She called out to him, “Hey, you!”
He turned around to look at her, pointing at himself. “Me?”
“You. You’re Felix, right? Felix Lamar?”
Felix nodded.
“You’re one of the former communications specialists on Galileo Three?” she asked, recalling his personnel file.
Felix nodded again.
“And you were part of the Galileo Three cell for a while?”
He finally found the courage to speak. “Yeah, I did some work there. Mostly under the Ace of Hearts: recruitment work, some communication security—”
The Ace of Clubs smiled. “Good, step into my office for a minute.”
He joined her in the quieter environment. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“What do you know about hiding your tracks?”
“For communications, right? I… know a little about that.”
“Okay,” the Ace of Clubs nodded. “I need you to set up an untraceable call for me. Can you do that?”
“How long do you need?”
“How long can you get me?”
Felix pondered for a while. “Maybe five minutes. Any more than that, I can’t guarantee our security. Our non-deterministic quantum—”
“That’s good enough,” she said. She gestured him to the communications console, and he got to work on the familiar controls.
“Who— what are we calling?” Felix asked.
“The Reps, of course.”
Felix stopped typing mid-command. “Wait. Where’s your regular communications specialist? Doesn’t she normally do this for you?”
“We had… a minor disagreement.”
“A disagreement?”
“You can keep a secret, can’t you, Felix?” she asked, looking at him like a shark. A hungry shark.
“Uh… of course, ma’am. I would never betray your privacy. It’s my solemn oath as both a Resistance spacer and a communication specialist.”
The Ace of Clubs sighed. “Alright, I’ll let you in on it, Felix. My regular communication specialist, she’s not happy about the recent negotiations with the Reps. She doesn’t understand. We’re a Resistance, not a death cult. We’ve got something the Reps want. They’ve got something we want. We talk to them about it. Communication, that’s what makes us human, right?”
Felix relaxed visibly. “Oh, right. Of course. That’s totally reasonable.”
“And the Resistance charter… you know, it’s just guidelines for the lower ranked folks, right? The Aces, we made the charter. It doesn’t apply to us. When we need to make the big decisions, sometimes we have to be a little more flexible. That’s why we’re the Aces. You get me?”
“Yes, ma’am. And that’s way above my paygrade.”
“Good, Felix, I knew I could trust you.”
“Uh… who should I direct the call to?”
“Atlas Naval Command. And tell them to get me Admiral Amelia Waters.”
“Yes, Ace.”
She didn’t have to wait long. The face of the cursed Republic admiral appeared on her screen in seconds.
“Ah, it’s the terrorist head honcho again,” the enemy admiral said as her camera tracked her sitting down in what looked like her private office. “I was just looking for you, actually.”
“Really? Looking for me?” the Ace of Clubs asked in mock surprise. “Like you’ve been for a few decades?”
“Yeah, Ace. Just to say goodbye this time.”
The Ace of Clubs narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to this time, Rep?”
“Oh, you know — this and that. I’m actually glad you called me,” the woman was barely containing her glee. “Saved me from having to call you, really. To gloat.”
“To gloat? About what?”
“Oh, you know—”
“No, I don’t know. Enough with your childish games, Rep.”
The Republic admiral’s face turned slightly more serious. “Fine. How’s it going down there at Lima Mine?”