Sexy Space Babes: Chapter Sixty Five (Patreon)

“You collapsed the cave?” Cleff asked, her tone curiously neutral as she sat behind a desk.

“I did.” Puta nodded as she stood at full attention.

“There could have been documents in there,” the moth-woman pointed out, drumming her fingers against the desk.

“I considered that unlikely, colonel.” Puta gestured around the prefab they currently occupied.

The prefab was a bit of a mess, Cleff noted as she glanced around the room. The walls had a few holes in them from where they’d been struck in the fighting and then been rapidly covered with tarp in the aftermath. A curious action, given that they’d be torching the place in a few hours, but until then they needed the computers contained within, which meant they needed to keep Raknos-Three’s omnipresent rain out.

“From what my technicians can see,” Puta continued, “all the info that might be recovered from this site is likely to be here on these computers. Perhaps they are wrong, and the real nerve center was held inside the cave, but I doubt it. What I know that cave contained were traps and Roaches.”

“Which would have been a small nightmare to flush out,” Gremp opined from her position at the back of the room, where she was watching over the small horde of technicians that were working on cracking the Roach computers.

There was just a hint of surliness in the Shil’vati woman’s tone, which was entirely unexpected. As commander of the regiment’s exo company, she’d been none too pleased to discover that her people wouldn’t get the ‘honor’ of drawing first blood for the regiment. Instead, the exos had been held in reserve, so that they could rapidly redeploy if anything went wrong with the main attack.

Something her regiment’s second-biggest prima donnas had taken with very little grace.

Because if I’m not dealing with a bunch of Human tankers sulking the entire trip over, I’m dealing with Shil aristos who are upset they can’t write home to mommy about finally bagging some Roaches, Cleff lamented.

So she ignored the woman and instead turned her attention back to her Major. “As the woman on the ground it was your prerogative to deal with the situation as you wished. In future though, I would prefer it if you contacted me before possibly destroying valuable enemy intel.”

“Noted.” The Rakiri nodded. “Weather and situation permitting.”

Reluctantly, Cleff nodded back. “Weather and situation permitting.”

Which would be a lot less than she might like, given that barely a kilometer from the eye of the storm, the regiment's comms had begun to suffer from interference. Not enough to make communication impossible, but it boded ill for their advance deeper into the continent.

Putting that-for now-minor irritation aside, she looked over at Gremp. “How are things going with retrieving information from their computers?”

Instead of answering directly, she gestured to one of the nearby technicians who was crouched over a heavy duty data-pad. Which was fair enough. She also didn’t mind when the woman in question continued working as she spoke. “Well, ma’am, some of the devices in here were slagged by laser fire. Theirs, not ours. Scuttling the place before they took it. Fortunately for us, whoevers job it was, they got unlucky.”

The woman gestured to a nearby hole in the wall, before gesturing to a dark blue stain on the floor. “And got hit by a stray shot before they could really get started.”

“Very lucky,” Cleff said.

“I’d say so,” the technician continued. “What we’re pulling out of the devices in here is a veritable gold mine. It seems our Roach commander was a bit of a busybody before she got ventilated. Probably why her forces were so dangerously close to our landing area. Point is, we’ve got notes, reports, data-mail back and forth with her fellow commanders, rosters on force disposition. Basically everything we might need to get an idea of what we’re up against and where they’re at.” She paused. “Well, mostly where they’re at.”

“Mostly?” Cleff asked.

“Troop displacement across the continent is a bit more hazy, ma’am,” the alien said, running a hand ruefully through her hair. “Not for any lack of data on our part, but because our commander wasn’t totally sure herself.”

“Pirates with operational security?” Gremp laughed. “Will wonders never cease?”

The technician glanced at the officer. “I can assure you, ma'am, it wasn’t by design. Just comm trouble.”

Cleff nodded. That made sense; given the trouble her own communications equipment was having with the storm, she could only imagine the trouble the roaches would be having trying to coordinate forces across the continent.

“More to the point, from her mail it seems we’re dealing with a few different bands of pirates here,” the technician continued. “They’re all working together, but they’re not exactly… friendly.”

Cleff grinned. That was useful to know. It all served as an excellent reminder that they were up against pirates. Not a real army.

Not that you’d know that from the way her regiment was celebrating just outside. From the way they were carrying on, one would think they’d triumphed over The Golden Glaives themselves.

Still, gratuitous or not, the celebrations were something Cleff was content to let happen. It was good for morale, and hopefully it would go some way to repairing the small rift in her regiment that continued to persist despite her Champion’s best efforts.

Besides, it wasn’t as if discipline had collapsed completely. Some poor grubs were out on sentry duty, keeping an eye out for any Roach elements that might have been out on patrol when the base was attacked.

Though in all likelihood, they would have retreated rather than strike back. Roaches tended toward the fanatical, but they weren’t stupid. At least, not usually. Exceptions always existed.

“Right, well I’ll leave it to your team to sort out before you forward it to me.” Cleff leaned back in her seat. “With this windfall we can take a day or so to plan our next move based on what we’ve recovered here.” Satisfied, she stood up, only to pause. “Oh, and don’t worry about forwarding it to our sister regiments. I’ll take care of that personally.”

More to the point, she was looking forward to rubbing her regiment's success in her fellow Colonel’s faces. Perhaps the shame of being outperformed by a regiment of primitive swimsuit models might prompt the pair of them into finally getting off their asses.

Though Cleff wasn’t holding her breath.

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“Winner winner chicken dinner!” A Marine cried as he held his prize aloft in the air. “Looks like we finally found what gave Singh his little love tap.”

The prize in question was a massive rifle, connected by a long cable to what seemed to be a backpack-mounted powerpack. It was clear, even from a casual glance, that the thing wasn’t intended for anti-personnel use.

If Jason were to hazard a guess, he’d say that it was probably intended to combat exos or light vehicles.

Which explained why poor Singh was the only one in the regiment to suffer an injury during the attack, he thought from his position in front of the MC-L3. Guy was lucky the beam just skimmed him.

Given the weapon had been powerful enough to punch straight through his armor’s protection, which could normally tank at least a few shots from most ‘modern’ rifles, he had a feeling a direct hit would have blown the man into a fine red mist.

Shaking off the grisly thought, he leaned back against the metal behind him. He was technically as off-duty as all the marines that were now cavorting around the bonfire that had formed in the slagged remains of the Roach base. Unfortunately for him, he had a feeling that if he wasn’t hidden within the shadow of the gargantuan command vehicle, someone would eventually gather up the courage to invite the Champion down to party.

Jason didn’t party.

Ok, that wasn’t strictly true. Jason didn’t party unless alcohol was involved. In amounts copious enough to overcome his typically surly attitude.

Which the party across from him didn’t have. Probably. If it did, he didn’t want to know about it. Because his new posting would obligate him to report it. So it was better for everyone if he stayed far away from the excitement and pretended he had no idea what some of the regiment’s tank crews had stashed in their vehicles.

Plausible deniability was convenient like that.

Just like he could plausibly be ignorant of the fact that said marine was waving around a weapon that was supposed to be stashed in a nearby outhouse for later disposal, along with all the other weapons they’d captured today.

“It’s Alliance-made you know.”

Jason glanced over to where Friska had walked up to him.

“The anti-material rifle?” he asked, glancing in the weapons direction.

“Yep,” the tusked woman said, the piercings in her tusks glinting in the distant firelight. “Zerka Corporate model. Used to be a standard-issue pod level weapon before the Fensians finally gave in and started standardizing their military to be more in line with the rest of The Alliance.”

Jason nodded absently. He knew a little bit about The Alliance. He knew that it was part of the ‘Big Three’ with the Imperium and Consortium. He knew that it wasn’t so much a singular entity as it was a collection of member states. He knew that many of those members had joined the Alliance specifically to avoid being gobbled up by either the Imperium or the Consortium. And he also knew that if he’d been forced to pick an interstellar power to subsume his world, he would have picked them.

By all accounts the whole system sounded like a toothless lethargic mess of bureaucracy crippled by competing interests and corruption… but at least they didn’t go around conquering people and claiming it was for their own good.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said, giving no hint of his seditious thoughts. “I saw crap from all over the place in that pile. Hell, there were even a few Imperial carbines.”

Most of it he wasn’t able to identify the origins of, but he could see that few of the weapons they’d recovered from the pirates had similar origins. The design principles and aesthetics were just too different.

“Perhaps,” Friska acknowledged. “But I think even you could see that most of it was Alliance-made.”

“I suppose.” Most of it did seem to follow the same general design principles. “I assume then that they’re big sellers.”

Friska snorted, leaning back against the machine behind her. “Selling is too strong a word. Practically giving away is a more apt description. I doubt there’s a race in the periphery that they aren’t supplying. All that matters to them is that those people they sell to use those weapons to hurt Imperial interests.”

Jason had a feeling there was more to that story than anticipated. “I don’t know. What you’re describing doesn’t sound all that different from the Consortium.”

“The Consortium says they’ll sell to anyone and they mean it. They’re shiftless scum, but at least they’re honest about it.” She shrugged. “Well, for a given value of honesty. Point is, they’ll sell to anyone with the credits.”

The woman shifted. “The Alliance though? They’ll swear up and down that they aren’t involved in conflicts like this, but they are. They just don’t want to do the dirty work themselves. So they arm groups that are in opposition to us. And because of that, every time I show up on a rock like this I end up getting shot at by some Alliance-made piece of crap.”

Her eyes glinted in the firelight. “That’s my problem with The Alliance. They turn other people into landmines for us to deal with. And if we don’t deal with them… well, it’s not like those weapons go anywhere.”

“And the Shil’vati are different?” he asked, a little irritated at the sanctimonious tone coming from a woman who belonged to a race that conquered his own.

He imagined quite a few people back on Earth would have relished the opportunity to be turned into a ‘landmine’ for the Imperium.

Something Friska seemed to catch onto, though there was no heat in her voice as she continued speaking. “The Imperium’s not perfect. Far from it. But can you honestly tell me that you think Earth would be better off if you were still fighting us? Properly fighting us. Not the backyard skirmish crap that’s going on right now.”

Jason shrugged. To be honest, he didn’t really know. Part of the reason for Earth’s swift subjugation had been the sheer difference in firepower between the Human military and the Shil’vati.

Which had sucked. No two ways about it.

But because of that fast subjugation, a lot less people had died than might have if the war had dragged on. Which would almost assuredly have happened if Earth had access to the space age weapons that The Alliance was, apparently, giving away to anyone with a bone to pick with the Imperium.

Which made Friska’s landmine analogy make a little more sense. Sure, stepping on a landmine sucked for whichever poor soul happened to do so… but it wasn’t exactly like things turned out well for the landmine either…

Though I can’t help wondering if I’m stretching that analogy a bit far…

“So you’re telling me that the Imperium never sells guns? That it never supplied a movement that was in opposition to the Coalition? Or The Alliance?”

“Why would we? We eventually want to rule the universe. And supplying a group that’s in conflict with a legitimate government would only hurt us in the long run. Stable governments are easier to conquer. Docile populaces are easier to absorb. It’s less of a mess all round. That’s the difference between us and The Alliance. The Alliance talks about wanting peace for all races, but they’re happy to stoke the fires of conflict outside their borders if it keeps them safe.” Some genuine passion entered the woman’s voice. “The Imperium though? We’re going to bring peace to the entire universe. Not with thoughts and prayers, but genuine reform.”

“Through force,” Jason couldn’t help but point out.

Friska nodded. “If need be. At least our way of doing things will bring an end to the conflict. When all are united under the rule of the Empress, there will be peace. Which is a lot more than the thoughts and prayers that The Alliance touts will ever achieve.”

Jason resisted the urge to sneer in disgust. He didn’t agree with her. Not at all.

…But he could understand it. And what was more, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t deny that the Shil’vati put their money where their mouth was. They’d invested a lot in Earth, an act that wouldn’t see a return for a very long time indeed.

And he had little doubt that places like Africa had seen an improvement since the occupation. Sure, the whole continent was still a hotbed of conflict and discontent, but at least the people there now had access to power and water. Nor did they need to fear some local warlord rolling into town with guns and unreasonable demands.

Mostly because the Shil’vati had beaten them to it.

And that was why he couldn’t agree with it. Not when he could see the many endemic problems in the Imperium itself.

A rising tide might raise all ships, but it’s a bit harder to appreciate sudden elevation when the water’s filled with sewage, he thought.

“Ah fuck!”

The sudden cry was a distraction that jolted him from his thoughts as he nearly shot up, adrenaline running through his veins.

“Are we under attack?” he asked, bringing up his rifle as he glanced around. An action being mimicked by just about every Marine in sight as they scrambled for their weapons.

“I don’t see how! We’ve got sentries out on…” Friska started to say, before trailing off. “Ah.”

Jason turned to follow her line of sight, before his gaze eventually landed on what she was staring at.

He didn’t quite lower his weapon, but just a bit of tension leaked out of him as he stared at the Marine who had cried out earlier. The man in question hopped around the campfire like a madman, trying desperately to flick off the thing that was gamely holding onto his leg.

“Is that a frog with a knife?” he said slowly.

About two feet tall and built like some kind of bipedal toad, the creature in question held a sharpened bit of metal in one hand and a flailing Marine’s leg in the other.

And it was stabbing. With a considerable amount of enthusiasm.

Of course, it wasn’t penetrating. While the suits Marines wore weren't strictly ‘stab proof’ it wasn’t so weak a material that the small pudgy creature could penetrate it. Even with the aid of its stabbing implement.

“I’ve no idea what a frog is.” Friska sighed in relief as she reholstered her side arm. “But if you’re asking if that Rhinel is attempting to stab one of your fellow Humans with a piece of shrapnel, the answer is yes.”

All around them, Marines seemed torn between moving to help their fellow Human pry off his small scaly attacker, wondering whether to shoot it… or just laughing at him, now that it was clear the thing wasn’t doing any damage. Not that one would be able to tell from the way the Marine was shrieking in terror at the assault from the small amphibian looking creature.

Clearly the man was not a fan of frogs.

“Why?” He asked, before waving his hand. “Actually, scratch that. What even is it?”

“You know how I was just complaining about The Alliance dumping shit where it doesn’t belong and not caring about the consequences?” She gestured to where some fellow Marines had finally taken pity on their colleague and came forward to remove the alien creature. “That’s the Roaches' contribution to that particular problem.”

Jason watched as the frog was gingerly pried off by an amused looking Marine, the woman holding the thing up by the leg as she dangled it away from her. Which was probably the correct choice, as it still held its ‘blade’ and was determinedly trying to slash at anything it could. Fortunately, it didn’t quite seem to have the upper body strength to reach the hand holding its ankle, and had thus settled for swiping blindly in the open air.

“Rhinel are – or were – native to the Roach homeworld. They’re also a staple of the Roach diet. Which is lucky for them, because the damn things breed like mad, can survive anywhere with a decent amount of water, and eat anything they can fit in their mouth.”

“Are they… sapient?”

The Captain shook her head. “No. They’re just reasonably intelligent animals with a proclivity for tool use. Apparently they used rocks and the like to crack open shellfish back on their homeworld.”

“You don’t seem happy to see it,” he noted.

The woman shook her head, before she started striding over to the gathering. “I’m not. The Roaches bring them everywhere they go, and the damn things invariably decimate the ecosystem of whatever world they end up on.”

Jason watched her go, a little surprised by that final tidbit. Sure, it made sense he supposed, but he was surprised that Friska cared. He’d honestly had her pegged as little more than a Devil-may-care commander whose only concerns were fighting and fucking. Being concerned about invasive species in a planetary ecosystem didn’t fit with that image.

I guess it just goes to show, he thought as the Shil’vati took the alien from the disappointed Marines and marched off - presumably to dispose of it. Nothing’s ever all that simple.

“I thought she made some good points.”

Jason nearly leapt a foot in the air at the sound of Yaro’s voice.

“I thought I told you to stop doing that!” he shouted, whirling on the utterly unrepentant canine woman.

AN: Hello all,

Sorry for the delay on this chapter. It's a direct result of me getting halfway through a first draft before deciding I hated it and starting anew.

Something I try very hard not to do, because I know it's a good way for me to get caught up in trying to create a 'perfect' chapter and grinding the whole story to a halt.

So hopefully I can go another fifty or so chapters without doing that again :P