u/CandidateWolf

Took the lawn tractor out to start getting the grass cut, but it’s not starting. I’ve replaced the gas and oil, replaced the gas and oil filters, replaced the air filter, and confirmed the battery and spark plug are good. I don’t see any chewed wires or anything, and everything appears to be good. The starter was replaced last year, and I put some carb cleaner down the intake.

Anything else I should check?

I realized the other day I’ve written over 50 chapters of this story already, and there are plenty left to go! Hope everyone is enjoying them! Let’s go back to see how the union drive is going. If it’s like real life, I’m sure it’s all going perfectly fine!

Memory encrypted… override key enabled… begin decryption…

Access code Epsilon-Zeta-2328-AP
Unauthorized redactions removed… original data restored…

Addendum: Data restored under Article 2.09 of the UNOR by order of the Secretary General.  Original, unaltered transcripts restored and entered as evidence in the Bronwen Report.  -Chief Investigator Andrea Powell, UN Office of Reconciliation

Memory accessed…

Memory Transcription subject: [Venlil-1] Nalim, the Free Legion, “United Sapient Front”
Date [standardized human time]: [Redacted] March 5, 2137, Ciov, Kenmet (Free Federation Colony)

I coughed, covering my mouth as I expelled the tan dust hanging heavy in the air.  Beside me one of the miners took notice, handing over an extra mask with a sympathetic ear flick.  “You get used to it,” the Gojid said, voice far more gravelly than it had any right to be, even muffled beneath their own mask. 

“Thanks,” I said with an appreciative tail wave.  I affixed the mask across my snout, pressing the seals against my wool as I looped the band around my head.  One size fits no one, I thought, taking a breath of relatively dust free air.  Better than a lung full of dust though.

Paws free, I hefted my sign once more, bobbing it up and down above my head.  “Hard work deserves good wages!” I yelled, joining the chorus that arose around me.  The same slogan had been drawn on my makeshift sign, as well as many of the others held aloft in the early morning sunlight.

Around me were several hundred striking miners; the morning shift of the picket that blocked access to the [redacted] Ciov Materials Mine One.  Ever since the opening rally, members of the rapidly growing [redacted] Kenmet Miners Union and several smaller copcat unions had picketed outside the mine, night and day.  They’d been organized in shifts to ensure adequate numbers would remain blocking access to the mine at all hours.

The atmosphere had remained optimistic with the closing of the mine, despite negotiations going nowhere.  The miners had been galvanized by seeing the effects of their strike; already, offworld news agencies had descended upon the world, the reporters telling of the significant effects on the sector economy.  Like the ripples of a stone on a pond, their strike had closed or slowed factory production worlds away, showing just how vital their labor was.

It’s worked better than even I’d hoped, I thought, eyes sweeping the crowd.  The miners reveled in their newly realized importance, vowing to keep the mine close until their demands were met.  Better wages, caps on working hours in a day, overtime, adherence to safety regulations,
 and recognition of the union, I thought, reviewing the demands.  Things that would make all their lives better.

Above the chorus of chants and the music playing, I heard a commotion from the far side of the picket.  Looking, I saw that a group was rapidly approaching the crowd.  It was a mix of miners and other locals; I did spy [Harchen-1] Tres among them, as well as several members of the strike committee.

Even from here I could see the rippling of Tres’s scales, bright with worry.  That can’t be anything good, I thought, lowering my sign and pushing through the crowd, excusing myself as I did.  Around the crowd, I spied a few of the strike captains, leaders from among the rank-and-file who helped coordinate actions on the picket line, also headed to meet the group.

I made my way to the end of the crowd, ears giving a greeting to Tres and the others as I met them.  “Listen up everyone,” a Gojid I recognized as [Gojid-1] Kiva said.  She was one of the day shift strike committee representatives.  “Bad news from the table.”

“The company has outright refused to even talk, again,” she said.  “And this time are saying that if we don’t end the strike by midday, they’re bringing in our replacements.”

“What, they’re just gonna fire everyone?” One of the strike captains asked.  He snorted with derision.  “Good luck with that; they’ll have a hell of a time finding people who can work those machines, and in those conditions, as well as we can.  You can’t just expect someone off the street to keep a GF-23 running at the base of a mineshaft.”

“Any word on what they’re planning to do?” I asked, already expecting the answer.  Same thing they do on a lot of other worlds, I thought.

“They’re bringing in PD patients,” Kiva said, confirming my suspicions.  “They’ve rounded up a couple hundred to take our places while they figure out a way to convince workers from other mines to move here to permanently replace us.”

“PD patients?” Someone asked.  “Not a chance they can work like we do.  You get someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing on one of those drillers, they’re likely to do more damage to the machine than to the stone.”  

“They know that,” Kiva said.  “That’s why they’re sticking to picks and shovels; the old fashioned way.  It won’t be fast or efficient, but it sounds like they’re hoping to get a trickle started while to find another way to restore the flow of gallium.”

“Scabs,” someone muttered, the word still new to them.  Tres was quick to correct them, however.

“Not scabs,” he said.  “Scabs are people who cross the picket line willingly to break a strike.  Those would be miners from elsewhere who’d come in to replace us.  These aren’t scabs; they’re slaves.  They’re just as much victims of the company as we are.”

“Whatever they are, what are we gonna do?” another strike captain, a Mazic, asked.

“They aren’t just going to roll them in and get them to work,” Tres said.  “They’ve still gotta get through us.  Chances are we’ll see the exterminators roll in first to clear us out before they bring our replacements in.”

“Good luck to them,” Kiva said.  “We’re not moving.  If they want to clear a path for the PD patients, they’ll have to move us themselves.”

“Probably the plan,” Tres said.  “A source inside the city says they’ve had exterminators from all over arriving this morning at the guild hall; lots of riot shields and stun batons.”

“We’re so scared,” a miner remarked, thumping his paw against the heavy protective fabric across his chest.  “These suits aren’t just for show; enough dust in the air running together can give you quite a shock.  We’ll see how they work against stun batons.”

“We sure will,” Kiva agreed.  “Strike captains, get back to your teams and give folks the heads up; the company is bringing in slaves to replace us while looking for scabs, and we’re expecting the exterminators to pay us a visit first.  If folks are still serious about making them listen, then tell them to get ready.”

Time advanced: 3 hours

“Here they come!”  I turned towards the shouted warning, eyes searching.  It didn’t take long; rapidly approaching the mine were a half dozen buses led by an exterminator van, clouds of dust billowing behind them.  Right on time, I thought, shifting my weight on my sore feet.

Since we’d been alerted to the company’s plans earlier today, the picket line had split; one group continued to block the entrance of the mine itself, while the bulk of us had moved to the road leading to the complex.  The plan was to confront the exterminators the moment they arrived, well within sight of the many news cameras who were trained on us.  

“Listen up everyone!” I heard Kiva call, and looked to find her walking up and down before the first ranks of picketers.  “I know your strike captains have already told you this, but I want to make SURE you hear it again.”  She stopped and swept her gaze across the workers.

“We’re here fighting for our rights,” she said.  “With the rights we already possess.  We are doing nothing illegal, despite their accusations of predator disease.  And just because there’s no law saying we can’t organize our workplaces doesn’t make it illegal.”

“We are NOT here to start a fight with the exterminators,” she said.  “We aren’t a group of armed thugs holding the mine hostage; we’re a group of its workers fighting for better conditions within that mine.  This has been and will continue to be a peaceful assembly.”

“But what we are here to do is stand our ground,” she said.  “We aren’t going to let them intimidate us into giving in, we’re not going to let them walk all over us, and we sure as hell won’t let them replace us with slaves!”

I joined the crowd as they let out a cheer of agreement.  Kiva let us settle down, and continued.  “We’ve got the eyes of the planet, the system, the whole sector watching us,” she said.  “And our actions will determine how they see us.  That’s why we’ve made sure to collect anything that could be used as a weapons; we don’t want to be the one to start trouble today.”

“That being said, I’m not going to tell anyone to not protect themselves or others,” she said.  “What kind of herd would we be if we didn’t take care of our own?  Just use your heads, and we’ll go from there.  Above all else, hold your ground!”

We cheered again as the approaching vehicles came to a halt, and I finally could make out the words across their sides.  They must be the PD patients, I thought, taking a moment to dump some water down my back, letting it cool me as it ran through my closely shorn wool.  Despite the looks it got me, I’d elected to get an exterminator cut after the first day of picketing.  That day I’d nearly passed out from the heat; I didn’t plan to have that happen again.

From the leading van stepped a Nevok exterminator, their silver suit blinding in the sun.  Four more piled out after them, a mix of Federation species.  Then the bus door opened, and a stream of both exterminators and company security poured out, forming up into two straight rows.

I examined the new arrivals.  Looks like an even split, I thought.  Half exterminators, half regular security.  As I watched, the front line moved forward while the back line split in two, taking up positions on either side of one of the prisoner transports.  Looks like they think they’re just going to move in, I observed.  They don’t seem to expect any resistance.

I nudged the miner beside me.  “Any idea who that is?” I asked, nodding towards the Nevok as they pulled their hood off.  “I don’t recognize them.”

The miner peered between the head that partially blocked his view, paw up to shield their eyes against the sun.  For a moment I wished my fellow Legionnaires were with me, but the two Harchen were too small to be much help if things turned into a shoving match, and the risk of trampling would be too great.  As a result, Tres was back with the strike committee, helping them keep the strike organized.

Meanwhile, [Harchen-2] Rasev was back in [redacted] Ciov, working with the [redacted] Sapient Volunteer operatives we’d brought with us.  He was putting them through some small jobs; a theft here, a bit of sabotage there.  He had his crosshairs set on the negotiators for the company side, and was working to find ways to give the union the upper hand at the table.  The union leaders might balk at a little blackmail, I thought.  And definitely at the idea of wiping some of their files.  But what they don’t know can’t hurt them.

“Not a clue,” my fellow Gojid said.  “Doesn’t look like the local head exterminator.  Heard he’s out of a job though, so I wonder if that’s his replacement.”  

I flicked an ear.  “I thought that was a rumor,” I replied.  Just like the Nevoks to drop someone at the first chance they get so they can replace them with someone from their dynasty, I thought.  Those nepo-hires tend to be useless; just there to put a line in a resume.  That could work in our favor.

The Nevok lifted a microphone to their mouth, and from speakers built into the van their voice thundered over us.  “Workers of Ciov Materials Mine One,” they said.  “This is an unlawful assembly.  You will disperse immediately, pending reviews of your employment.  Do not impede further operations of this mine.”  With that they lowered the microphone, and waved a paw over their head.

At their signal, the first row, with exterminators at the center and company security making up the flanks, began to move forward.  As they did they hefted their stun batons and riot shields, and there was a crackle as they activated, bathing the front of the approaching enforcers in blue light.

“Hold your ground!” Kiva shouted from the front, now holding a flag that she waved above her head.  “Hold your ground!  Don’t let them move us!  Remember what we’re here for!

“Just pay!” I roared along with the crowd.  “Safe work!  Inclusion!  Just pay!  Safe work!  Inclusion!”

The row of exterminators and security advanced, closing the distance between us.  Behind them, the first bus crept along, flanked on either side by the remaining enforcers.  At the front, a few of the more timid miners fell back, their holes quickly filled by some of the more courageous strikers.

I let myself have a moment of satisfaction as I saw the holes disappear.  These people don’t have the experience of facing down the exterminators or their bosses' security, I thought.  And with all the indoctrination from the Feds to keep everyone nice and meek, it’s expected that a few may need to take a break.

With that in mind, I’d suggested a rotation of “fillers,” to the strike captain who “led” me, a Tilfish named [Tilfish-1] Vrul.  Essentially, when the more timid, the winded or anyone who just needed a break had to move off the front, they’d signal and whoever was in the second row would fill the gap, and then the third row strikers would move forward.  This allowed for a rotation of strikers forward or back, making sure everyone stayed as safe and fresh as they could.

And if we need to fight, to help rotate combatants forward, I thought.  One of Earth's own ancient empires had used a similar system when they fought, and experienced protesters had preserved it.  The Legion had adopted it into our book of tricks, and I’d decided to give it a try.

The union members are more organized than the typical protest, I thought.  And they’ve got a far better chance at keeping it up than some random protester.  The sooner we start getting them used to tactics, the better prepared they’ll be when the inevitable happens.

A hole opened up ahead of me, and I moved forward like the miner in front of me.  An Angren whispered a quiet “Sorry” as they squeezed past me, and I gave them a sympathetic ear wave.  Now just one row behind the front, I could see that the enforcers had nearly reached us.

I could hear the crackle of their stun batons, and smell the ozone in the air.  They’ve got those set all the way up, I realized.  Like many miners, I work a thick fabric suit and the heavy boots that were meant to protect from static discharges.  Guess we’ll see how good these really are.

Our opponents faltered a few steps from us, perhaps having expected us to flee by now.  When we didn’t, they lifted their shields and pushed into us, roughly shoving the front row to push them back.  

There were shouts, curses, and cries of pain as the two sides made contact.  The miners carrying signs lowered them to between themselves and the enforcers, blocking the strikes of the batons and pushing back at the shields.  Those without lowered their shoulders and dug in their heels while those behind them supported them.

I pushed forward as well, paws extended through the gap between the two miners in front of me to stop a shield from being pushed into the left one’s face.  For my trouble I earned a baton strike; I let out a yelp as I felt the baton crash down on my paw, a jolt running up my arm.

I grit my teeth and kept the shield at bay.  That wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it’d be, I thought.  But on bare fur, ouch!

There was a shout to my left, and I spared a glance to see a miner go down, two batons coming down again and again in their head and neck.  Another felt back, face bloody, limbs twitching.  From the rear, a few escorting enforcers rushed forward to exploit the hole, forcing the miners back.  Behind them, the bus jerked forward.

I saw movement in front of me, and I pulled my paw back just in time to avoid another baton strike.  Quick as I could I shout my paw out, catching the offending weapon by its grip.  I squeezed my paw as tight as I could, crushing the exterminator's digits against the weapon, before I heard a cry of pain and their grip loosened.

I yanked my paw back, tearing the baton from their grip and thumbing it off as I pulled it back to me.  “That’s for hitting me, you bastard!” I shouted at the masked exterminator, who’d brought their shield between us, gloating.

Then there were shouts, quickly followed by screams and panic.  On my left, I saw the bus suddenly shoot forward.  Several silver shapes dove out of the way as the bus hit the picket line, several strikers disappearing beneath its bumper and wheels.  Even from a distance away and over the tumult of noise I made out a few sickening, wet cracks.

With a howl of anger the rear rows of the miners surged forward, pouncing upon the recovering exterminators and the bus who’d injured their comrades.  I moved forward too, bringing the baton down on the shield in front of me, listening as the bus windows shattered.

The bus reversed, another set of cracks rising from below it, and the remaining enforcers surged forward, shields raised and swinging their batons with abandon.  I managed to parry one but was struck by another atop the head; I stumbled as white light exploded in front of my eyes, raising my stolen baton to protect my face.  

Instead of the expected follow-up strike however, I saw space.  The fallen exterminators and security were gone, their fellows pulling them back away from the picket line.  The bus, having reversed far enough back, turned and fled away, quickly followed by the rest that carried the PD prisoners.

As the enforcers quickly loaded up to make their own escape, I heard shouted orders as strike captains took control of the crowd.  A fresh row of picketers forced their way to the front, putting their bodies between the wounded and any follow-up attack.  At their backs, other miners got to work making space for a group of medics that rushed forward to tend to the wounded.

Paws grabbed my shoulder and I was led through the ranks, the miner beside me supporting me as my head spun.  “Took that hit like a champ,” they praised me, and I gave them an ear flick in acknowledgment.  “A couple claws and you’ll be right as rain.”

As they led me away, I looked back, seeing several others being led away.  But others lay on the ground, crying out in pain, while several lay still, medics beginning to work on them.  

First blood to the Feds, I thought, my mind fuzzy.  Time for the gloves to come off.

First

Previous

Memory encrypted… override key enabled… begin decryption…

Access code Epsilon-Zeta-2328-AP
Unauthorized redactions removed… original data restored…

Addendum: Data restored under Article 2.09 of the UNOR by order of the Secretary General.  Original, unaltered transcripts restored and entered as evidence in the Bronwen Report.  -Chief Investigator Andrea Powell, UN Office of Reconciliation

Memory accessed…

Memory Transcription subject: [Takkan-1] Sarn, Free Legion Fleet
Date [standardized human time]: [Redacted] March 4, 2137, Tempest (formerly the Serenity**), salvaged Federation cruiser, approaching Serrus (Federation colony)**

I sat in the command chair of the bridge, eyes tracking the progression of my ships in the visor before my eyes as we neared the planet ahead of us.  Serrus, I thought.  Small, isolated, unimportant.  A perfect target for a Dominion raid.  My heart beat faster; not with fear but excitement.  And a perfect place to scrap some Dominion ships.

I’d gone through the standard training with the rest of the first cohort of Legionnaires; following graduation however, I’d been kept behind.  While the majority of my fellow Legionnaires ventured forth across the galaxy to bring a new type of war to the Federation, I’d stayed behind for additional training.  

In what I now considered my former life, I’d served in the Federation navy for as long as I could remember.  Had the Humans not appeared, I’d very likely continued to work my way up the ranks, captaining my own ship being my goal.  Or I’d have been killed by some idiot admiral's poor tactics, I thought.  Or slip up and get revealed for my “predator disease.”

I scoffed.  The anxiety I got from my earlier days in the navy would have been enough to condemn me to a life of torture or forced drugging.  Thank the spirits the Legion found me first.

The Free Legion hadn’t cared that I got anxious; instead they sent me to “therapy,” in between training on the Legion ships.  While I honed my skills commanding warships, I also healed my mind.

And now?  I took a moment to just dwell in my surroundings.  Now I’m the captain of my own ship, commander of the Free Legion Fleet.  It may be smaller than the Void Rangers fleet, but it’s still mine to command.

I pulled myself from my thoughts, back to the present.  During the many battles I’d fought since completing my training, I’d learned distraction was one of the greatest threats.  Focus.  Time to fight.

I had nine ships under my command; we faced two dozen Dominion vessels.  Even now they’d pulled away from stationary orbit, and were angling toward my ships.  As expected, they were going straight for the kill.  Had they been fighting Federation ships, that may have been enough to scatter them.  We, however, were not the Feds.  

“All ships, charge spinal guns and pick a target,” I ordered.  “In my mark, fire your main gun and scatter; omicron maneuver.”

I gave a few more moments for my ships to acquire firing solutions for the incoming Arxur ships, and turned towards my weapons officer.  “Lieutenant,” I said.  “Prep three cluster mines for deployment on my order.  Helmsman?  I want you to keep the current course for an additional three seconds before executing omicron.”

“All forces,” I said, watching as data scrolled across my visor confirming they had all acquired a target.  “Open fire!”

The Tempest rumbled as the railgun along her spine came to life, sending a shell through the vacuum faster than anyone could blink.  After a few heartbeats, the helmsman pulled the ship around, and I turned to the weapons officer.  “Deploy the mines!”

As we arched away from the Arxur forces, ships rolling through evasive maneuvers, I looked to see the tally.  Two Arxur ships spun lifeless through the vacuum, shields overloaded and hull cracked by multiple impacts.  The rest, unharmed, shot forward in pursuit, seeking to avenge their fallen comrades.

“Good first volley,” my executive officer, a Yotul named [Yotul-1] Jec said, entering the bridge and taking his place beside me.  “Let’s hope we can keep that up.  Looks like we’re a bit outnumbered.”

“Nothing new,” I replied, watching as my ships looped around.  Our maneuver was meant to create space between us and the Arxur and allow us a second volley from our main guns.  It was also meant to goad the aggressive fighters into chasing us further from the planet.  

“Is our surprise ready?” I asked my XO.  Despite being part of an uplifted species, Jec had proven to be a fine naval officer.  Though I was happy to have such a good second in command, his talents were wasted as an XO.  He’s about due for a vessel of his own.

“Yes Captain,” he replied.  “We dropped it with the mines; should put it in about the center of the field.  Well within range.”  

“Good work,” I said, attention back on the fight.  My ships had regrouped far from the Arxur ships, who were still headed straight towards us.  “All ships, pick a target and fire on my command,” I ordered.  “Then execute lambda maneuver.  Keep up evasive maneuvers until you’re able to disengage and come back for another round.”

Lambda maneuver was one way of breaking up an enemy formation.  The enemy would be led across a cluster or dormant mines, and once detonated, allied ships would fire a volley from their main guns and accelerate through the enemy formation.  Closing the range would negate the enemy’s follow up shots, and close the distance to where plasma turrets could do some damage to targets stripped of their shields.  And when used, especially against Arxur, the enemy ships would break into pursuit of the allied ships.

I watched as the Arxur ships neared the deployed mines.  They quickly entered their blast range, and I yelled “fire!  Lambda maneuver, go!”  

Against the canvas of darkness and stars, three blinding balls of light appeared amidst the lead Arxur ships.  The lights hung in the void for a few moments before quickly fading, their energy stolen by the vacuum.  The next volley of railgun shots hit next, tearing into the ships now stripped of shields by the nuclear mines.

I watched as the Tempest rocketed towards the Arxur ships, diving and weaving around whatever fire the enemy fired at us.  I could see that the combo of the mines and railgun volley had done the trick; three more Arxur ships tumbled listlessly through space.

Then we were amongst them.  Legion ships cut into the Arxur formation like knives, slicing between the Dominion ships.  As they passed, plasma turrets exchanged fire; the Legion dealing more than it took from their prepared guns.  The Arxur managed to return several shots, though they were scattered by panicked aim.

But even panicked aim could be deadly.  I watched as a cruiser on our starboard side took a scattering of hits along their flank, overloading the shields and carving a lucky shot through its armor and deep into its heart.  The plasma must have hit the reactor, because the ship suddenly ballooned out and burst.  Fire, atmosphere and debris were violently ejected into space, and into the path of other Arxur ships. 

Even in its death throes the ship returned the favor.  Debris from the hulk cut apart the side of an Arxur ship as it slid past, opening up great rents that trailed atmosphere behind it.  It began to spin, thrown out of control by the sudden vent, when a broadside of plasma by another passing Legion ship burned through the weakened hull, gutting the ship.

My ships passed through the enemy formation, leaving our lost comrade behind.  However, three enemy ships, shields lost, hit by the main guns and raked with plasma were left dead in our wake.  Several others had armor melted and blackened, trailing fire and atmosphere.

“Status?” I asked as we moved out of range of the enemy vessels.  The helmsman turned us down, and we began to loop wide below the enemy ships.  The ship had been jostled as we passed, and I could hear the blare of distant alarms. 

“Plasma impact on deck three,” Jec replied.  “Bulkheads sealed, and armor at half strength.  No word on casualties yet.”

I flicked my ear in acknowledgment.  “Keep the course,” I ordered.  “Do we have any tails?”

“Captain, we’ve got three Arxur ships on an intercept course,” my sensor officer reported.  “Looks like they’re burning their engines hot.  At their present speed they will intercept us in forty seconds.”

“Continue evasive maneuvers,” I said.  I examined the screen before me.  As expected, the Arxur formation had broken apart, ships separating to pursue the scattering Legion ships.  

An alert appeared on my visor the same moment the sensor officer spoke.  “Sir, artificial gravity-well detected on our port side,” they said.  “FTL mine has activated!”

The FTL mine was useless against the Arxur we were engaged with.  Its only purpose was to pull ships from FTL; it did nothing to those in real space.  It did exactly as it was designed to do, and exactly what we needed it to do.

Three huge freighters suddenly appeared, spread wide throughout the battlefield.  They were Solaris-class freighters; nearly kilometer long behemoths common in every port and spaceplane across the Federation.  Their cargo area, surrounding the long spine that connected their bridge and living area with their enormous engines, were full of metal platings and scaffolds covering metal constructs lying beneath.  The freighters drifted dead in space, disabled by the FTL disruptor, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for the crew.  Disruptor headaches suck, I thought.

But while the freighters were disabled, their cargo, deactivated to escape the effects of the disruptor, were not.  As I watched, I could almost see the explosive charges detonating, severing the clamps that held the bulky objects to the freighters; nine on each.  The objects drifted free, shedding scaffolding and plates that had held them in place, their now freed engines coming to life.  Then, each object, a modified Dominion cruiser, accelerated into space, already firing at their former owners.

I gave a predatory smile as I watched the new arrivals launch themselves at the Dominion ships with a fury.  No matter how often I see it, that never gets old, I thought.  The Legion ships did not have the benefits of its forces on the ground; there was no population or cities to hide within in the emptiness of space, and cloaking still had a ways to go to be able to conceal an entire cruiser.  And with the Legion unable to match our enemies in numbers, we’d had to get creative.

The Tempest was suddenly rocked as a pursuing Dominion ship scored a hit, and I was nearly thrown from my chair, the safety straps digging into my body.  As red lights began to flash, I snapped my gaze to Jec.  “Damage report?” I asked.

“Decks One and Two reporting hit,” the Yotul said, examining his pad.  “Armor destroyed, hull at less than fifty percent in sections one through eight.  Primary airlocks not responding; secondary airlocks closing now.”

“Helm, bring us about,” I ordered.  “Full reverse on port engines, and full ahead on starboard.  Fire port thrusters as we make the turn, and all ahead full once we’re facing them.  Let’s show them our spines; on my mark.  Weapons; target all forward missile tubes on those three ships, and fire at will.”

“Either cut gravity or max the inertial dampeners,” Jec recommended.  “Preferably both.  I’ve done a hard turn like that before; the hull doesn’t like it very much.  There may be no resistance in space, but there sure is between one side of the ship and the other.”

I flicked my ears in agreement.  “Make it so,” I said.  With a thrum that vibrated the ship, I felt weightless as gravity disappeared.  I felt the jumpsuit I wore automatically tighten around my lower extremities to keep my blood from pooling.  The Humans have a lot more safety features in their gear than the Feds or Arxur do, I remembered.

“All hands,” I said, connecting to the PA.  My voice echoed throughout the bridge from the overhead speaker.  “Brace for maneuvers.”  I turned back to the helmsman.  “Execute.”

I was vaguely aware of the firing of the engines and thrusters that spun us on our axis, quickly exchanging our bow and stern.  I was very aware though of the loud creaks and groans that emanated from the structure of my ship.  I could hear the strain from the opposing forces as they pulled at the superstructure.

Thankfully they quieted as we completed the spin, and a volley of missiles erupted from their tubes along the hull.  “Firing solution for main cannon ready!” The officer at the weapons station announced.

“Thank you,” I said, appreciative of their initiative.  “You may fire when ready.”  The words had barely left my mouth when I felt the thud of the main cannon as it shot a round at the pursuing Dominion ships.  It rapidly caught up to and passed the missiles, impacting the lead ship on the bow.  It overwhelmed the shields, crumpling the armor and allowing the following missiles to tear into the ship.

The missiles impacted in a staggered manner, the first few tearing a hole and the subsequent impacts digging deeper into the hull.  Eventually the explosions hit something critical; a power or plasma conduit, the railgun magazine, or even the ships own missile tubes.  With a final explosion, the front half of the ship exploded, tearing away from the stern.  As the explosion began to fade, the engines sputtered and died, and the wreck began to drift.

The Tempest suddenly jolted to the side; emergency thrusters firing as the helmsman activated them, throwing us out of the way from a return shot from the Arxur ships.  As I was about to order to fire again when both ships were suddenly hit along their port side.

Plasma splashed against their shields, overloading them and turning the top layer of their armor into molten metal.  As droplets of superheated metal spun off into space, rapidly cooling in the vacuum, missiles peppered the rest, tearing off chunks of metal and venting air into space.

“Captain Sarn, I bring greetings,” a familiar gravelly voice said over the radio.  “And firepower.  Order your ships to regroup; we will deal with the rest of these apostates.”

“[Arxur-3] Crusader Fissal,” I replied, letting the tension in my body ease as the [redacted] Light of Faith, the [redacted] Sacrament, and [redacted] Believer’s Wrath, all Custodian cruisers, approached and engaged the enemy ships.  “I’m glad to hear your voice,” I said.  “And even gladder to fight alongside you.  I’ll regroup my forces; don’t have too much fun dealing with the rest of the Dominion.”

“We’ll try not to,” Fissal replied with a dry chuckle.  “For the Chain!”  

“Pull us back,” I ordered the helm, and turned my attention back to the wider battlefield.  If there was any doubt we’d win before, that’s gone now, I thought, watching the Custodian ships swarm after their enemy.  Faster and more nimble than the Dominion cruisers, and with weapons above their class, the Custodian ships worked in groups to quickly take down the remaining Arxur ships.

I gave an involuntary shiver as I watched, reminded of the hunting tactics of one of Earth's more famous animals.  Like a pack of wolves, I thought.  Terrifying but effective.  I’m glad the Dominion or Feds don’t copy us; I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that.

Time advanced: 10 minutes

The rest of the battle went quickly; by the time I regrouped my surviving ships, the rest of the Dominion ships had been either disabled or destroyed.  A good fight, I thought, as Jec began directing rescue operations.  A damn good fight.

Of the nine vessels I’d brought, only six remained; two destroyed and one crippled, clamped to the hull of one of its surviving comrades.  The Custodians had lost five, with four more crippled and many others heavily damaged.

The Dominion raiding force had been utterly destroyed.  Not a single ship had escaped; overwhelmed by the Custodians' sudden attack.  I hadn’t counted yet, but judging by the lack of Custodian boarding shuttles attached to the enemy ships, we’d be recovering most as parts.

“Get me a link to the rest of the fleet; ours and the Custodians alike,” I asked my comm officer.  “I’d like to extend my congratulations on a job well done.”  I looked through the exterior screens, at the planet we’d fought to protect.  

“Then try to get in touch with whoever is on the ground to notify them of our success,” I said.  “We’ve done our part; it’s up to them to take the fight to the end.”

Memory Transcription subject: [Dossur-1] Dessu, the Free Legion, “Silent Stalkers”
Date [standardized human time]: [Redacted] March 4, 2137, outskirts of Arisa, Serrus (Federation colony)

I shifted my weight, my exoskeleton whirring softly as I did, and set my crosshairs on another target.  The Dominion raider rose up from his cover, a fallen tree, and sent a stream of bullets towards approaching Legion forces out of my sight.  I could see their bolt lock back, their weapon empty as they started to drop back to safety.

Breathe in, breathe out, I repeated the mantra in my head.  Breathe in… exhale slowly… fire…. The rifle in my paws bucked; a smaller caliber than my usual rifle, trading size for ammo capacity.  

I watched as the top of the raiders head disappeared in a flash of blood, brain and shattered bone.  Their body dropped in a heap, legs kicking, their finger repeatedly squeezing the trigger, while their other hand slapped their chest, having been going for another magazine when I ended their life.

“Overwatch this is Squad Three,” came a voice in my earpiece.  “Enemy machine gun in fixed position several [yards] past the stern of the grounded cattleship.  We’re pinned down and can’t advance; requesting fire support.”

“Overwatch Lead,” I replied, quickly sweeping my scope around.  I could hear the distant chatter of machine gun fire; another seemed to have started up, closer.  “I do not have eyes on the target.  Overwatch Two; anything?”

There was a moment of silence, then a distant gunshot.  The closer machine gun abruptly fell silent, and I could hear small arms fire pick up again.  “Overwatch Two,” came [Dossur-2] Kicek’s voice.  “Machine gun neutralized.”

“Thanks Two,” the voice from Squad Three said.  “Much appreciated.  Moving up!”

I slowly swept my scope around, looking for targets of opportunity.  If my count is right, Kicek’s about to match my kills, I thought.  Can’t have that now, can I?  Morbid as it was, I kept searching for another target to add to my tally, unwilling to lose the impromptu competition with my partner.

The two of us had positioned ourselves in the lower branches of some of the native trees, overlooking opposite sides of one of the raiders landing areas.  From our position we could see from one end of the landing area to the other, and the three cattle ships at its center.

Those ships were the center of a battle, with desperate Dominion crews trying to hold back advancing Legion forces.  It was a battle they were losing; most of the defenders had already been killed or wounded, and each of the cattleships had been disabled.  I’d seen rockets slam into the engines of the center and left one, but one of the Custodian fireteams had gotten close enough to slam some sort of EMP thing to its hull.

Custodians, I thought, scope passing over another team advancing on one of the ships.  They’re so creepy with their whole “Living Chains” thing.  I mean there’s being right, which, yeah, they are.  But taking it to the point of fanaticism?  Insane.

I caught a flash of movement from the top of one of the grounded ships ramps; I pivoted, setting my crosshair over the center of the ramp, swinging to the target as an Arxur began to descend the ramp.  I fired, the round punching through the leg just above their knee, sending them tumbling to the floor and down the ramp.

I watched an object fall from their hands as they fell, and once they hit the dirt they tried to scramble away before apparently changing their minds.  They grabbed for the object, what I now saw was a grenade, and made to throw it.

It exploded before I could deliver a killing blow; metal fragments peppered the ground and sparked off the ramp, and their hand was reduced to a jagged stump with a puff of smoke and fire.  Red spots began to appear and ooze blood from their body as they fell still.

That counts, I thought, moving to cover another team moving up.  These ones were Arxur Commandos; much more reasonable and normal than their Custodian counterparts.  As normal as an Arxur can be, I thought, shooting another raider as they moved up.  Or a Legionnaire for that matter.

A rocket exploded against the front viewport of the center cattleship, and within the bridge I could see the crew desperately trying whatever they could to lift off.  They still had thrusters, so they could at least move away from the immediate area and try to hide in the forests that surrounded the colony.

I tuned my radio to an open frequency, because it appeared that the ship's pilot had begun arguing with someone.  As I did, I heard the calm voice of an Arxur Legionnaire as they spoke with the obviously upset pilot.

“The battle is lost,” the Legionnaire was saying, with the tone of someone who’d repeated themselves several times already.  “We’ve disabled your engines, and your fleet has been destroyed.  You aren’t going anywhere.  Just give up; we aren’t the Dominion or Betterment.  We do take prisoners, and we don’t torture them.”

Usually, I silently added.  Though the Commando is a lot better about the “no torture” bit than some of the cells I’ve worked with.  Unless the person really deserves it or the info they have is really important.

“We’ll never surrender to you, race traitor!” The pilot roared back, and I watched her hands fly over the controls.  “We’ll die before we betray the Prophet by surrendering to the likes of you!”

I examined the viewport as the argument continued, and the scorch marks from one of a couple rockets that had hit the ship.  Rated for space, my rifle hadn’t even scratched the viewports; I’d already tried.  But if those hits weakened it enough, I wondered, settling my sights over the pilot.  Just maybe I can shut them up and get them to see reason.

I had no real love for the Dominion troops; I’d lost family once in a raid like this.  But I’d trained with some of the Arxur assaulting the ships, and a surrender would spare them the task of fighting through the cattleships cramped interior.  And I think they’d appreciate avoiding that, I thought.

I set my crosshairs on the pilots face, shifting just a hair at a thought that came to my mind.  Screw the competition, I thought, tail twitching in amusement.  This’ll be hilarious!  I took a breath.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Breathe in… exhale slowly… fire… 

“I’d like to see you try!” The pilot had exclaimed, in answer to the Legionnaires promise to assault the ship, when my bullet first hit, then shattered a section of the viewport.  They’d flinched, but not enough as my bullet sailed through the cockpit, towards their head, and slammed into the headrest at the back of their head.

The headrest, some kind of expandable plastic, exploded, throwing fragments around the cockpit.  The pilot threw themselves forward, bouncing off the instrument panel before scrambling down underneath it.  As the last fragment clattered to a stop, and the dust in the air began to clear, I activated my mic.

“Cattleship pilot, this is Overwatch Lead,” I said.  “That headrest looked comfortable.  If I can hit that without grazing you, what do you think will happen if I actually aim for you?  Perhaps you should consider my comrades' kind offer.  Overwatch Lead out.”

Over the channel came both actual and barely controlled laughter, before the transmissions cut out.  The Arxur Legionnaire came back on, and had to start a few times as they barely controlled their own laughter.  “Cattleship pilot,” they finally stammered, recovering a bit of their professionalism.  “Was that your final answer?”

There was a brief silence before the pilot's voice returned, now subdued and with a faint tremble.  “Perhaps,” she said.  “I was a bit hasty in my refusal.  What kinds of guarantees do you have for me and my crew?”

Archivists note: the Battle of Serrus was an example of how the different units of the Legion worked together for a common goal.  This was not uncommon, though frequently seen during larger operations or when a large number of forces were needed quickly.  Some units were much more likely to collaborate than others, and these units tended to be less extreme than those who didn’t (with the exception of the Custodians).

The Dominion raid on Serrus cost them a total of 20 cattleships; 12 were captured and 8 were destroyed.  Over 150 Dominion raiders were killed, with many more captured; some even defected to the Legion upon being confronted.  Of the Dominion ships, 18 were destroyed, and the rest captured by the Legion.

The cost to both the Legion and Serrus was far lower than it could have been based on the disparity of forces between the Legion and Dominion.  Only 7 of the legion ships were destroyed, though many others were damaged, some so heavily they were out of the fight for months.   On the ground, a total of 37 Legionnaires and 40 local security officers were killed.  A further 55 civilians, most of whom had refused orders to evacuate, also lost their lives.

The significant difference in casualties is attributed to the difference between the tactics used by both sides.  The Dominion, unused to organized, effective resistance, acted with their forces as a hammer.  This direct, aggressive approach had served them well during their war with the Federation but proved less effective against actual combatants.  The Legion, more used to asymmetric combat against greater odds, used a variety of bombings, ambushes and sniper fire to great effect.

Following the battle, the Free Legion would extend an offer of clandestine protection to Serrus.  In exchange for a permanent fleet and surface presence, the planet would open up trade with other Legion controlled worlds and allow the limited exploitation of the planet's natural resources.  They would also allow biologists to visit the planet to study its wildlife and work to reduce negative interactions between the wildlife and the colonists.  In time, Serrus would become one of several worlds with close ties to the Legion.  -A. Piers, UN Office of Reconciliation

First

Previous

Ran into the word count limit again, so this 2-parter is now a 3-parter! Back to Serrrus; enjoy!

Memory encrypted… override key enabled… begin decryption…

Access code Epsilon-Zeta-2328-AP
Unauthorized redactions removed… original data restored…

Addendum: Data restored under Article 2.09 of the UNOR by order of the Secretary General.  Original, unaltered transcripts restored and entered as evidence in the Bronwen Report.  -Chief Investigator Andrea Powell, UN Office of Reconciliation

Memory accessed…

Memory Transcription subject: [Arxur-1] Riksa, Senior Hunter, Arxur Dominion
Date [standardized human time]: [Redacted] March 4, 2137, aboard Dominion Dropship Rend on descent towards Serrus

My mood, already fouled by how long it’d been since my last proper meal, had only worsened since this raid had begun.  Not only am I stuck with hatchlings fresh from training, I silently fumed.  But this is already looking like a bigger pain in the tail than it should be.

We’d arrived over [redacted] Serrus, a small and isolated world of a few thousand cattle less than an [hour] ago.  It was further away from the Chief Hunter’s territory than most of us liked, but the loss of so many farms had made the journey necessary.  My stomach growled its own reminder.

There were just a few settlements and no defenses reported on the world, so it should have been an easy raid; soften them up with the bombers, land cattleships on one side and dropships on the others, and push the cattle towards the capture teams.  Easy, clean, and minimal effort, I thought.  With plenty of chances to fill my belly while we loaded them up.

From what I’d heard over the radio, however, it was not business as usual.  I clenched the fist wrapped around the grab bar I held in anger; of the twelve bombers who’d gone down to soften up the prey, seven had been shot down by anti-air defenses that Serrus didn’t have.  The rest had been waved off; the Captain above not wanting to lose more of Yaza’s favorite toys.

Whoever screwed up the recon is going to get deservedly gutted, I thought darkly.  Good riddance.  Hopefully those bombers took most of the shots meant for us.  The dropship jolted suddenly, and I needed to tighten my grip on the bar.  I guess not.

I turned my head around, taking in the sorry group behind me.  I’d been given the dregs for what was expected to be an easy raid.  The Arxur behind me were runts; stick-thin, emaciated, their scales dull.  Pathetic, I thought.  Probably not even blooded.  Well, they’ll get their chance today.

The whine of the engines changed in pitch, and the maneuvering thrusters fired.  Dinnertime.  “Get ready you pathetic grunts!” I snapped, reaching out to smack a runt who was slow to get his rifle ready.  “Once the ramp lowers, you’re out first!”  And will soak up any bullets meant for me.

I got a series of “Yes Huntress” in return, then looked back to the ramp.  With a hard jolt the dropship touched down, and before it had even settled the ramp dropped.  Four of the runts ran out, throwing themselves behind the nearest cover and firing blindly away from the ramp.  

The next new recruits moved off the ship, and I held up an arm to block the next line. They were a little more experienced; I wanted to give the expendables a chance to distract any prey who tried to fight back.  Especially if those Prophet damned exterminators are waiting for us.

When no bullets or gouts of flame met the first grunts out, I lowered my arm to allow the rest to proceed.  I followed the last from the dropship, taking a deep breath of alien air.  Fresh prey, I thought, mouth starting to water at the thought of tearing into fresh, bloody meat.  We were landed in a clearing of short cut grass, with decorative trees and bushes being crushed as my raiders spread out. Ahead lay the settlement; dozens of identical, white buildings with smoothed edges.

“Move out!” I roared, gesturing with my rifle.  “Groups One and Two, loose formation!  Go!  Make sure you watch your corners, unless you want to get fried!”

I pointed to two raiders nearby.  “You two,” I snapped.  “Guard the dropship.”  They bowed their heads in submission, knowing better than to protest.  Unable to participate in the raid, these two would surely miss out on the chance to feed.

Too bad for you, I thought, and turned to join the other raiders as they started heading into the settlement.  To our left and right, I could see other drop ships had touched down, and were moving in line with us towards the settlement ahead.

“Let’s go you grunts,” I said, satisfied that both groups beside us were far enough away to not interfere with our hunt, but close enough to ensure no prey slipped between us.  “Eyes and nose open; remember, our job is to push the prey towards the cattleships that landed on the other side of the town.”

“Feel free to fill up on any wounded or dead, but hands off any of the prey that aren't," I reminded them.  “The Chief Hunter needs intact specimens to restock the breeding farms.”  I had no doubt that we’d find plenty of prey, wounded by the stampedes they were so fond of.  

I ran a tongue over sharp, jagged teeth.  And if not, no one will care how they got hurt or killed.  They are weak prey, after all.  So delicate.  

I followed behind as my raiders moved, already planning for my first meal.  Maybe a Krakotl; or a Gojid!  Those are my favorite!

Time advanced: 10 minutes

Over the past few minutes, we’d passed multiple buildings, searching each as we passed.  What we’d found has shocked us.  There was nothing; no prey huddled in closets, no broken bodies from a stampede, and not even fresh scent in the air.  Something is wrong here, I thought, peering through another window.  It’s like they just got up and disappeared.

The room beyond was a single room style apartment, similar in every way to the one I had back home except for the extra comforts within.  I sneered.  Weak prey and their comforts.  No wonder they’re so fragile; nothing to make them strong.

I looked away, across the street where another raider had checked out the identical apartment across the spongy road the prey preferred.  At my glance they shook their head.  More empty buildings, I thought.

The other teams were having similar luck; over my radio I could hear the growing frustration of the other Hunters at the lack of prey to be found.  They, like myself, were hungry, and as our bellies remained empty tempers began to rise.

“How are there no prey?” A raider asked nearby.  “Did they get a warning that we were coming or something?”  I turned to tell them to shut up when a gust of wind reached my nose, suddenly I perked up.  

I caught the scent of something; a live prey, and nearby. A Gojid!  I started to salivate again, and my belly rumbled a reminder of my hunger.  To hell with the Captains orders; this one is mine!  I followed the scent, taking deep breaths as I did, before finally turning up the street.  I took a step in that direction, trying to get a direction of my future dinner, when I came to a stop.

There, a few dozen [yards] ahead in the center of the street, a look of fear on their face, stood a Gojid.  Their spines were up; a sign of fear or agitation I’d learned, and they seemed frozen to the spot.  They also wore a strange vest and harness that looked similar to my own.  

Around me, I heard low growls as other raiders caught first the scent, then the sight, of our prey.  I took another step, and like a shot, the Gojid was running.  I love a good chase! I thought, dropping to all fours and launching myself after them.  

I began to close the distance with the Gojid, who I noticed seemed to run faster than any Gojid I’d ever chased before.  They also didn’t seem to tire as quickly; normally they’d have slowed to a stop after a few moments.  Must be in good shape, I thought.  More meat on their bones!

Ahead of me, the Gojid disappeared into a garage, the four doors lifted to the ceiling and the interior dark as pitch.  I came to a halt, standing as I lifted my rifle.  I laughed.  “Stupid prey can’t even avoid trapping itself!” I chortled.  “Like catching serals [common vermin on Arxur worlds] in a pit!”

“Huntress,” the raider who’d questioned the lack of prey earlier warned, joining my side.  “Something isn’t right.  Where are the rest of them?  Why isn’t this one in a herd?  They’re too scared to move alone.”

“Who cares,” I snapped, hunger overwhelming everything else.  “They’re probably hiding somewhere; this one probably just got lost.  They’re stupid, after all.”  I stalked forward.  “This one isn’t just stupid though; they’re dinner.  My dinner!”

I took another step forward, conscious that some of the raiders had begun to follow me.  Stomach growling, I took a few steps to get ahead of them, saliva dripping as I walked.  I passed a trash can on my right…

Error… Error… Memory interrupted… concussion detected… subject unconscious… attempting to recover…

Memory recovered… time advanced 20 seconds

Resume playback…

I gasped for breath, forcing air in and then out of my burning lungs.  I cough, sending jolts of pain through my body.  Someone’s going to pay for whatever just happened!  I cleared my lungs, then looked around, vision swimming and ears ringing.

I’d been blown to my stomach, and broken scales covered my front, oozing blood.  My harness was covered in dirt; luckily, I kept a grip on my rifle.  I pushed myself up, and looked around, head swimming.  Behind me, I caught sight of the raiders who’d been directly behind me.  It appeared that there had been a bomb in the trash can I’d passed.  While I had escaped, those behind me weren’t so lucky.

Bile rose into my throat and I involuntarily gagged at the sight and smell.  Behind me, the three raiders had been blown apart.  Their limbs had been shredded, organs torn from split abdomens, and blood pooled beneath their still forms.  I choked back the vomit that threatened to expel itself, my appetite suddenly vanished.

I heard a crack overhead, and threw myself back to my stomach, ignoring the pain the action shot through my body.  I started crawling towards the nearest cover; a thick stone bench.  Bullets shot overhead, some hitting beside me as I scrambled to cover.  Once there, I finally tried to assess the situation.

“Ambush!” I heard someone call out, then scream in pain.  No shit moron, I thought, searching for the source of the gunfire.  I peeked over my cover, only to swear and drop back as a bullet kicked up sparks in front of my face.  “Fuckers!” I roared.  “Return fire, you worms!”

My Arxur began to return fire, but I heard far fewer reports than there should be.  I looked around the bench; half a dozen lay sprawled in the street, some dead, most wounded.  I scowled and stuck my rifle around the bench, firing blindly towards where some of the bullets came from. There’s more than one shooter, I thought.  And they’re almost all around us.

I saw movement on a rooftop above me; I swung my rifle and fired only for the shape to drop back into cover.  It had been blue.  Krakotl, I guessed.  From another rooftop, I saw a tall, hunched being fire a burst before dropping back into cover.  That looked like… no… impossible!

“This is Sereq Squad,” I said, activating my radio, and pushing the apparition I thought I’d seen out of my mind.  Head must have been knocked harder than I thought.  Though I was loath to ask for help, I valued my life more than my pride.  Better to live another day with wounded pride than not.  “We are under heavy attack by unknown hostiles,” I reported urgently.  “We’ve taken multiple casualties; we need support now!”

I was answered by frantic versions of my own request for help, and I felt a cold, sinking feeling in my gut.  We aren’t the only ones under attack; everyone is!  The fear threatened to seize me for a moment, but I pushed it back with rage.  How dare these prey attack us!  How’d they get the courage?  They usually run!

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the gunfire fell silent.  In the distance I could hear gunfire from other groups, and even further away the distant thuds of what sounded like mortars.  I cautiously looked around, searching for shooters on the rooftops around us.

“Raiders!” A voice shouted.  I turned towards the garage, and spied the Gojid who I’d chased peeking around the frame of one of the garage doors, careful to stay behind the heavy blocks that made up the building.  “You’re surrounded,” the Gojid shouted.  “We’re dealing with your ships; on the ground and in orbit!  You’re trapped.  Surrender!”

For a moment I wasn’t sure if I’d understood what they’d said.  “What!?” I blurted out, shocked.  Prey never offered Arxur the chance to surrender!  What kind of trick is this? I wondered.   

“You heard me,” the Gojid shouted again.  “Surrender!  Throw down your weapons, and come out with your hands up.  You will not be harmed; your wounds will be treated, you will be fed, and you will be detained according to the Human Rules of War.”

“Ha!” I shouted back.  “You think that Arxur would surrender to prey?  Ha!  Don’t make me laugh!”

Then another voice, an Arxur voice, called out.  “You won’t be surrendering to so-called ‘prey.’  You’ll be surrendering to me.”  I looked out, too shocked to think about the risks of doing so.  Standing in one of the open garage doorways, rifle up and wearing an armored vest, was a gray-green female Arxur.

I stared for a moment, looking between the Arxur and the Gojid beside her, who was obviously covering her, in shock.  The armed Gojid, I thought.  Armed prey next to an Arxur, and not shooting!?  And Arxur next to prey, not fighting!?

“My name is [Arxur-2] Sarkis, of the [redacted] 1st Free Arxur Commando,” she said confidently, giving a smirk.  “You may have heard of us.  Your boss sure as hell has.  So do yourselves a favor; throw your guns down and give up.  Things will end up much better for you if you do.”

My surprise lasted only a few more seconds before I exploded with rage.  “You filthy traitor!” I roared, leaping to my feet. seeing red.  “You disgusting [untranslatable; identified as vulgar Arxur insult]!  How dare you turn your back on the Dominion!”

“I will tear you apart when I get my claws on you!” I threatened.  “I’ll gut you!  Disembowel you alive!  I’ll never surrender to filthy [untranslatable; identified as vulgar Arxur insult] like you!  None of us will surrender to you!  We’ll all die first!  We’ll…”

There were several gunshots, and blinding pain stabbed across my back.  I cried out in pain and surprise, my weapon clattering to the ground followed closely by my body.  I crumpled to the ground, chest heaving, my dominant arm numb and not moving.  I tried to crawl away from whoever had shot me, but my strength gave out.

I slammed down hard on my side, eyes darting towards where the bullets had come from.  My breath caught as I saw one of the raiders, the loudmouth from earlier, throwing his still smoking weapon on the ground.  “We surrender,” he said.

I coughed, blood splattering the pavement below me.  I attempted to swing my tail at him, but he stepped over the weak attack without difficulty.  As darkness began to creep around the edges of my vision, I managed to croak out “Traitor,” before falling into darkness.

Memory terminated…
Termination cause: subject unconscious 
Memory Transcription concluded

First

Previous

Next