u/CandidateWolf

I’m putting in about 1056 feet of fencing (3 strands of wire) for this years pigs; are 3 ground rods. 10 feet apart near the energizer, enough?

This chapter is a little early, but that’s because I’m almost at the 1 year anniversary of restarting this series! In the next week and a half I’ve got 5 chapters to release… with a bit of a cliffhanger before we get back to the regular schedule. So now let’s go back to Jarla and her Inatala’s Talons, as we reached the conclusion of the Aoja Campaign. 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: [Krakotl-1] Jarla, the Free Legion, “Inatala’s Talons”
Date [standardized human time]: [Redacted] March 4, 2137, Saax, Aoja (Kolshian Republic colony)

I sat perched at one end of a long table, joined by nearly a dozen other rebels and insurgents; members of the Free Legion and AFP units both.  At the head of the table sat [Kolshian-1] Councilor Korus, flanked by [Human-1] Major Timothy Sears, the liaison from the UN fleet.

I turned my head, gazing out the window behind us, thankfully perched behind one of the intact panes, so my view wasn’t obstructed. Much of the rest of the window had been sealed with plywood, the glass shattered by bullets or artillery strikes.  No need to worry about that anymore, I thought.  Thanks to our elimination of the Federations long range artillery a few days ago, we’d been able to advance rapidly towards the capital, whose skyline loomed a few [miles] away, its view unobstructed save for the occasional column of smoke.

“As you can see, we’ve effectively cut off [redacted] Asoa,” [Farsul-1] Eyla said, drawing my attention back to the briefing.  As she spoke I could help but feel immensely proud of her; since she’d joined the Legion at the start of the campaign, she’d proven herself time and again, and now led the local Legion cell the [redacted] “Militant Scholars.”  One of my finest soldiers, I thought.  

“We now control every major and most minor route in and out of the city,” she was saying, highlighting the routes on a holographic map that hovered over the center of the table.  “And have severed the rail lines to prevent rapid redeployment of any reinforcements the Fed loyalists may have left.  With the spaceport locked down, their only route out of the city is by foot.”

“We’ve fully surrounded the city,” [Kolshian-2] General Aceel, commander of the [redacted] 1st Aojan Corps and overall leader of the rebellion’s military forces said.  “To the north, west and east are the bulk of my forces, while your [redacted] Talon Militia and our other paramilitary forces hold the south.”

“We’ve established a cordon just inside the city limits in the [redacted] Terrun Garden District, and have established checkpoints on all major avenues,” he continued.  “As instructed, our forces have established marked evacuation routes through the cordon, and stationed additional units along the lines of evacuation to protect any evacuees or to provide medical assistance.  They should allow as many civilians as possible to leave before the battle begins.”

I glanced at [Yotul-1] Kamso, who’d been with me since Wishful Hope; I’d put him in charge of making the locals aware of the coming battle.  “Think we’ve done all we can to alert the people of the Capital to leave?” I asked him.  Not sure what else we could have done, frankly.

He flicked his ears in the affirmative.  “We’ve dropped flyers, placed posters, blared it on every radio wave and channel we can hack into,” he said.  “We’ve set up a shuttle service for vulnerable populations, and I’ve been coordinating with the [redacted] Nishtal Rangers, the  Scholars and units of the Talon Militia to help the AFP ensure the safety of the evacuation routes.  If someone hasn’t taken the hint to leave the city by now, that’s on them.”

“And what of loyalists attempting to flee with the civilians?” Korus asked, tapping his pad for emphasis.  “There are tens of thousands of loyalists trapped within the Capital, thousands of Federation troops, and thousands more exterminators.  Any that escape will be a danger after the battle is won.  We don’t need fanatic terrorists trying to undermine what we accomplish.”

I gave him a shrug, another gesture I’d copied from the Humans.  At this rate, with all I’ve adopted from them, I’ll forget how to be a Krakotl!  “Enemy forces are going to escape,” I said simply.  “We can’t screen every being who makes it through the cordon, so there’s not much we can do about that.  It’s better that a handful of loyalists Feds escape than any civilians become trapped, though.”  

“And after all is said and done,” I continued.  “There are sure to be pockets of loyalists here and there.  You’re going to need to keep an eye open for further attacks, and we can help you in running counter-insurgency operations.  Best case scenario, they ditch their weapons and uniforms, go back to their day job, and keep their heads down.  Worst case scenario?  Us and the loyalists trade places; we run the government, and they get to play guerilla.”

I could tell Korus wasn’t too pleased with my answer, but I wasn’t concerned; the Feds still had no idea how to run an effective insurgency, even after the schooling we’d given them these past few weeks.  No matter how many escape, they’ll never amount to anything more than a nuisance, I thought*.  The people of this planet support a change, and any counter-rebellion will have its work cut out for it lacking popular support.*

After fixing me with a look that I returned unblinking, he grumbled and waved a tentacle, accepting my answer for now.  Turning his head slightly to look at the UN liaison, he asked “When will your task force arrive to help with the liberation?”

“Our ships are arriving in system as we speak,” Major Sears said.  “They’ll hang back for now, and upon initiation of the attack on the Capital, will advance into the system, seize orbital control, and keep it clear.  Once we receive word that surface defenses over the AO have been silenced, we will deploy our units to assist in taking the Capital.”  He turned to Aceel.  “I trust you won’t keep us waiting.”

Aceel lifted a tentacle and pointed at me.  “Commander Jarla has taken up the matter of silencing the air defenses around the capital herself.”  Taking my cue, I spoke.  

“While the 1st Aojan advances through the city,” I said.  “The Talon Militia, working with the Talons, Scholars and Rangers, will launch a series of strikes to silence the air defenses over the city.  We’ll try to take them intact; if not, we’ll destroy them.”  I faced the UN liaison.  “We will ensure that you have a landing zone for your forces, Major.”

“Then it’s decided,” Korus said.  “While the Free Legion silences the air defenses, the AFP will advance and begin clearing the city and establish a landing zone for UN forces.  Then, together, we will make for the Capitol Building, seize the site, and neutralize but preferably capture the Federation puppet who claims to rule this world.  All that’s left is what happens after.”

He paused for a moment.  “The AFP senate has asked that I take temporary control as interim governor until elections are held once the planet is ours,” he said hesitantly.  “I will serve in that role until elections, which will be overseen by the UN to ensure fairness.  Following the election we will officially join the Sapient Coalition as a vassal state of the UN.  They will help us rebuild our homes and economy, and will be giving us exclusive trade deals to help us back to our feet.”

“And the cost of our vassalage?” one of the AFP commanders asked.  “What does the UN get for this?”

“The UN will seek to build an orbital presence over Aoja,” Major Sears said.  “Primarily as a resupply station for our fleet, with defenses to protect both it and Aoja.  This will allow us to project our power post-war.  We will also establish an embassy on your world to facilitate closer relations, and of course the exclusive trade deals between our governments.”

“As for the Free Legion,” I said.  “We will be allowed to establish a permanent base on Aoja for the recruitment and training of new Legionnaires, and be allowed to station our ships in orbit.  They won't just be there to look pretty; they’ll also provide additional defense for Aoja in event of an attack by Federation or Dominion forces. They will also help with dealing with any remaining Federation loyalists that give you trouble”

“There is one last condition,” Major Sears said.  “The Arxur Dominion is currently in a state of civil war.”  The room went dead silent, as he confirmed what many had known since the Sapient Coalition summit.  “The UN cannot officially support the rebels, as we have an undeclared truce with the Dominion.”  He held up a hand to silence any interruptions.

“Before you say anything,” he said.  “Regardless of their morality, the UN cannot support a war with both the Dominion and the Federation.  We may have intended to fight the Arxur when we first became involved in the galaxy, but the Federation has proven to be the greater threat to Humanity.  It was the Arxur, after all, who saved us from extinction.”

“Because of the proximity of Aoja to space controlled by Isif’s rebels, we want you to allow a specific faction, and only that faction, to establish a fueling station and listening post at the edge of your system, on the barren planetoid of [redacted] Dao,” he continued.  “By establishing this installation, they will be able to conduct further patrols of the edge of their territory and keep an eye out for Federation and Dominion incursions.  This will not only help their fight, but provide you with an early warning as well.”

As the expressions changed around the table, I saw Sears shoot me a look.  What they don’t know is that the Arxur Legionnaires are going to be the real ones using the station, I thought.  The [redacted] Free Arxur Commando made a deal with Isif to patrol the edges of his territory, and they need a refueling station and listening post to enable longer patrols.  I don’t like lying to allies, but we need a way to support our operations in this sector.  And we don’t want to make it known how many Arxur we count among the Legion yet, so best to blame Isif for now.

“So we should just let those child-eating monsters have free reign over our system!?” one of the AFP commanders exclaimed angrily.  “Are we to trade one slave master for another!?”

Major Sears shook his head vigorously.  “Absolutely not,” he said.  “First, they will restrict themselves to the outer system; this is non-negotiable.  Second, they will routinely share intelligence regarding Federation and Dominion fleet movements near your system with you; they’ll also routinely keep you notified of their movements in your system.  Third, they intend to attempt to trace all of your citizens taken in the last Dominion raid, and will attempt to repatriate any survivors they find.  Fourth, they have agreed to eat only meat supplied by Human bioreactors; no more sapients.  And finally, in the event that the Federation attempts to retake your world, they will come to the defense of your planet.”

I winced inwardly at the conditions that the Free Legion would have to fulfill to enable our Arxur contingents a place to refuel.  I’ve been out of contact for awhile, so don’t know much about the Legion’s size outside of Aoja and Wishful Hope, I thought*.  I don’t know if we can actually do any of that*.  But if Legion Command thinks that the Free Arxur Commando can not only patrol the borders for Isif but also help defend Aoja in orbit, I’ll trust they know what they’re doing.  At least tracing any raid survivors is something we can delegate to the rebels.

Around the room, many of the local forces wore mixed expressions.  Some seemed ready to explode with anger; others wore expressions of fear or betrayal.  “I know that allowing any grays, even rebels against the Dominion, into Aoja space is unthinkable,” Korus said, grudgingly.  “But this is the best arrangement we can expect considering our proximity to Arxur space.  Rather than live in fear of the nearby grays, we can have some hope that, as the Humans claim, they aren’t just monsters.”

“And if we find need of extra forces to fend of either the Federation or their fellow grays, then is it not better to let them suffer losses than us?”  He looked around the room. “Better for a thousand grays to die defending us, than even one of ours,” he said. 

I looked around the table from my perch, and saw the anger, fear, and betrayal fading, replaced by resignation and acceptance.  Not everyone is satisfied with everything, I thought.  But it’s the best option to help keep Aoja free and safe. They get extra defense, and we get to expand our operations in this sector.  Strengthening the ties the Legion had with the rebels would be a nice side benefit as well.

Korus looked around the table, and the AFP commanders had finally motioned for their agreement.  “It’s settled then,” he said.  Turning to Major Sears, he held out a tentacle awkwardly.  Sears took it in hand, and shook it.  “On behalf of Aoja, I’m glad to accept the UN’s conditions, and hope for a brighter future for our people,” Korus said.

“And I’m proud to welcome the future Republic of Aoja to the Sapient Coalition,” Sears replied. “You will not regret this decision, and I look forward to joining you in a brighter tomorrow.”

Memory transcription subject: [Krakotl-1] Jarla, the Free Legion, “Inatala’s Talons”
Date [standardized human time]: [Redacted] March 6, 2137, Asoa, Aoja (Kolshian Republic colony)

I crouched low behind the wall, carbine clutched tight in my talons as bullets and plasma whizzed above my head.  Taking a risk, I rose and brought the barrel up, sighting on one of the loyalists firing at my squad.  Across the street, up a flight of stairs covered in rubble from the building's shattered facades was an office lobby.  Several enemy troops sheltered within.  

Over the lip of the stairs came a Krakotl, purple plumage bright against the gray rubble around them.  I sent a trio of rounds into their chest as they brought their weapon up, and saw the spray of their blue blood paint the rubble behind them.  They dropped like a sack of rocks, tumbling down the stack of rubble and into the street below.

I dropped back down as a few dozen white-hot bolts peppered my cover, burning into its surface.  Plasma repeater, I guessed, hugging the ground.  Turning, I waved our drone operator forward, and the small Harchen moved to my side, careful to stay low.  “Looks like at least another four loyalists in the lobby ahead,” I squawked, motioning with my head.  “One of them has a plasma repeater; that’ll shred our cover if they focus fire.  Take them out.”

[Harchen-1] Fenic nodded, and dropped a case she carried to the ground, opening it to reveal a small handful of drones packed within.  All but one was about the size of a piece of Human sport’s equipment called a “golf ball;” the last was a miniature quadcopter.  She took a controller from the case as well, activating the connection between the visor she wore and the controller.  

In the case, the quadcopter’s rotors spun up and it shot into the air, quickly disappearing from view.  I watched, Fenric looking through the recon drones camera, when she said “Got ‘em.  Four hostiles, one plasma repeater.  Give me a second.”

Two of the spherical drones shot skyward out of the case, disappearing high into the air.  I watched Fenric maneuver them with the controller, before pushing the joystick forward.  Behind us from where the Feds had us pinned down came an explosion that rattled the wall we hid behind.  A second followed closely behind it.  “Got them,” Fenric reported.  “I’m gonna keep the quadcopter in the air, see if I can spot any more of them before they get any shots off.”  

I gave her a nod.  Too bad we can’t just send the other two up to take out the battery, I thought, looking over the wall.  As my team member had explained, they had a height limit below where the battery was, and didn’t carry enough explosives to permanently disable or destroy it.  While the Legion did have FPV drones that could reach the battery, they weren’t as mobile as the ones Fenric carried.

A demolished barricade stood at the top of the stairs.  Above it, a cloud of dust lingered in the air, and multi-colored bloodstains had splashed the ceiling above it.  That’s gonna be a mess when we get up there, I thought.  Despite their limitations, the bomb drones were effective.

“Good work,” I told her, and swept my wing forward.  “Let’s go!”  From their cover further back, [Venlil-1] Reles, [Gojid-1] Sanin, Kamso and the squad of militia joining us rushed forward, vaulting over the wall I hid behind, crossing the sidewalk and dropping behind an abandoned bus.  Next came [Krakotl-2] Sarim, Fenric, myself and the second squad; we bounded forward, past the others, into the center lane.  We quickly leapfrogged across the street then scrambled up the ruined stairs.

The last day and a half had turned Asoa into a battlefield.  Aojan troops had pushed their way through the city from the north, while allied insurgents moved up from the south.  As they did, artillery pounded Federation and loyalist strongpoints on the way to the Capitol.  Defending Federation and loyalist units were slowly cut off and surrounded; others pulled back to the Capitol District, turning it into a fortress that one of my UN liaisons had likened to “Anchorage during the Satellite Wars.”

Militia groups maneuvered through the cramped and rubble clogged streets, helping to cut off Federation and loyalist forces as they withdrew, allowing pursuing Aojan troops to encircle and destroy them.  Others ran interference, pulling enemy forces away from the strike teams targeting the air defenses.  In the tall buildings that cast shadows on the streets below, snipers of the new cell [redacted] “Urban Hunters,” made up of locals well versed in close-quarter and urban combat and the newly arrived [redacted] “Hidden Hunters” Dossur sniper team had ended many attempted ambushes before they began.

As the rebels slowly fought their way through the planetary capital, other AFP forces had pushed hard elsewhere.  Local security forces had started defecting en masse when faced with the popular AFP troops, turning on Federation loyalists within their ranks.  The momentum had grown until after the last few weeks, which had felt like a lifetime, the dominoes had at last begun to fall.  Hour by hour came new reports that more towns, cities and even whole provinces were raising the green and gold of the AFP.

I took a brief moment to take a drag from my canteen, handing it off to Sanin while I examined my pad.  “AD battery’s on the roof above us,” I said.  “Ten stories, give or take.  It’s a shorter building than some, but enough to block the whole southern approach to the city.”

“Reles, Kamso and Sanin,” I said, pointing to each as I spoke.  “Take Ion Squad and head up the stairs.  Once you reach the ninth floor, let me know and I’ll tell you when to go in.  Watch for traps in the stairway; I’m sure this patrol wasn’t the only thing they planned to keep this place intact.”

“Fenric,” I said, turning to the Harchen.  “You stay here on your drone and keep up overwatch.  Let us know if any loyalist forces try to head our way.  Drill Squad, hold security here; protect our exit.”

“Sarim and I are going up the side,” I said.  I pointed to four Krakotl among the militia.  “You four are with me.  We’re going to fly up the south side and hit the roof hard and fast.  Ion and the others will hit first, and we’ll move onto the roof to support.  We secure the battery for ourselves, or Kamso gets to reinforce the Yotul stereotype.  Questions?”

Reles raised a paw.  “How’s he gonna turn it into a train?” That earned him a chuckle from everyone, and a playful whack from Kamso’s tail.

No one else asked a question; joking or otherwise.  “Then let’s get to it,” I said.  “Be careful; I don’t want anyone to catch a bullet or bolt because of carelessness.  Move out!”

As the first team headed for the stairway, weapons raised, I motioned my Krakotl team to follow me.  “Check your armor,” I said, adjusting my straps to ensure it was snug.  “Don’t want it to interfere with your flying.”

“And don’t hit a wall,” Sarim joked.  I shot them a look, and scoffed.

“I’m better now, thank you very much,” I said, huffing in fake annoyance.  “Thankfully my skull is thick; any thinner and I’d have had more than a headache.”  Still got myself a minor concussion, but there’s not a chance I’m missing the last battle over that.

I strapped my carbine to my chest as I walked, careful to keep it where I could quickly reach it.  We passed Fenric, who’d started flying the drone around the building, and Drill Squad, who’d set up inside and outside along the street.

Outside, I took position along the south wall, careful to keep low and on the lookout for enemy troops.  Most of them had been pulled away by Talon, but there was always a chance some had stayed or others would return.  Don’t let your guard down just yet, I reminded myself.

Myself and the others stretched a bit, then waited.  It wasn’t long before my radio crackled, and Kamso’s voice spoke in my ear.  “We’ve reached the ninth floor, headed up to the tenth.  No traps, no guards; I think they’re waiting for us to come through the door.”

“Understood,” I replied, thinking.  If the Feds were watching the door, having Ion Squad breach first would lead to more dead than I wanted.  “Breach once you hear gunfire,” I said.  “We’ll hit first, draw their attention away.”

“We’re up,” I said, turning back to the rest of the Krakotl.  “We hit first so Ion doesn’t get wasted; take cover once we hit the roof; they’ll come in right behind us.  Figuratively.”  

I moved back, giving myself space.  “Get ready,” I ordered, and the rest spread their wings.  I gave them a few more moments, then said,” Go!”  I flapped my wings, launching myself into the air.

I felt the wind rushing past my beak and through my feathers as I shot into the air, my thoughts going back to my earlier days once again.  The smell of wind rushing through my nostrils reminded me of home, save the smoke.  I hugged close to the building, thankful Federation architecture preferred smooth exteriors.

As I neared the roof, my heart began to beat faster, the familiar twinge of fear trying to creep forward.  I pushed it down as usual, pulling my wings in close for a last bit of extra speed.  On either side, the rest of my Krakotl had come level with me so we’d all land at the same time.

We shot over the building, wings spreading open wide to slow us, then closing to drop us to the rooftop.  As I fell I saw a dozen or so enemy troops atop the building; four clustered around the air defense battery, while the rest, facing the doorway, had turned to look at us.

Hard to not see half a dozen blue, green and purple avians shooting up over you, I thought, plummeting to the ground.  I spread my wings, stopping my descent as I touched down, immediately pulling my weapon up and firing towards the nearest enemy.

I missed both, but sent them scrambling away and buying myself and the others a moment to find cover ourselves.  I ducked behind one of the HVAC units that covered the roof as bullets and plasma peppered its opposite side.  “Now!” I ordered, and there was a bang across the roof.  “Hostiles behind us!” Came a frantic shout, before it was cut off with a pained grunt.  Gunfire erupted as Ion streamed onto the roof, splitting the defenders attention between them and us.

To my left came a pained squawk, and a look told me Sarim had been hit.  They dropped, then rolled behind cover.  I saw them press a wing to the other, but waved their talons at me when they saw me looking.  -Ok- said their tail flap, and I grimly nodded and turned back to the fight.

I rose over the HVAC unit and took aim at one of the exterminators, focused on my comrades at the rooftop entrance.  They’d begun spewing hot death towards the team who’d come from the stairs, but had failed to properly cover their rear.  

Forgot to watch your back, I thought.  Can’t let yourself get tunnel vision, especially when surrounded.  Feathers ruffling in amusement at their foolishness, I took careful aim and fired.

One bullet, one hit, and the tank of the flamethrower detonated. The exterminator wearing it disappeared in a flash of fire, taking three of his companions with them.  Three more were pushed out of cover by the fireball and shrapnel from the tank, quickly gunned down by the attacking Legion.  A couple more were stunned, and their fire slackened.

“Covering fire!” I shouted, then launched myself over the HVAC unit.  I closed with the enemy, putting a bullet into two dazed loyalists, then ducked behind a pipe, sticking my weapon out to take aim at some of the few remaining troops as the gunfire began to slow.

The soldiers, two Kolshians, a Farsul, and a Sulean had shaken the effects of the blast off by now, but had immediately dropped their weapons when they saw me take aim.  Quickly, they raised their respective limbs into the air.

“Smart move,” I told them.  I turned my head, one eye on them and the other looking behind me, seeing no more Feddies fighting back.  “Cease fire!” I called, turning my full attention back to my new prisoners.

Four members of Ion had moved up, quickly kicking their discarded weapons away, then fit cuffs around their paws.  Satisfied they were no longer a threat, I lowered my rifle and raised my voice.  “Secure the door,” I called.  “Then someone get to that control panel!”

As my troops moved to comply, I lowered my weapon and finally took a good look around.  Dominating the center of the roof was a plasma battery, turrets aimed skyward.  It wasn’t quite as good as the defenses of the core Federation worlds, but was adequate to keep smaller ships from approaching the city.

While Kamso stopped to check on Sarim, Sanin had reached the control console, taking a moment to familiarize themselves with the controls before tapping the screen.  When nothing happened they waved to get my attention.  “Locked,” they called, ears flat.  Oh course they locked it, I thought.

I turned and stalked towards the prisoners.  “Which of you has access to the control console?” I asked, stopping in front of them.  When they stayed silent, Reles smacked one with the butt of his rifle.  “Spit it out,” he hissed.

The Sulean whimpered, and said, “None of us have access; only…”  His voice trailed off and looked towards the smoldering pile of meat that had once held a flamethrower.  

“Ah,” I said. “Brahk.  Well, so much for taking it intact.”  I turned and quickly examined the plasma battery.  I noticed several conduits and tubes leading from beneath the control panel and disappearing into the roof.  Coolant inflow, I thought.  Coolant outflow.  Power, power, extra power, hydraulics.  Hmm; those look pretty flimsy, actually.

I raised my carbine in curiosity and fired a long burst into the hydraulic cables, severing them and sending pressurized fluid spurting into the air.  Warning lights began to blink rapidly on the console, and the turret whined in protest before falling into an inert position.  Huh, that was easy.

 Kamso came to my side, explosive charge in paw.  “What’d you do?” He asked.  I lifted my carbine.  “Buzzkill,” he replied, pulling the detonator from the block of explosive.  “Always stealing my fun.”

“Just making it so the Aojans don’t have to do too much to fix it,” I said.  “Sorry, but it was a lot easier to break than I’d expected.”  I keyed my radio, tuning to an encrypted frequency.  

“Overloard this is Talon Lead,” I said.  “Jack is staying in the box.  Your turn; bring the rain.”  I switched back to my normal frequency, then turned back to look over the city.  

Flashes of light, explosions, and smoke dotted the horizon, and dark gray clouds began to spit rain.  In the center of the city, where the last Federation governor of Aoja had barricaded themselves, was the Capitol Building.  One last obstacle to knock down to free the planet, I thought.  One last fight.

First

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

I kept one eye on [Venlil-1] Nalim resting in the chair beside me, and the other on the screen across the large tent.  I wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get himself hit in the head by a stun baton, but evidently his head was as thick as it looked.  Lucky he’s a Venlil, I thought.  A blow hard enough to make him see stars would have split a Harchen’s skull in two.

On the screen before me, filmed live from a hotel in [redacted] Ciov, I watched as [Tilfish-1] Ahces, President of the [redacted] KMU, addressed the violence earlier in the day.  He’d already delivered the news that the company had no intention of any negotiations, and would be clearing the mine by midnight tonight.  Already we’d seen more and more vehicles staging on the road leading to the city, readying themselves for the order to move in.

“[redacted] Ciov Materials made it clear today how they value their workers,” he said, antenna wagging angrily.  “Because of their actions earlier today, three miners are dead, five more are in the hospital, and another eighteen were treated and released.  This is an escalation that was completely unnecessary and uncalled for.”

“KMU strikers have consistently remained peaceful, as video of the attack will show,” he continued.  “The violence today began with the exterminators and company security, and firmly remains their responsibility.  I will not deny that violence by the company’s goons was met in kind; yes, miners defended themselves and their herd.  But what would anyone do if they or their herd was threatened?  Nothing less than what they did today.”

“We at the KMU have already called for the arrest of the bus driver responsible for the deaths and the injuries sustained by strikers today,” he said.  “As well as an immediate return to the negotiating table to resolve this labor dispute in a constructive, civilized manner.  I will state for the record once again that we are open to negotiations in good faith, that we want to come to an agreement that satisfies both parties, and that we want to get back to work.”

“But using violence to end this strike is not the way,” he said.  “Violence only begets violence in a never ending cycle.  We have no desire for violence, but know that we will protect ourselves if violence is done to us.”

“To our fellow citizens of Kenmet, we thank you for your support,” he finished.  “To Ciov Materials; do right by your employees.  Sit down at the table and talk.  To those affected by our strike; we thank you and ask for your continued patience.  And to the government of Kenmet, we ask that you not let companies dictate to you how your exterminators are used.  They are for the protection of the herd, not the protection of a company’s profits.”

“Fat chance of that changing,” came a grumble beside me.  Nalim was stirring, blinking sleep from his eyes as he lifted the ice pack, gently pressing a claw to the site.  He only slightly winced, and satisfied, replaced the pack and stood.  “Good enough,” he said.  “Little sore, but I’ve had worse.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t hit a bit lower,” I said, scales shifting to show my happiness at his improved condition.  “Instead of the back of your head they could have hit your neck; we’d be having a much different conversation if they had.”

He nodded, ears flat.  One of the injured miners had suffered a spinal injury; a baton strike had crushed one of the vertebrae in their neck and severed their spinal cord.  While modern medicine had a chance to help, it was too early to know whether they’d be paralyzed or not.

“Lucky for me, bad luck for them,” Nalim said, and despite the ears his tail had begun to thrash angrily.  “I don’t know why, but what the Feddies did makes me furious.  It’s one thing to drop a heavy hand on insurgents and those supporting them, but these are literally just miners asking to make their job better!”

“You know the mindset of the Feds,” I reminded him.  “Anything that doesn’t toe the line exactly* *is predatory behavior.  If it doesn’t follow the rest of the herd, it’s bad.”

“I know,” the Venlil said, leaning forward.  For a moment he was silent, eyes glued to the new conference.  “My Dad was a miner,” he said suddenly.  “Nothing like this; just an open air quarry back on Skalga.  Same problems though; management cutting corners everywhere to save a credit.”

“He died in an accident when I was a pup,” he said quietly.  “Was drilling blast holes when the wall collapsed; there was a fracture in the rock that would have been found if management had been willing to spend a few claws doing the pre-drilling assessment they were supposed to.”  He sighed.  “Guess there was a deadline.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied, skin changing to reflect my sympathy.  “What happened to management?”

Nalim scoffed.  “Nothing,” he said bitterly.  “Mom got a payout that didn’t make up for losing him and they went right in like it never happened.  Still kept cutting corners.”

“Guess things never really change,” I replied.

“They will this time,” Nalim replied.  “I’ll make sure of it.  The Feds and the company threw the first punches today, and they’re going to regret that.  They’ve shown how little they care about the workers; now it’s our turn to show the workers how to make real change.”

I lay a paw on his arm, scales rippling my concern.  “All in good time,” I said.  “First we need to get the miners ready for the next attempt to break the strike.  [Tilfish-2] Vrul was looking for you a while ago; I told him to let you sleep a bit more.  He was asking about that teaching we were planning; it’s just about time.  You up for it?”

Nalim’s ears flicked an affirmative as he pushed himself from the chair, and I gave a tail flick in reply.  “Then let’s go,” I said, turning away.  “He’s by the dumpsters out back with the others.”

Taking the lead, I led Nalim away from the makeshift infirmary where other miners rested, nursing similarly minor injuries.  We stepped out into the rapidly cooling air as the sun fell, and I gave an involuntary shiver at the temperature change.  Just like home, I thought, knowing I’d adjust quickly.

Nalim on the other hand wrapped his paws around himself, drawing his protective suit tighter.  I chuckled.  “Told you that you should’ve only gotten a half cut,” I said.  “Desert worlds may be unbearable with all that wool during the days, but I told you you’d miss it.”

“I’ll remember for next time,” he replied dryly, a bloom of embarrassment light on his snout.  “Let’s get a move on; I’ll forget about the cold once we get busy.”

I led him though the camp that had sprung up around the front of the mine, past tents where strikers rested between their shifts on the picket line, others where their wives or mothers ladled food from communal pots into bowls, and still others where some simply passed the time, singing songs, telling stories, or just being with one another.

As we walked I checked off what I saw in my head.  Just like the labor strikes of Earth, I thought.  Community, kindness, and shared hardship bringing workers together.  United in the struggle against those who exploit them for profit.

I was glad I’d been able to come here; while I was satisfied with my work in the Legion so far, something about Kenmet had called to me.  Something about using the power of organized labor had renewed my hope that despite the violence, the destruction and death by our hands, we could still plant seeds that would grow into beautiful flowers.

The [redacted] Free Arxur Commandos sure have been making positive changes, I thought.  Even the [redacted] Custodians, despite their zealotry, have been making change.  I think that here, on this world, is where we can plant the seed of ours.

In addition to working with the locals to shore up their union and the possible defense groups that could grow out of it, we’d also been freely sharing literature on labor struggles, modified of course for a less Human-tolerant audience.  The idea that the worker should own their labor, of the struggle that existed between workers and those above them who owned everything, and that there was another way besides the “profit above all” model that made the Federation’s economy run had begun to take off, finding plenty of converts amongst the oppressed and downtrodden.  If we can help them see their chains, we can help them throw them off, I thought.

We rounded the corner of a final tent to find Vrul and about two dozen other miners waiting for us.  Amongst them was a variety of assorted things; scrap wood, empty oil drums, metal sheeting.  In the center had been set up a few tables, with saws, nail guns and other tools scattered across them.

“Evening everyone,” I said in greeting, scales showing my eagerness to join them.  “I’m Tres; you all know Nalim.  Thanks for joining us tonight.  We’ve got some things to show you to help you prepare for the next time the company sends its goons.”

While Nalim began to speak, I started hunting through the litter for a few things.  “The exterminators and company already showed us what they’re willing to do today,” Nalim said.  “We’ve got to protect ourselves, and here’s how we do that.”

I rolled a heavy plastic drum over, and he helped me right it.  “We’re going to show you how to make some shields to protect against their batons,” Nalim said as I selected a saw from the table.  “You want to try to build them light but strong; layering is usually a good idea if you have the right tools.”

As he held the barrel, I activated the saw and swiftly cut it in thirds.  Laying down one section, we cut the bottom out.  “Plastic drums are a good source for the base,” he said.  “The curve is good to deflect blows, and it’s light enough to carry.  Plus, you can cut to size for a variety of species.”  I cut the third in half again, laying the two pieces atop each other.

He dragged a piece of thin metal sheeting over, and held one of the plastic pieces down as I cut its outline out.  “A little metal sheeting over the top can help keep it together, as well as give it a bit of extra strength,” he said.  With the piece free, we layered them atop each other, and with a rivet gun from the table I secured them together.

“There’s a couple ways to make a handle,” Nalim said.  “You can use rope tied through it, you can secure a piece of plastic on, you can tape it to your arm.  Just make sure that it won’t fall off on the first hit.”  As he spoke I made two cuts on the inner plastic, pulling the strip between them up to make a tight loop.  I slid my arm through, then turned to the miners, shield held in front of me.

“This is better than nothing, but it’s no riot shield,” I said.  “Good for batons and some projectiles.”  Nalim used a wrench to hit the shield, and I staggered but deflected it.  Then he threw it, and it bounced off.  “Gas grenades will bounce off, but you’ve still got the gas to deal with,” I continued.  “This’ll put something between you and a flamethrower but it’s not fireproof.  It’s not bulletproof, either.”

“There’s a lot you can make a shield out of,” Nalim said.  “So grab something and let’s get to work.  None of these are perfect or best-case-scenario, but we’ll make due with what we have.  Ideally we’ll acquire some of the riot shields the exterminators have later, but this is a start.

For the next claw we taught the miners first how to make shields, then spent the next half claw on makeshift weapons.  That was even easier; wrenches, picks, clubs etc were easy to use and plentiful.  Most of the time we spent on basic strikes with each of the tools.

By then our impromptu class had more than tripled in size, some miners breaking off to pass on the teaching to the new arrivals.  We went over how to deal with gas grenades; dropping them in a bucket of water or putting a traffic cone over them and drowning them with more water.  We also covered dealing with water cannons before finishing with barricades.  With the bus ramming fresh in everyone’s mind, proper barricade construction was important.

“The best barricades not only block the enemy from approaching,” I said.  “But offer protection as well.  Vehicles make good barricades; as do piles of scrap metal or lumber, trees, barrels, or concrete blocks.”

“What I want you to remember with barricades is the difference between cover and concealment,” I said.  “Good barricades can be made of both.  Cover means something will protect you from bullets; it’s a hard protection.  Concealment doesn’t protect you, it just hides you from view.”

I walked up to and lightly kicked the dumpster.  There was echoing thud, telling me it was empty.  “This dumpster,” I said.  “Would be a great barricade.  Not only can it block your enemy, but you can hide behind it and it can protect you.  Keep in mind though, that not all cover is equal.  This dumpster would stop a pistol or smaller rifle round, but would do nothing against a heavier round or plasma.”

“I think that’s all we have for you,” Nalim said, rejoining me.  He’d started circulating through the crowd, checking in on the little groups that had formed or answering spot questions.  “We’ve gone over shields, barricades, some weapons, and dealt with water cannons and gas grenades.  Remember, fresh water is the ONLY thing you need for flushing irritant gas from your eyes; you don’t need to add anything to the water or use anything weird.  Just flush with a LOT of water and get fresh air.”

“And when you bathe after exposure to gas,” I added.  “Make sure you use cold water.  Hot water will open up pores on those of you without scales or exoskeletons, and give you a second round of burning.  Isn’t that right Nalim?”

He gave me a dirty look while I flicked my tail mischievously.  He’d made that exact mistake during training, and we’d all heard him bleating in the showers.  Still won’t let you forget it, I thought.  Way too funny for that.

“Don’t forget; water hoses put out a lot of water very fast; I finished.  “Get behind cover, and remember the risk of hypothermia after.  We’ll hang around a bit longer to help folks troubleshoot or ask any final questions, but we’ve got a meal to get to.  Thanks for your time and attention, everyone.  Let’s hope we don’t need any of this.”
 
“Should be enough to get them started,” Nalim remarked as the miners began to go their separate ways.  While most started heading out, to rest or for a meal themselves, a few remained, finishing up a few shields or comparing quickly scribbled notes.  He dropped his voice.  “It’ll be a good foundation for further training as well; if things fall the way I expect, we’ll have a solid insurgent base.”

My scales rippled with agreement.  “And we’ll see how well exploiting labor conflicts goes,” I said.  “With a healthy sprinkling of political theory.”

Memory Transcription subject: [Venlil-1] Nalim, the Free Legion, “United Sapient Front”
Date [standardized human time]: [Redacted] March 6, 2137, Ciov, Kenmet (Free Federation Colony)

The ache in my head had been long forgotten by the time I arrived at the picket line.  Already the miners had assembled into their teams, newly made makeshift shields at the ready.  Most by now held some type of improvised weapons, most held low, visible but as non-threatening as they could be.

The company’s enforcers had made their move and begun deploying in strength to the mine.  With several APC’s leading the way, four full buses of exterminators and company security had arrived and assembled outside the parking lot gates.  The APC’s had demolished the hastily assembled barricades that blocked the path, and had taken position on either side within.

Between them now marched several rows of heavily armored figures, the first two ranks armed with shields and stun batons, the next carrying gas launchers, and the last armed with both flamethrowers and rifles.  This had given me pause; I’d expected a greater show of force, but not lethal weapons so soon.

As I started towards the picket, I felt an arm catch me.  Turning, I found [Gojid-1] Kiva and Tres beside me.  “Hold up,” Kiva said.  “I need to get a message to the strike committee, but the company cut the phone lines, and they’re jamming the area.”  I nodded, having noticed upon hearing of the enforcers arrival.

“What can we do?” I asked.

“I need you to get somethingto your team in Ciov,” she said, handing me a crumpled note.  “And I know the two of you probably have a way to get in touch with them and you’re able to hack into the local data system.  Am I wrong?”

I glanced at Tres, ear slightly twitching, a subtle question.  In return he gave a nearly invisible nod.  You know the Union leadership better than me, I thought.  While they knew we were offworld agents, we’d kept our identity and abilities carefully guarded, revealing only a little at a time.  “We do,” I confirmed.  

“Good,” she said.  “Let them know that the enforcers are here, and we’ll try to get as much footage as we can; this is the code to upload the files from the security cameras around the mine.  They all get uploaded to the local server, and that’s still connected with a landline.  I’ve got a bad feeling that we’ll need the footage those cameras capture to circulate as fast and as far as we can.”

Suddenly there were screams and gunshots from the picket line, as exterminators began firing tear-gas and light kinetic rounds at the strikers.  I looked, seeing one miner drop as a kinetic round struck them between the eyes; another was knocked back as a gas canister hit them in the chest.  

“Shit,” Kiva swore.  “They’re going for blood.  I’ve heard of this; aiming for the soft spots.  Less lethal my ass; those things kill if they hit you in the right spot.  And it looks like that’s what they’re aiming for.”

She turned to us.  “Get your people that code, and good luck,” she said, hefting a shield.  “I’ll see the two of you another day.”  Then she turned and rushed to the picket line.

“Good luck!” I called after the Gojid, receiving a wave in return.  “Dropped enough hints, I see,” I remarked as she left earshot, fixing Tres with an eye.  His scales ripples in his version of a shrug.

“A few,” he admitted.  “To the right people.  Come on, let’s get a move on before things really get hot.  I’ll contact [Harchen-2] Rasev and have him bring the [redacted] Volunteers in; it’s about time to talk about that new cell.  And to start planning the hot fight.”

In the distance, over the shouts and sirens at the picket line, came what sounded like gunshots.  I glanced in that direction as we moved, my heart sinking. Suddenly I felt sick, and had to take some deep breaths to ground myself.  Fuck both of us, I thought.

“Stun rounds,” I identified, as the reports echoed off the hillside.  “Sounds like the exterminator scouts ran into some trouble after all.  So much for their vantage point.”

“Someone tipped off the miners to run a patrol over,” Tres replied, his scales turning dark as we left the camp.  “It’s a great view after all; had to make sure the Feds didn’t try to use it.”

He shot me a glance.  “Shame they both ran into each other,” he said.  “Think the Feds are smart enough to tell the difference between stun rounds and the real thing?”

He was answered by first one, a second, then a burst of gunfire.  The gunfire was met with sudden screams and shouts, and the sounds of stampeding feet.  More gunfire, matched with the roar of flamethrowers, joined the distant chaos.

My heart dropped, and I had to swallow back the urge to vomit.  Poor bastards, I thought, cursing Tres and myself as we moved away from the massacre unfolding behind us.  The Feds would have found a reason no matter what we did.

Ahead of us was a fence that marked the border of the mine, a hole cut through it.  A few tails past, amongst the thick brush that surrounded the mine was a concealed transport, buried beneath cut brush and camo netting.  As we began freeing the vehicle, the note sat like a stone in the pocket of my mine uniform, heavy with the weight of the footage that was being captured behind us.

The gloves really are off now, I thought, helping Tres pull the brush away.  Now to do what we do best; and make up for what we’ve done.

Archivists note: In what would come to be known as the Ciov Mine Massacre, 17 miners and their supporters would be killed and another 127 wounded by a combined force of exterminators and Ciov Materials Security.  While Federation forces would claim that they came under attack first, this would later be determined to be false.  Evidently, a group of exterminators were scouting around the side of the mine, acting on an anonymous tip, when they unexpectedly ran into a group of miners.  A junior exterminator opened fire with stun rounds, wounding one of the miners.  

While they fled, the gunshots were heard by the main force.  The new Head Exterminator, Bnuya III of the Seris Dynasty, installed as the new Head Exterminator only the previous day, mistook the report of the stun rounds for live rounds.  While an experience commander would have been able to tell the difference, subtle though it was, Bnuya was anything but.  A younger child of their Dynasty’s head, they had been installed in their role to pad their resume.

As a result of their inexperience, they believed that their forces had come under attack.  In response to what they perceived as deadly force directed at them, they ordered those under their command to return fire in kind.  By the time the fleeing scouts could report the details of their engagement, the massacre had already concluded.

Thanks to the efforts of the late Strike Committee Representative Kiva, footage of the massacre collected by the site's own security cameras was accessed from offsite.  Once collected, it was released uncensored to widespread outrage on both Kenmet and beyond.  Protests erupted across the world at the brutality of the crackdown and the attempted coverup that followed.  Within the week more than half of the planet's mines went out on strike in solidarity, to which the authorities responded violently.  -A. Piers, UN Office of Reconciliation 

First

Previous

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.

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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

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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

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