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© 2021 by Walter Reimer
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marmelmm
Aboard Shaitan:
‘Empty space’ . . . isn’t.
The interstellar medium in this volume of space, recognized as part of the ‘border’ between the systems claimed by the Kashlan Empire and those claimed by Terra, was home to cold gas and dust, with nothing larger than a millimeter. Dark matter and dark energy were also present, helping to exert stress on the local hyperspace terrain. It made navigation tricky.
“Welcome to the arse-end of nowhere,” Admiral Fikset’s flag officer grumbled as the remaining two Terran ships, both destroyers, outphased. Residual radiation sloughed off the warships, giving the dust and gases a slight glow.
Mira Fikset chuckled at the hound. “You’re not far wrong,” she said, her smile belying her mood. She’d been getting positively peevish while waiting for the rest of her force to arrive safely, while fretting about what the Confed was up to elsewhere.
The Kashlani had analyzed the Confed Navy’s attack that had led to Kutua’s defection, and had concluded that their cipher security needed to change more rapidly and randomly. The loss of Kutua’s shipyards and resources were not a long-term handicap to the Colonial cause, but in the short term it had been a very nasty shock.
Intelligence reports that the Confed were setting up for an attack on Point Mu Station were disquieting. Most of the Colonial ships in that sector were armed merchanters, evenly divided between the Panjatjara and Patagarang families. The thylacines and kangaroos spent a lot of time squabbling, and were very suspicious of another merchant family (like her own, the Fiksets) showing up in space that their companies claimed. Negotiations were underway to bring more warships into the sector, but the wolfess was privately dubious about their success.
“Good, we’re all here now,” she said as the destroyers were added to the formation the two divisions had been asked to establish by the Kashlani.
That formation left much to be desired. Each ship of the two Colonial Fleet divisions was arranged in line, with the ships side by side. It wasn’t an offensive or defensive arrangement by any definition.
Fikset gave an unfeminine grunt and said, “Comms, use the code we were given, and let the Kashlani know we’re here.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the red panda femme said, and busied herself at her console. A few moments later she said, “Admiral b’Vat for you, Ma’am.”
That made the wolfess’ ears flick. Kandun b’Vat was the overall commander of the entire Imperial Fleet. Fikset waved at the plot. “Here, please,” and the image of the kam appeared. “Two divisions are in position, Frelen.”
The kam smiled and nodded in Terran fashion. “Thank you, Admiral. Please have your ships configure their ID beacons for the characters zha, mon, nan, please. This will identify your ships so that there will be no, ernnh, unfortunate errors made by my force.”
The wolfess’ ears dipped. “I’ll arrange it. The Confed force you spoke of is headed here?”
“Yes, with my force in pursuit.”
“If I recall correctly, the Fleet Commander does not command forces in the field directly.”
B’Vat grimaced as his ears and tail dipped. “The Sovereign requested it.”
“Uh huh.” She knew that a request from the Kashlanin ruler was quite a bit more like an order. “Why are we here, Frelen?”
The kam replied, “To observe, Admiral.”
***
Aboard Menhit:
Sure enough, the ships at the rim of the bowl around Task Force 2 were starting to turn inward, picking their way through hyperspace.
The Menhit’s bridge crew stared at the formation as it crept closer to completely englobing the Terran force. Everyone started and looked around, ears swiveling, as Admiral Gromov smacked his palm with a fist. “You all right, sir?” the battleship’s captain asked.
“Ask me that later,” the tiger said. “Look, it’s pretty obvious what their tactics are right now – surround us, close in, force us out of hyperspace and destroy us.”
The captain nodded. “Seems pretty obvious, yes.”
“But right now, all their heavy units – cruisers and battleships – are behind us,” Gromov said. “There are just light units – destroyers and patrol craft - ahead. Time to take advantage of that. Comms! Conference call, all captains, now!”
***
Aboard AZB 94661 Bōank:
“Orders, Ma’am,” the Communications Officer said, “from the Fleet Commander.” At Varan’s gesture he said, “All ships are to take note of beacons transmitting Zh-M-N. Those ships are – “
“Colonial.” The kam blinked at her and Varan said, “Zhimin is colonial in Terran Basic. Aka, we avoid those ships?”
“Yes, Ma’am. They have been ordered to observe and to broadcast so that we do not attack them.”
“Tron muta’. Weapons?”
“Moving to new position, as designated.” Ships were being shuffled around as the trap closed around their prey.
“Sensor contact ahead, extreme range,” the Sensor Officer reported. “Power curves are Terran ships, Ma’am. Enhanced division strength.”
“Stay alert, everyone,” Varan said, her tail twitching back and forth in its armored sleeve. “They may try something.”
***
Menhit:
Gromov looked at the array of holographic images facing him, picking one out and forcing a smile. “You’ve looked better, Elian.”
Admiral Wen Elian smiled. A lumpy bandage covered the left side of his face and both eyes. “You should see the other guy,” he said softly. “It’s an interesting plan, Feranq. I say do it – the alternative’s being destroyed piecemeal.”
“All right. Stations, everyone.” The projections all winked out.
***
AZB 94661 Bōank:
“Frelen, I – “
Admiral k’Jan cut her off with a slight gesture of her tail. “Are you suggesting that you know more than the flag tacticians, Gartabin?”
“I am not, Ma’am.”
“Good. Your concerns are noted. We will stay in formation.” The admiral’s image faded from her repeater screen, and Varan took a moment to steady her breathing and lower her heart rate.
Fortunately, they had been speaking over a private channel. None of her officers had witnessed it, which was just as well.
Varan was also very glad of her armor. No one could see that her fingerclaws were extended. “Weapons.”
“The nearest Terran ship is approaching extreme weapons ra – hold! They’re accelerating!”
“Ascertain course and inform the flagship,” Varan ordered, succeeding in keeping excitement from her voice. A commander had to set a good example, after all.
But she yearned to come to grips with the enemy who dared to attack Gwath ka-shlal.
***
Aboard AZB 9002 Tārin:
“Orders, Sir?”
Kandun b’Vat glanced away from the projection. “Ignore all ships outside the battle area identifying themselves as Zhimin.” His tail twitched and his fingerclaws extended. “Continue to englobe the enemy force.”
“Message from the Bōank, sir,” the fleet’s communications coordinator said. “The Terrans are accelerating toward Scouting Four.”
B’Vat glanced back at the plot. “Accelerating?” No rearguard action? No general attack? “Direct the 119th Division to pursue!” As his orders were obeyed, he studied the plot more carefully.
And sighed.
***
Shaitan:
Mira Fikset gaped like a gaffed fish as the enemy formation drew closer, and sensors showed her the size of their Kashlanin pursuers. The Confed force numbered some fifty-eight ships.
The Kashlani?
The computers controlling the plot’s holographic projectors stopped counting after a thousand.
“Holy Deus,” her aide breathed. “I think the Confed got their attention.”
“You think?” The wolfess countered. “Orders to all ships: Activate shields and charge primaries. We will hold position, but will defend ourselves if any Confed ship manages to reach us.”
As she watched, the small red flecks of the Confed ships began to move faster as the gold bowl chasing them began to evert, speeding up even as the rim of the bowl started to close. There were two bright flashes, showing that two Terran ships’ hyperfields had catastrophically interacted with two Imperial patrol craft.
The wolfess had to admit to a grudging respect for the Confed force’s commander.
***
Menhit:
Gromov growled as the M-9 and M-57 were destroyed, but a gap appeared in the Imperial formation. “Captain?”
“On it, sir. Helm?”
The Terran battleship, leading the remnants of Task Force 2, sped toward the opening at maximum speed.
***
Bōank:
“Target!”
“Cruiser, Vengeance class,” Weapons said. As soon as the Fleet Commander ordered the division to intercept the fleeing Terrans, Varan had ordered her ship to full speed. “Hyperfield interaction in three fractions.” The ship quivered as the two fields got closer to each other.
“Power surge!” Sensors said as the enemy cruiser’s field collapsed and the ship outphased. Bōank dropped out of hyperspace and dumped speed immediately to avoid overshooting its quarry as the Terran ship fired missiles and began an evasion pattern.
Varan bared her teeth. “Attack pattern F-8, Weapons,” she said as her ship began to tumble defensively, spreading out the impact of the missiles and minimizing the damage.
The Weapons Officer guided the ship into range and position, firing constantly at the Terran ship. Another Imperial cruiser, and then a third, closed in to assist, and pounded on the enemy cruiser until it was destroyed.
“Well done, all of you,” Varan said. “Damage?”
“Minor, no casualties,” Subcaptain th’Ner replied.
“Excellent. Continue pursuit,” and the Bōank leaped away from the expanding debris field.
***
Menhit:
“Clear and across the border – sensor contacts!”
“Who?” Gromov asked, his relief at getting what was left of his command across the imaginary line in space tempered by the fact that the Kashlani weren’t stopping.
Hell, they weren’t even pausing.
“Terran – Colonial,” the sensor tech said. “In normal space, ready to fire - but holding position.”
“Show me.” The plot altered to show the bizarre formation. His own force would bypass them with sufficient clearance, passing ‘below’ and to the ‘right’ of the Colonial ships.
“Never seen a formation like that before,” the captain remarked.
“I think they wanted ringside seats at our massacre,” the tiger said. “Advise our ships,” he said to the Comms officer, “to scatter as soon as we’re clear of the Colonials.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
AZB 9002 Tārin:
Aides conferred, whittling the massive Imperial force down to a single fleet while ordering the excess ships to fall back across the border. Ships were assigned on the basis of damage, supplies, and whether they had a full crew. Some ships had left dock without sufficient personnel aboard.
The fleet would continue to hunt the fleeing Terrans.
While that was going on, Admiral b’Vat sat gazing at the flag plot. One of his subordinates had anticipated what the Terrans had been about to do.
That deserved recognition.
His tail beckoned an aide over to him. “I wish to speak with the captain of the Bōank.”
“Yes, Sir.”
B’Vat went back to looking at the plot. The Colonial force had broken up and left the area, and the kam fretted about what the Terrans had seen.
And how they would interpret it.
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
marmelmmAboard Shaitan:
‘Empty space’ . . . isn’t.
The interstellar medium in this volume of space, recognized as part of the ‘border’ between the systems claimed by the Kashlan Empire and those claimed by Terra, was home to cold gas and dust, with nothing larger than a millimeter. Dark matter and dark energy were also present, helping to exert stress on the local hyperspace terrain. It made navigation tricky.
“Welcome to the arse-end of nowhere,” Admiral Fikset’s flag officer grumbled as the remaining two Terran ships, both destroyers, outphased. Residual radiation sloughed off the warships, giving the dust and gases a slight glow.
Mira Fikset chuckled at the hound. “You’re not far wrong,” she said, her smile belying her mood. She’d been getting positively peevish while waiting for the rest of her force to arrive safely, while fretting about what the Confed was up to elsewhere.
The Kashlani had analyzed the Confed Navy’s attack that had led to Kutua’s defection, and had concluded that their cipher security needed to change more rapidly and randomly. The loss of Kutua’s shipyards and resources were not a long-term handicap to the Colonial cause, but in the short term it had been a very nasty shock.
Intelligence reports that the Confed were setting up for an attack on Point Mu Station were disquieting. Most of the Colonial ships in that sector were armed merchanters, evenly divided between the Panjatjara and Patagarang families. The thylacines and kangaroos spent a lot of time squabbling, and were very suspicious of another merchant family (like her own, the Fiksets) showing up in space that their companies claimed. Negotiations were underway to bring more warships into the sector, but the wolfess was privately dubious about their success.
“Good, we’re all here now,” she said as the destroyers were added to the formation the two divisions had been asked to establish by the Kashlani.
That formation left much to be desired. Each ship of the two Colonial Fleet divisions was arranged in line, with the ships side by side. It wasn’t an offensive or defensive arrangement by any definition.
Fikset gave an unfeminine grunt and said, “Comms, use the code we were given, and let the Kashlani know we’re here.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the red panda femme said, and busied herself at her console. A few moments later she said, “Admiral b’Vat for you, Ma’am.”
That made the wolfess’ ears flick. Kandun b’Vat was the overall commander of the entire Imperial Fleet. Fikset waved at the plot. “Here, please,” and the image of the kam appeared. “Two divisions are in position, Frelen.”
The kam smiled and nodded in Terran fashion. “Thank you, Admiral. Please have your ships configure their ID beacons for the characters zha, mon, nan, please. This will identify your ships so that there will be no, ernnh, unfortunate errors made by my force.”
The wolfess’ ears dipped. “I’ll arrange it. The Confed force you spoke of is headed here?”
“Yes, with my force in pursuit.”
“If I recall correctly, the Fleet Commander does not command forces in the field directly.”
B’Vat grimaced as his ears and tail dipped. “The Sovereign requested it.”
“Uh huh.” She knew that a request from the Kashlanin ruler was quite a bit more like an order. “Why are we here, Frelen?”
The kam replied, “To observe, Admiral.”
***
Aboard Menhit:
Sure enough, the ships at the rim of the bowl around Task Force 2 were starting to turn inward, picking their way through hyperspace.
The Menhit’s bridge crew stared at the formation as it crept closer to completely englobing the Terran force. Everyone started and looked around, ears swiveling, as Admiral Gromov smacked his palm with a fist. “You all right, sir?” the battleship’s captain asked.
“Ask me that later,” the tiger said. “Look, it’s pretty obvious what their tactics are right now – surround us, close in, force us out of hyperspace and destroy us.”
The captain nodded. “Seems pretty obvious, yes.”
“But right now, all their heavy units – cruisers and battleships – are behind us,” Gromov said. “There are just light units – destroyers and patrol craft - ahead. Time to take advantage of that. Comms! Conference call, all captains, now!”
***
Aboard AZB 94661 Bōank:
“Orders, Ma’am,” the Communications Officer said, “from the Fleet Commander.” At Varan’s gesture he said, “All ships are to take note of beacons transmitting Zh-M-N. Those ships are – “
“Colonial.” The kam blinked at her and Varan said, “Zhimin is colonial in Terran Basic. Aka, we avoid those ships?”
“Yes, Ma’am. They have been ordered to observe and to broadcast so that we do not attack them.”
“Tron muta’. Weapons?”
“Moving to new position, as designated.” Ships were being shuffled around as the trap closed around their prey.
“Sensor contact ahead, extreme range,” the Sensor Officer reported. “Power curves are Terran ships, Ma’am. Enhanced division strength.”
“Stay alert, everyone,” Varan said, her tail twitching back and forth in its armored sleeve. “They may try something.”
***
Menhit:
Gromov looked at the array of holographic images facing him, picking one out and forcing a smile. “You’ve looked better, Elian.”
Admiral Wen Elian smiled. A lumpy bandage covered the left side of his face and both eyes. “You should see the other guy,” he said softly. “It’s an interesting plan, Feranq. I say do it – the alternative’s being destroyed piecemeal.”
“All right. Stations, everyone.” The projections all winked out.
***
AZB 94661 Bōank:
“Frelen, I – “
Admiral k’Jan cut her off with a slight gesture of her tail. “Are you suggesting that you know more than the flag tacticians, Gartabin?”
“I am not, Ma’am.”
“Good. Your concerns are noted. We will stay in formation.” The admiral’s image faded from her repeater screen, and Varan took a moment to steady her breathing and lower her heart rate.
Fortunately, they had been speaking over a private channel. None of her officers had witnessed it, which was just as well.
Varan was also very glad of her armor. No one could see that her fingerclaws were extended. “Weapons.”
“The nearest Terran ship is approaching extreme weapons ra – hold! They’re accelerating!”
“Ascertain course and inform the flagship,” Varan ordered, succeeding in keeping excitement from her voice. A commander had to set a good example, after all.
But she yearned to come to grips with the enemy who dared to attack Gwath ka-shlal.
***
Aboard AZB 9002 Tārin:
“Orders, Sir?”
Kandun b’Vat glanced away from the projection. “Ignore all ships outside the battle area identifying themselves as Zhimin.” His tail twitched and his fingerclaws extended. “Continue to englobe the enemy force.”
“Message from the Bōank, sir,” the fleet’s communications coordinator said. “The Terrans are accelerating toward Scouting Four.”
B’Vat glanced back at the plot. “Accelerating?” No rearguard action? No general attack? “Direct the 119th Division to pursue!” As his orders were obeyed, he studied the plot more carefully.
And sighed.
***
Shaitan:
Mira Fikset gaped like a gaffed fish as the enemy formation drew closer, and sensors showed her the size of their Kashlanin pursuers. The Confed force numbered some fifty-eight ships.
The Kashlani?
The computers controlling the plot’s holographic projectors stopped counting after a thousand.
“Holy Deus,” her aide breathed. “I think the Confed got their attention.”
“You think?” The wolfess countered. “Orders to all ships: Activate shields and charge primaries. We will hold position, but will defend ourselves if any Confed ship manages to reach us.”
As she watched, the small red flecks of the Confed ships began to move faster as the gold bowl chasing them began to evert, speeding up even as the rim of the bowl started to close. There were two bright flashes, showing that two Terran ships’ hyperfields had catastrophically interacted with two Imperial patrol craft.
The wolfess had to admit to a grudging respect for the Confed force’s commander.
***
Menhit:
Gromov growled as the M-9 and M-57 were destroyed, but a gap appeared in the Imperial formation. “Captain?”
“On it, sir. Helm?”
The Terran battleship, leading the remnants of Task Force 2, sped toward the opening at maximum speed.
***
Bōank:
“Target!”
“Cruiser, Vengeance class,” Weapons said. As soon as the Fleet Commander ordered the division to intercept the fleeing Terrans, Varan had ordered her ship to full speed. “Hyperfield interaction in three fractions.” The ship quivered as the two fields got closer to each other.
“Power surge!” Sensors said as the enemy cruiser’s field collapsed and the ship outphased. Bōank dropped out of hyperspace and dumped speed immediately to avoid overshooting its quarry as the Terran ship fired missiles and began an evasion pattern.
Varan bared her teeth. “Attack pattern F-8, Weapons,” she said as her ship began to tumble defensively, spreading out the impact of the missiles and minimizing the damage.
The Weapons Officer guided the ship into range and position, firing constantly at the Terran ship. Another Imperial cruiser, and then a third, closed in to assist, and pounded on the enemy cruiser until it was destroyed.
“Well done, all of you,” Varan said. “Damage?”
“Minor, no casualties,” Subcaptain th’Ner replied.
“Excellent. Continue pursuit,” and the Bōank leaped away from the expanding debris field.
***
Menhit:
“Clear and across the border – sensor contacts!”
“Who?” Gromov asked, his relief at getting what was left of his command across the imaginary line in space tempered by the fact that the Kashlani weren’t stopping.
Hell, they weren’t even pausing.
“Terran – Colonial,” the sensor tech said. “In normal space, ready to fire - but holding position.”
“Show me.” The plot altered to show the bizarre formation. His own force would bypass them with sufficient clearance, passing ‘below’ and to the ‘right’ of the Colonial ships.
“Never seen a formation like that before,” the captain remarked.
“I think they wanted ringside seats at our massacre,” the tiger said. “Advise our ships,” he said to the Comms officer, “to scatter as soon as we’re clear of the Colonials.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
AZB 9002 Tārin:
Aides conferred, whittling the massive Imperial force down to a single fleet while ordering the excess ships to fall back across the border. Ships were assigned on the basis of damage, supplies, and whether they had a full crew. Some ships had left dock without sufficient personnel aboard.
The fleet would continue to hunt the fleeing Terrans.
While that was going on, Admiral b’Vat sat gazing at the flag plot. One of his subordinates had anticipated what the Terrans had been about to do.
That deserved recognition.
His tail beckoned an aide over to him. “I wish to speak with the captain of the Bōank.”
“Yes, Sir.”
B’Vat went back to looking at the plot. The Colonial force had broken up and left the area, and the kam fretted about what the Terrans had seen.
And how they would interpret it.
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Wolf
Size 120 x 75px
File Size 60.7 kB
Listed in Folders
Taggart: I got it. I got it.
Hedley Lamarr: You do?
Taggart: We'll work up a "Number 6" on 'em.
Hedley: "Number 6"? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one...
Taggart: Well, that's where we go a-ridin' into town, a whampin' and whompin' every livin' thing that moves within an inch of its life. Except the women folks, of course.
Hedley: You spare the women?
Taggart: NAW. We rape the shit out of them at the Number 6 Dance later on.
Hedley: Marvelous!
Hedley Lamarr: You do?
Taggart: We'll work up a "Number 6" on 'em.
Hedley: "Number 6"? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one...
Taggart: Well, that's where we go a-ridin' into town, a whampin' and whompin' every livin' thing that moves within an inch of its life. Except the women folks, of course.
Hedley: You spare the women?
Taggart: NAW. We rape the shit out of them at the Number 6 Dance later on.
Hedley: Marvelous!
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