Spooker
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Grass Eaters | 53 | Apostasy
🕑 Added 2024-05-03 16:47:01 +0000 UTCDatsot
“Now I know this is not what any of you want to hear,” the base commander announced to the shocked audience. “But it is the truth. The losses were total. As of today, our orbital supply network no longer exists. The fleet has declared our invasion… postponed. Responsibility is still being determined, but Ten Whiskers Ditvish has recovered from his injuries enough to assure us that he will be taking full responsibility for all the errors that occurred as a result of overstretching our supply lines.”
Skhork asked, “So what happens next? Do we have secondary objectives to fulfill? Does the fleet plan to return?”
The base commander explained, “The fleet is evacuating all essential equipment and personnel. There were a few backup shuttles, but these are the last ones we have. The eastern theater was encircled and entirely lost, so we are now at the top of the fleet’s priority list. There will be an evacuation flight coming for us later tonight. The decision has been made. All six whiskers and above on my base will be evacuated, as will all the active Longclaw Marines and their valuable equipment. I understand two of your crew members in Fearless Four are heavily injured, Skhork. I have decided they will have to be left behind. I take full responsibility for that decision.”
Skhork looked at her with displeasure for a moment, but then bowed his head, reciting, “Our lives were all forfeited to the Prophecy the day we left the hatchling pools.”
The base commander nodded solemnly and continued. “All infantry conscripts will be left behind.”
The infantry commanders bowed their heads and recited the line too.
“What will they be told?” one of the six whiskers asked, visibly dejected at the total loss of his command.
“The truth. Though expendable, at the end of the day, they too are Servants of the Prophecy. They will be expected to perform their duties. Remind them not to forget their SEER training: Sabotage, Erode, Exterminate, Raids. Be proud and worthy examples of the Znosian Ground Forces.” Then her face darkened, “Unlike those surrendering apostates in the eastern theaters.”
Gasps and murmurs went around the room.
“There were surrenders?” Skhork asked, his blood heating up. The other commanders expressed their anger likewise.
The base commander added hastily, “These are rumors. But they have been all but officially confirmed. Their theater commander, a seven whiskers, took responsibility for them last night. For her value in service, she was not heavily punished and will be allowed to redeem herself. But for those who gave up, the Prophecy no longer welcomes their presence. In life or in death.”
---
Skhork said his farewells to the two Fearless Four crew members who had to be left behind in the afternoon. It was not easy, leaving comrades behind after fighting alongside them for years, but they all understood its necessity to the Prophecy.
“You think we will come back?” he asked the gossiping gathered crowd of six whiskers evacuees.
The base commander shrugged. “It’s possible. We may have lost a few space battles, but we still have most our ships in the sector. The Navy just needs time to regroup at Gruccud. Then, we will need to slowly fight our way back, making sure to secure our supply lines this time. That was the mistake we made, and I am sure Ten Whiskers Ditvish will learn from this. After all, we are civilized people, not stupid predators.”
“You think they will let him retain command?” one of the infantry commanders asked. “If he were in the Ground Forces, he would surely be executed.”
“They do things differently in the Navy,” the base commander chortled. “High ranking spacers are much less expendable than your conscripts. Unless there was serious misconduct found in the inevitable assignment of responsibility hearing, they will probably allow him to redeem himself.”
The supply officer shook his head. “I don’t think we will come this way again. This was supposed to be a flanking route to Malgeiru.”
“Flanking route?” Skhork asked.
“A movement around the side of the enemy main force,” the supply officer explained, “To avoid facing their strongest—”
“I know what a flanking route is, you base-sitter,” Skhork almost snarled. “I just didn’t know that is what Datsot is.”
“Yeah, well, it is,” the supply officer replied. “It’s one of the Lesser Predators’ core worlds, but it is a side route to their home world. The reason we stretched our supply route so far for this is because we didn’t anticipate they would even bother to attack it. Why would we? The Lesser Predators just didn’t do that kind of thing.”
“Now, they do.”
“Yes, now they do,” the supply officer agreed. “So, we will probably abandon this front all the way back to Gruccud and go for Malgeiru from the front, and then come back and take Datsot after their home world falls.”
“If it falls,” Skhork corrected. He noted in his mind that a few short months on Datsot had turned him into a pessimist.
“Yes, if it falls.”
“I doubt your reasoning though, supply officer. I’m sure the Navy will find a way to adapt to this new threat to their supply lines, and we will be back here in a few months. How hard can it be to secure nine uninhabited systems in a row?”
The officer had no answer for him.
The landing thrusters of the incoming evacuation shuttle lit up the night sky as it descended.
Nighttime was generally considered the best time for shuttles to land on Datsot, because some of the poorly equipped Lesser Predator units did not have night and thermal vision equipment. The fewer threats they had to deal with, the better.
“But even if we come back then,” Skhork lamented, “It will be too late for our ground troops who remain.”
“Most likely,” the base commander agreed moodily. “The Lesser Predators will easily cleanse and reinforce this planet before we get back, but any damage we do now will make it easier for the next time around. Our eventual victory over the Lesser Predators is inevitable. It has been foretold in the Prophecy.”
“It has been foretold in—”
Skhork’s recitation was interrupted by a loud noise far in the distance. The congregation looked in its direction.
A trail of smoke lit up by the fumes of a bright rocket engine appeared just above the dark horizon, rapidly approaching the descending shuttle. The shuttle reacted instantly to the threat with computer reflexes, spitting hundreds of infrared flares out its sides and bottom that formed the picture of a majestic, winged creature with their trails. The incoming missile tracked onto one of those flares, but that was not enough to save the shuttle: it detonated right beneath the shuttle, sending a burst of shrapnel into its exposed engines.
The shuttle engines sputtered for a second, giving them a moment of hope.
False hope.
The engines failed. The group watched as the shuttle flipped over, its anti-aerodynamic shape tumbling through the sky before finally crashing into a small hill beyond the horizon. They braced themselves for the minor shockwave that followed.
Skhork interrupted the stunned silence to ask the question on everyone’s mind.
“Now what?”
---
ZNS 2228
The communications officer of the 2228 absentmindedly depressed the key that opened an incoming FTL connection.
“2228 here,” she identified herself.
“This is… can you… Ten Whiskers Ditvish?” the scratchy voice came through the speaker system.
“I can’t understand you. I believe this is a problem on your end,” the communications officer said, inspecting the diagnostics on her console.
There was some more scratching on the other end as the speaker fiddled with their system and the crimson eyed and white-furred avatar of the caller appeared on her screen. “Ah, there it is. I apologize and take full responsibility for the poor connection quality. Is Ditvish there?”
“The ten whiskers is not available,” the communications officer said. “Do you wish to you leave a message?”
“This is Seven Whiskers Ktotssu, calling from the Birtevrut. I have an important message for the ten whiskers.”
The communications officer sat up. Whatever a seven whiskers says was usually worth her attention, even if she did not recognize the caller. “It is I who must apologize and take responsibility for not recognizing you, Seven Whiskers.”
“Yes, this is Seven Whiskers Ktotssu. Is Ditvish really not available?”
As per procedure, the communications officer verified the connection and the image of the caller were legitimate on her console, tracing the call to the neighboring system of Plaunsollib, and replied, “Yes, the ten whiskers is still healing from his injuries in the medical module.”
The caller seemed to hesitate, her face scrunching up in thought. “Ok, I think I will leave a message for now. Tell him that his hatchling has been readied.”
“His hatchling has been readied?” the communications officer repeated, confused.
“Yes, and tell him that his meal was prepared, and it is here.”
“Meal? There? I apologize, but I don’t understand. Can you just record a message for him?”
“Absolutely not. What are you, incompetent? You can’t record messages like these!” the caller exclaimed. “In fact, you know what? I will call him another time. Do not bother to give him any messages.”
“I take full responsibility for my incompetence,” the communication officers said, bowing her head.
“Good. You better. Don’t mention this to anyone. That’s an order. I will call another time.”
---
Plaunsollib
Svatken looked at the defunct communications drone in front of her, evidently dropped by the supply escort ships that were now expanding balls of debris.
“Something does not add up here,” she said, absentmindedly to her attendant Fstrofcho, not expecting a real response. “The readings on this drone do not match the sensor data from the fleet. One of them has been tampered with, and if I had to guess, I would say it is the one that wasn’t expected to be looked at.”
Fstrofcho made a polite cough. “The software you embedded into the Datsot fleet computers in the latest update has just flagged an unusual call to 2228 from this system, Agent Svatken. Would you like to listen to it.”
“Not now. I’m working through this problem,” Svatken said impatiently.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Bring up the data from the communication drone we picked up in Preirsput.”
He did as commanded.
She browsed over it. Several of the elements of the enemy ships matched the signatures on the drone, but not on the fleet sensor data.
“Attendant, just hypothetically speaking, why would the fleet attempt to tamper with recordings to make themselves look worse than they did?”
“They did?” Fstrofcho asked perfunctorily.
“That’s what it is looking like. In fact, all these drone sensor recordings add up to show that the fleet has not lost as many ships as Ten Whiskers Ditvish reported in the last month. He has reported far more losses in the supply convoys than corroborated by evidence. But why would someone want to make themselves look worse than they are? Usually it is the opposite, especially with outliers who normally lie to make themselves look better!”
“That seems very unusual,” he answered, aware that his job was to simply agree and help her come to the conclusion herself given the lack of intelligence and critical thinking abilities in his bloodline.
“Indeed. Most concerning. And… wait a second, what missile was that? Bring up the sensor recording of that last close shot that finished our escort,” she said, leaning into her console. Then, she manipulated it to show the camera sensor, zooming into the image. “That— that is one of our missiles!”
“Our missiles?” the attendant asked, sounding appropriately puzzled.
“Yes! Why was our own missile used to fire on our ships?” she asked, anxiety rising in her chest.
She continued to examine the footage from different angles, hoping it would inspire some new insight, but she came up short.
Svatken sighed in frustration.
“Fstrofcho, what was that call you were talking about earlier?” she asked, trying to look at it from another angle.
He dutifully transmitted the call to her console.
She listened to it. And then, she looked up the caller’s identity.
Not believing what she saw, Svatken triple-checked it against the existing biometrics files in the database. It was a confident match.
“When and where was this call recorded from?” she asked her attendant in a hoarse whisper.
“Right in this system, ma’am.”
He sent the coordinates to her console. It pointed to a position near a known comet a few light seconds outside the system limit—
“Get us over there right now and give me visual sensors on it as soon as possible.”
It didn’t take too many hours for her advanced reconnaissance ship to speed to the location. And when they overtook the comet to for the sensors to scan what was occluded on the other side of the comet—
“By… the… Prophecy,” Svatken trembled. “Count how— how many of those are here?”
Dozens of automated supply ships in pristine condition were lit up in the dark of the comet by the lights of their recon ship. The insignia of the Znosian Navy were painted as brightly on their hulls as the day they left the shipyard. There were no other signs of life, other than their own. Svatken noted that the numbers on their hull matched the ones claimed lost by the Datsot Invasion Fleet, some as recently as a week ago.
Fstrofcho may not have been bred for critical thinking tasks, but he had been trained to count without his paws. “Thirty-two in total, ma’am. How do you think it all got here?”
That’s when it clicked together for Svatken.
“Fstrofcho,” she said coldly, “Get us back to Znos immediately. And call an Apostasy Commission on the way. I must report Crimes against the Prophecy at the highest levels of the Navy.”
Comments
Desurtfawks
Ah the age old human tradition. Deception. They left the ships for the buns to find, and for the proper conclusions to be arrived at. Poor 10 whiskers. He never stood a chance. Now this will surely earn them the Greater Predators title should the buns ever find out. By then it won't matter what they do, the distrust in their government will have caused even greater damage than some supply ships ever could. Every commander will be under a microscope, every action questioned, and require verification. It will make them unadaptable, as deviation will be seen as possible revolt. Right when they need the largest amount of out of the box thinking. It will push their thinkers to truly abandon the "prophecy" just to save their hide.
Valdis Trautmanis
A trap for either Skvanu, Svatken or both, depending on what's biting today. I admit, I did not see it coming like that, just how thoroughly the Terrans set Ditvish up to fall 😅 The TRO is having a field day with the Buns
M
Yup, those are all the supply ships the 6th fleet captured. The question is now, do they capture Svatken, or do they let him reach Znos and unknowingly spread a little chaos?
Dennis Aldea
Wow, I completely missed that Ktotssu is in Terran custody! You're right, this is a trap for Svatken.
Valdis Trautmanis
I'm sure this is the result of the Terrans' and the 6th's joint efforts, the bait for Svatken and she just took it hook, line and sinker. One of the other two Pythons must be lurking nearby ready to strike - how could Ktotssu send a message to Ditvish from this comet, when she is locked up in a prison on Phobos?
Dennis Aldea
Oooh, the plot thickens! Considering how tightly regimented the Znosian forces are, a mutiny would be very difficult to pull off. If Ditvish is able to convince his subordinate officers that the Znosians security state has abandoned the "Prophecy", it would an absolutely devastating blow to the war effort!
