~Humanity may not have been the first sentient race to ascend to the stars. They’re not even the most advanced race. Desperation drove humanity to flee their homeworld, driven away by ferocious invaders and a devastating scorched earth response intended to reel the invaders back.
With no solid target worlds available, the human survival fleet of a handful of spaceships stayed together, travelling as a migrant flotilla to pool resources and continue advancing.
Centuries of society and war have taught humanity many things about itself. Collectively, they make mistakes, but then, they have a more powerful trait; survival. Humanity is intuitive, fierce, and driven, desperate to survive and carry on.
War and death don’t weaken humanity. They have created something special in a sentient race. They give humanity a higher threshold for survival.~
One week has passed since the incident on the Polonia. The fleet is flying headlong, attempting to gain distance from the alien fleet while a battle strategy is formulated.
Russell Right, the creator of G-sink, is working on the alien technology stolen from Earth, doing his best with his team of scientists to reverse engineer the technology. They already have some understanding of the alien power systems, but that’s about it so far.
Hancock, Kenzie, and Tanya are sitting together in the hangar bay, with Little Bird sitting in Hancock’s lap helping him clean his rifle as he teaches her the parts. Sergeant Grey, Fisher, Fredericks, and Dumas are nearby, gently stretching to help their recovering muscles as they drink coffee.
So far, the best strategy the marines have, given what’s known about the alien warships, is for the small teams to board the ships, damage life support, and then rupture the hull. The woman that was with Russell Right, Doctor Levine Lopez, has been working tirelessly on intrusion software to identify the ship’s design and potentially allow the human fleet to capture the data they need and send the ‘captured’ ship into oblivion, drawing the alien fleet on a goose chase.
The problem is, the assault team will have to fight their way into the heart of an enemy ship AFTER it discovers the fleet. It’s only been a matter of time so far. The marines are waiting in tension for a distant signal warning of a Grim Reaper-like arrival.
They’re as ready as they can be. Traps are in place. The fleet is moving. All they can do is wait.
Little bird squeaks, “Rookie… Do you think… any bunnies made it onto the ships?”
“Bunnies?” asks Hancock, surprised. She hums and nods, scrubbing the bolt assembly with a toothbrush. Hancock replies, “Huh… that’s a good question. If not, I suppose you and me will have to keep our eyes out for some space bunnies, huh?”
Little Bird looks up at him, asking hopefully, “You really think there are space bunnies?”
Hancock smirks, saying proudly, “I won’t give up looking until we find some.” Little Bird relaxes, sitting back against his chest. She asks more grimly, “What if the monsters try to hurt the space bunnies?”
Kenzie offers playfully, “You think these guys will let that happen, Sweetie?”
Little Bird looks up at Hancock, asking, “You’ll protect the space bunnies, Rookie?”
Hancock smiles and nods, “I’ll do my best.”
Tanya teases playfully, “I’m surprised you let a junior marine call you ‘Rookie’, Rex.”
Hancock smirks, “Who, Little Bird? She’s almost as experienced as me, so it’s fair.”
Tanya and Kenzie giggle. The younger woman remarks gently, “It’s surprising how quiet everything is. Feels like everything else was real, and we’re about to wake up into it again… but also…”
Hancock says softly, “The other way around, at the same time. I agree. This time, though, it should stay quiet… if…”
“You will,” says Kenzie calmly and confidently. “You wouldn’t make Little Bird carry all of the burden, would you?” She playfully tickles the now-blushing little girl for a giggle.
Hancock smirks, “Nah. Once she’s as old as I am, she can.”
“N-Nineteen?” squeaks the intelligent girl as she cranes her head to look at him. His smirk becomes even more teasing, retorting, “Nope. When, at that time, we’re the same age.”
Little Bird frowns in confusion, thinking deeply, as Tanya and Kenzie giggle. She suddenly whines, “That’s not fair! That’s impossible!” Hancock places his chin on her crown, saying playfully, “Is it? Shucks. Guess we’ll always have to share, huh?”
There’s a brief pause, where the little girl squirms less than he expected. She suddenly asks, “Promise?”
Hancock sighs, asking, “Why do you want to rush, Maya?”
She wrings her hands together sheepishly, mumbling hesitantly.
Hancock says more gently, “There’ll be plenty for you to do to help, Maya. You already have. And, when you are fully ready, you and me will find space bunnies together and protect everyone we love. And THAT;” The young marine offers his pinkie to the young girl. She smiles up at him, wrapping her pinkie around his, just as with Grey. Hancock finishes, “Is a promise.”
Little Bird nuzzles back against his torso, claiming his hand for a bit to hug to herself. She says quietly, “Thank you, Rex.”
Hancock is content to relax a moment. Most of the gear is ready, so it’s all a matter of…
“Attention all hands,” states a male voice over the Polonia’s intercom. “Gravimetric pulse detected. Report to stations. Nonessential and civilian personnel, remain confined to quarters. This is not a drill.”
Kenzie and Little Bird gasp together. Hancock squirms free of her as Sergeant Grey rallies the others, “A’ight, Marines. Give your rumps a rest and gear up!”
The four marines chuckle, and Hancock quickly assembles his rifle as he drilled so many times past, earning an astonished, “Whoa…” squeaked from Little Bird. She quickly pleads though, “B-Be safe!”
Fredericks, Dumas, and Fisher chuckle, and Fisher kneels to fist bump with her. He says warmly, “We’re just gettin’ warmed up, Marine.”
She smiles and nods. Kenzie and Tanya kiss Hancock and Grey briefly, sending a warm surge through the young marine.
The announcement continues, “Fire teams hold fire until ordered. Damage control teams stand by for EVA and shoring. Boarding teams have permission to launch.”
Lieutenant Kane meets the teams as all of them jog to the alien shuttle. Hancock notices two teams are going with them; a science team of two scientists and another marine squad of six led by a female sergeant.
Grey instantly barks, “Hell no! What is this!? Doctor Lopez; no way.”
The young woman glares at him silently through her polarized helmet, but it’s actually the slightly older male scientist Hancock doesn’t recognize who replies, “We’re going, Marine. If the virus doesn’t work first try, she may need to adjust. I’ll be joining as well to identify what we MUST take if we’re taking things.”
“And, if you two die!?” snaps Grey.
Kane quickly defuses, saying, “Your jobs are to prevent that, Sergeant. I’m sorry, but we don’t have time.”
Grey sighs, “Yes, sir.” The group piles into the shuttle and Kane takes off, watching diligently for the aliens’s arrival. If anything more than a single ship arrives, humanity is done for anyways. All the marines can do is try to make the plan work if they get lucky enough.
The other sergeant says casually, “Staff Sergeant Grey, right? Your squad’s reputation is spreading already.”
Grey scoffs, retorting, “No idea what you’re talking about, Sergeant.”
“Tachibana,” she replies. She chuckles, adding, “You boys have been on top of everything. How many of the gators you take down?”
Grey replies plainly, “Not enough. You?”
“Just one. And that was AFTER we managed to get an airstrike. Our birds were shot down just after.”
Grey replies informatively, “We’re pretty certain they wear healing units. Smalls of their backs. Precise hits can take it out, or explosives, it seems. Gives them their rapid regen.”
“Regen units!? That explains…”
“They’re still tough without, but they die like anything else.”
“Good to know. Anything else you can share?”
The male scientist chimes in; “Allow me. Ironically enough, their DNA IS carbon-based, like ours, so they share a lot of weaknesses as any reptile should; we think. They have both reptilian AND mammalian traits, but are primarily reptilian. Still, they have an oily sweat that seems to resist some burns and dilute toxins.”
Sergeant Tachibana replies, “You got all of that off of the hand we brought you?”
He nods. “They also breathe oxygen like us, which is why they were so comfortable attacking us. But, they seem to live in a higher concentration of gases like argon, CO2, and ozone. So, while they’re actually much more comfortable in our atmosphere;”
Sergeant Tachibana answers, “We’ll be basically dead in theirs.”
He nods, adding, “Not dramatically quickly, but I wouldn’t expect to retire if you lose your helmets today.”
Tachibana nods, “Got it. That clear, marines!?”
Her squad cheers, “Yes, Sergeant!”
Grey, however, teases Fredericks, “Hear that Freddy? The space crocs come from a global WARMED world.”
Fredericks retorts bitterly, “I wonder WHY they left, SARGE.”
Tachibana immediately growls, “Did you just mouth off to your sergeant, Marine?”
Grey replies, “Relax, Tachibana. He listens when it matters. All I care about.”
She grunts, “It’s not conducive to military order.”
Grey replies confidently, “And yet, he’s said nothing disrespectful to you. I like my marines to trust me so I can trust them. Marines, introduce yourselves.”
Dumas replies, “Corporal Henry Dumas.” Fisher adds, “Corporal Leo Fisher, Sergeant.” Fredericks adds, “Lance Corporal Luis Fredericks, Sergeant.”
Hancock replies, “Private Rex Hancock, Sergeant.”
Grey adds, “Sergeant Alex Grey. At your service.” He winks through his helmet.
Tachibana sighs, replying, “Staff Sergeant Momoka Tachibana, Second Platoon. Alpha Squad.”
The male marine next to her says proudly, “Petty Officer First Class Erik Brown.”
“Navy?” asks Grey surprised. “Corpsman?”
The soldier nods, “Yes Sergeant.” Grey nods, satisfied. The next Alpha Squad marine states, “Sergeant Glenn Marvoni, Sergeant.”
“Corporal Andrew Moody.”
The next two marines are both girls, and Hancock picks up their peculiarity instantly; “Private First Class Mina Coulson.” “Private First Class Rena Coulson.” If Hancock was a gambling man, he’d wager the two young women who sound alike through their helmets aren’t just sisters, but twins no less.
The last marine is a young man, “Private Mark Pazna.”
The male scientist decides it’s his turn, adding, “Professor Zane Oleander Caldaren. My friends call me ‘Zock’; not to be confused with ‘Zack’ or ‘Sock’.” The professor laughs alone at his joke. He clears his throat awkwardly.
Doctor Lopez says nothing, and Zane says, “My colleague here is Doctor Levine Anna Maria Lopez.”
Sergeant Tachibana remarks, “She doesn’t talk much.”
Hancock notices it. The relatively young woman –much younger than one would expect for a doctor –tenses ever so slightly. She has her helmet’s visor polarization set to maximum, making her face impossible to see. But, her posture is rigid, and, when Hancock boarded, he turned around to offer her a hand, but she refused. At first, he thought she was just being superior, but his suspicions have since shifted.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Zane replies, “She keeps to herself. But, we’re lucky to have her. She’ll get what we’re out here for.”
Grey says bluntly, “She doesn’t have to say a word. Us filthy green shirts will keep her safe.”
Hancock watches her helmet dip a little, and he can almost feel nervousness gripping her now.
Kane finally steps out of the cockpit, explaining, “Alright team. With introductions done, we have a minute or so left. We’ll be landing on the hull and cutting our way in. From there…”
Zane interrupts, “Wait! How do you plan to do that?”
Kane points at a hatch in the floor. “Their troop ships appear to be designed for space battles. That hatch seals to the surface of the target ship. Pretty sure it has a cutting function. Correct, Doctor?” He glances at Dr. Lopez. She nods once, stiffly and without a sound.
Kane adds, “The seal this ship makes will keep hull breach pressure sensors from going off inside their ship. Once inside, we find the first computer terminal we can identify. Dr. Lopez will access the panel, identify whatever possible with her virus, and we move accordingly.”
Sergeant Tachibana asks, “How do we know this virus will work at all? With the utmost respect, ma’am.”
Dr. Lopez glances at her once, but is unable to answer. She fidgets with her hands, confirming Hancock’s suspicion. Kane answers, “Dr. Lopez has officially spent more time inside of THIS ship testing and rewriting her code, Sergeant, than anyone else. But, you’re not wrong to ask, since we don’t know how their systems relate to each other. Worst case scenario, Professor Caldaren will be taking E.M.F. readings and air sample readings to try and identify systems that way. It’ll be crude, but our best chance if Dr. Lopez’s virus can’t access what we need.”
“Understood, sir.”
One of the twins, Mina, raises her hand. Kane nods, “Coulson.”
“Sir! What happens if we get separated? When should we meet back at this ship?”
Kane replies plainly, “We won’t.” This draws surprise from most of the team, including Professor Caldaren. The only one not surprised seems to be Dr. Lopez. Kane continues, “THAT, Marines, is plan ‘C’. Dr. Lopez found docking procedures in this ship’s automated functions for a hangar -such as the battleships-, some kind of larger ‘world ships’, we think, and a smaller ship without a hangar. It looks like a stingray curved a little. The working hypothesis is that this stingray ship HAS FTL capability, which is what we’re specifically after today. And, you can guess why THAT is plan ‘C’. Or rather, Plans A, B, AND C’s finale.”
Rena states curiously, “You saw one in their hangar?”
Kane grins, “That’s right… Uh… Coulson.” Rena states without thinking, “‘Thing Four’, sir.”
Sergeant Tachibana hisses quietly, “Coulson!”
Kane chuckles, “It’s alright, Sergeant. If there are nicknames, they’re fine by me. Camaraderie goes a long way. You can call me ‘Stranger’ if it puts you at ease.” He returns to business, “If we are separated and lose comms, we’ll make our way to the hangar one hour after the seal is broken. At one hour thirty minutes, that ship is taking off. If I should be the one to fall, I expect you to do whatever it takes to return to the fleet. Is that understood?”
“Sir, yes-” start the marines together, halted when a massive object suddenly blooms like a white star. In the following instant, a massive object looms, blotting out the stars that were distantly visible, including Sol, the sun of Earth. Kane is in the cockpit in a flash, banking the shuttle hard. He instantly pilots towards the slowly drifting hull. Hancock notices the ship seems to be idle, though lights twinkle on its surface. A sudden explosion erupts on the hull with a streamer leading back to behind the shuttle. Hancock’s first fear as he grips his seat is the aliens just fired on the Polonia. But, he quickly realizes a fire is burning on the hull of the alien battleship. Several painful seconds pass, and a second silent explosion flashes against the hull. Shrapnel with smoky tendrils races away. Tachibana shouts, “Are they nuts!?”
Kane calls back, “They’re targeting hardpoints. Specifically, their pulse generator. It’s crucial to a later point of our plan. Also, Grodrrns are predatory. Attacking them should provoke a pride response, rather than a social response. They will take on our ships for glory. I’m counting on it, actually.”
Grey retorts, “Your plan has a lot of moving parts, sir!”
Tachibana glares at him briefly, but she does seem to agree. Kane counters though, “It sounds like it, but incorrect. Our plan has a lot of different routes to our goal. Not least of which is capturing their battleship if the Polonia can disable it. Doubtful, but still possible.”
“Why not go that route? You could probably kill them all.”
“I’ll explain later. For now, focus!” The shuttle lurches as it lands. Kane activates the breaching protocol, calling, “Here we go!”
Marines check their weapons. Most of them confiscated grenade launchers, one of the few weapons marines have capable of stumbling the bulky reptilian bipeds. Grey has his shotgun, as well as one of the alien grenades and guns. Rena, instead of a grenade launcher, has an anti-tank rifle with a recoiling barrel and a CQB scope instead of a typical long range scope. Mina has the strangest equipment. She has a hull technician’s plasma lance; a high temperature cutting tool specifically meant for thick starship plating. While it’s not meant for combat specifically, Hancock wonders how it might work on the alien soldiers.
The breaching hatch hisses violently as it cuts into the battleship’s hull. Smoke starts to fill the shuttle’s compartment. Kane steps closer, remarking, “Mind how tall they are.” The glow ceases, and he steps forward onto the circular cut, driving the slug into the ship as he disappears. A pole lowers from the shuttle, which Tachibana is the first to slide down behind Kane. Grey is right behind her.
Hancock looks at the two scientists as the sounds of combat fill the hallway below them. Prof. Caldaren actually jumps ahead of the twins, wishing to survey as quickly as possible. Excitement and fear both filled his expression as he passed Hancock.
But, Hancock focuses on Dr. Lopez. She is trembling as she clutches to her computer. Sergeant Marvoni calls out, “Move it, Doctor! We need to go!”
A sudden thought stops Hancock from his usual diplomatic and gentle approach. He’s scared, so he knows how she feels. However, his thoughts are of what might happen to the shuttle if the aliens realize what it is.
He realizes it too late. Just as Marvoni steps towards her, the world flashes into motion like they were just thrown into a washing machine at full spin.
********
Not long before, Baskylla Jardzen Nor’ulluch Et Dzor’chn looks at the glowing fires on Baskylla Jardzen Khla’s ship. The battleship is orbiting the blue and green world, though orange glows speckle its surface.
Jardzen Dzor growls, “{Summon Craw}”
“{As you wish, Yarjen,}” replies the communications officer.
A moment later, Dzor’s counterpart appears. Dzor remarks coolly, “{Yarjen. Is the damage to your ship proportional to your success?}”
Khla sighs, replying solemnly, “{No, Yarjen.}”
Surprised, Dzor retorts, “{No? Surely you managed to capture even a single human youngling.}”
Khla admits, “{They were promptly taken from us, Yarjen.}”
Growing more irritated, Dzor growls, “{You are supposed to be the ‘best’ commandant in the Fievegal, Craw. Before explaining how captured younglings were taken from you, you might explain how you have not simply sent more forces to their world.}” Dzor gestures to the shimmering blue sphere ahead of him, back-dropped by a white satellite moon and a golden, medium small star.
Khla replies, averting his eyes, “{Look closer, Yarjen. The humans… We underestimated everything about them.}”
Dzor snorts, but he does as requested, zooming in on the landmasses. Every inch, no matter how far he scans, is blackened. Some places are still wavering from heat waves or bubbling pools of molten surface. Dzor’s irritation is partially offset by surprise.
“{What happened?}” asks Dzor more civilly.
Khla replies, “{The humans launched thousands of rockets all aimed at the surface. But, the payload… Yarjen, it was comparable only to an asteroid fall.}”
Dzor winces. It’s not overly frequent, but Grodurra has been hit by powerful asteroids many times in Grodrrn history. The atmosphere is thin through most of the layers, doing little to dissolve the asteroids before they hit the surface. The force of impact can level cities, crumble mountains, and momentarily dry up small seas. The advantages Grodurra has over this world are its immense size, as well as the dense satellite pair it possesses, which often act to deflect the most devastating asteroids via their gravitational pull. Dzor was in a nearby city for the most recent asteroid impact, and he remembers his whole home shaking like it might fly apart any moment.
The humans possessing weapon technology of similar power is impressive, considering how otherwise primitive they are. Surely, though, their weapons weren’t THAT thorough. There MUST be survivors.
Khla answers that building question without being asked, “{My surviving teams are scouring the surface. Many of the survivors found died almost immediately; burns, contaminated water, and –we’re fairly certain- radiation poisoning.}”
“{Radiation?}” asks Dzor, surprised. “{Their weapons utilized radiation?}”
Khla nods. “{We’re not sure of the reasons yet. Radiation levels are extremely high, though, and the human tolerance seems to be even lower than our own. Ship armor is withstanding so far, but teams are restricted to five minutes on the surface.}”
Dzor stares at his monitors, watching a video feed from one of the ships. He murmurs, “{What savages would do this to themselves?}”
“{We intercepted a fanatical message prior to the self-attack. The motivation is still unclear, since they didn’t even ATTEMPT negotiation as we expected. If any of them believed they would survive, we will keep looking for them.}”
Dzor scratches his chin, thinking as he flexes his neck’s scales. A voice calls over the radio, directed at Khla, “{Yarjen, we found survivors. Located under source of signal as you expected.}”
Khla asks quickly, “{Younglings!?}”
There’s a pause. The voice replies, “{No, Yarjen.}”
Dzor remarks, “{How many? Younglings or no, there must be breedable pairs.}”
Another pause. “{Yarjen,… I ask to be verified, but they all seem like elders.}”
Khla growls lowly, tempering his anger. He orders coldly, “{Bring them. They may prove useful.}”
“{As you wish, Yarjen!}”
Dzor asks next, “{Remind me why only younglings are suitable, Yarjen Craw.}”
Khla replies, “{More resilient immune system. They can more easily and readily adapt to our atmosphere, and their bodies may survive the ceremony.}”
“{I was under the impression there is only one chance.}”
Khla nods. “{The ceremony will choose. If we find suitable adult pairs, we have to hope they can survive our conditions. More crucially, now that we don’t know for certain what atmospheric conditions they need.}”
Dzor sighs, growling, “{What other option is there?}”
Khla looks away, and Dzor narrows his eyes. “{Tell me, Yarjen.}”
Khla sighs, “{The humans have a fleet of four midsized ships, a handful of mining ships, and an upper-mid-sized mobile assembly ship.}”
Dzor stands up powerfully, his anger returning. “{You didn’t LEAD with this knowledge, Yarjen!?}”
Khla replies, “{They only seem to have sublight capabilities. I was hoping to complete repairs, and…}”
Dzor orders his crew, “{Spool up pulse generator! Solar system scan as soon as you have charge!}”
“{As you wish, Yarjen!}”
Khla pleads, “{Dzor, you have no idea…}”
“{SILENCE! Your incompetence will NOT be the downfall of the Fievegal. I will retrieve the human fleet and end this silly Rikczy chase.}”
Just before Dzor disconnects, Khla urges, “Do NOT underestimate them, Dzor.” Dzor disconnects before Khla can say more. He needs no advice from a commandant who can’t secure one primitive being from a world of billions.
The pulse thrums through the ship as it’s generated. The tracking officer reports shortly after, “{Yarjen! Primitive ships located!}”
“{Navigator. Make preparations and commence jump.}”
“{As you wish Yarjen!}”
The ship quickly readies. Orders are sent out and confirmations received. Dzor glances one last time at Khla’s damaged ship. He murmurs, “{Sorry Craw. The glory will be mine, today.}”
The portal bubble is generated around the ship, and the universe outside turns white. It takes several minutes, during which Dzor thinks about what Khla might have been trying to say. Surely, if the humans had their terrible rockets, they would have done more damage.
But, that is a problem for later. Their fleet will be easy pickings. At most, he’ll have to disable their engines, and then boarding parties can round up ALL of the younglings on offer. After all, even if Khla finds survivors, it’s unlikely he’ll find enough of them. If these ships are full of evacuees, then the humans would have to be truly insufferably lacking intelligence to not have younglings. Or at the least, fertile females and at least one virile male.
Space reappears as normal, but it takes a moment for the view-screens to re-energize. However, standard radar has the human ships in the area. One ship is straggling behind the bulk of their fleet.
“{Yarjen; human ship in range. Reaching range threshold, though.}”
Dzor starts to reply, “{Hold…}” He is interrupted when the ship is jarred by a heavy impact. An alarm sounds, and a voice calls out, “{Hull rupture detected. Ventral.}”
Dzor chuckles, “{So, this is the fight Craw faced. Very well.}” He is a little surprised at how long it takes for a second shot to hit. Either their ships are inadequately armed for battle, or their fire teams are drastically inexperienced.
The combat officer asks, “{Yarjen, shall we open fire?}”
He replies calmly, even as the announcements continue, “{No. Focus energy to recycling visuals. We shall do what Craw couldn’t, but by capturing ALL of these filthy mammals.}”
A third shot finally hits, and the announcement changes, “{Warning. Gravionic pulse generator has suffered catastrophic failure.}”
His tracking officer reports loudly, “{Yarjen! We’ve lost long range tracking ability!}”
Dzor replies calmly, “{No matter. We won’t allow them to escape.}” He ponders though. He suddenly remembers the damage to Khla’s ship. It was on the ventral surface. But, how do these primitives know to target the pulse generator so specifically? It’s not a crippling blow itself, but it explains how they were able to flee.
Dzor orders, “{Ensure hull recovery active and send recovery teams for personnel just jettisoned.}”
“{Yes Yarjen!}”
The moment finally arrives. The view screens cycle, powering up to show the star field before them. The human ship is flying straight away from them with only a single turret that has available line of sight on his ship. It’s almost laughable how pathetic their escape attempt is. He can also see the other human ships, further ahead, but still cruising at sublight speeds. The entirety of their race, with stunningly small exceptions, is nearly helpless before Dzor’s ship.
However, it is then he spots something out of place. Like a morzyllk with its body firmly rooted between scales, one of the Fievegal’s own troop transports is unceremoniously attached to the ventral hull of the ship. It hasn’t been long enough for recovery teams to launch yet, which means this ship isn’t one of Dzor’s. Not to mention, its IFF would highlight it red in his heads up display on screen. Instead, this one is highlighted purple, indicating a friendly from another command.
Dzor pulls up the status page for the transport, and he is instantly met with a litany of blue messages indicating alarms. “{Warning: Improper IFF Check. Warning: IFF disabled. Warning: Status Report – Stolen. Warning: Unlicensed Operator. Alarm: Security Measures Compromised. Alarm: Failed Check In. Alarm: High Value Target. Alarm: Friendly Fire.}”
Dzor reads over the rest of the status. The ship, unsurprisingly, came from Khla’s command. No damage apparent. Deployed to the human world. Improper return. Commanded by…
Dzor pauses, reading intently. “{‘Neezha’Dzor Mvon Khla’chn?’ Craw’s Hatchling?}” muses Dzor. “{Clearly, incompetence IS inherited.}”
Dzor thinks a moment more. Khla wouldn’t have a great reason to send a transport when Dzor is about to claim many more than just a few humans. And, he is certain that ship would neither survive the jump to FTL, nor the EM burst of acceleration. On top of all of that, he would have noticed it before the screens overloaded.
Constructing his pieces, Dzor is confident the transport landed after they decelerated. And so, the humans have revealed their full teeth. They have only a single boarding operation, effectually possible only via a stolen Grodrrn ship, while the straggling ship of theirs is the only one in range to fight pathetically as if it were a fryfflycz that fell behind its mother.
Dzor almost has to chuckle at the desperation. Like Fryfflyczy, it’s every individual for themselves. Even a mother will only protect its young if the mother is cornered by the predator. They’re ironically one of the only 3 known creatures that are actually a threat to Grodrrns; female fryfflyczy. Their venom cancels out even the healing capacity of a shock trooper’s armor on a protein level, meaning the ONLY hope is a dose of antivenom before the second stellar day.
Dzor orders calmly, “{Target the transport on the ventral deck and destroy their escape route. However the humans disable security on it, they will not be escaping our ship.}” His crew acknowledges, and the nearest turret pivots and fires.
The transport ship is shredded in half almost instantly, partially from the shot and partially from the air pressure bursting it open. The two halves collide once, slowing to a lazy spin as the air is vented from the breach point. The doors will undoubtedly lock down, trapping the foolish humans long before their mission even truly begins.
Dzor smirks. He’s a little surprised that the hallway seems to empty so quickly, but it doesn’t matter. The humans are trapped in a sealed cell of the ship. Dzor orders, “{Send combat teams to that breach point. I want the mammals alive. IF they’re not already dead.}”
“{As you wish, Yarjen.}”
Dzor watches with a well-earned smile. Titles always seem to find their way back into worthy hands.
********