The Province Of Terrans

A Starshatter adventure

(Art by Travis Lacey)

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My fellow Terrans, Sci-Friday has dawned once more.

Danger further intensifies and as casualties on both sides mount, Corpos and Pirates are soon forced to make some rather hard choices. As for your Terran Morale Officer and his troops, they too shall act accordingly!

Enjoy this chapter and keep voting, my friends. As you see I have written a number of Tanka for Terran-Tuesday. The more and longer your comments, the more ammunition I have for said poem.

For those of you new to VYOA, this is a story of interactive nature, where you, the reader, choose one of three paths standing before the main character. Your vote is the guiding force of this adventure!

With one week between the chapters, there is more than enough time for you to make your decision. Share the story with your friends on Substack, see if they support your choice or vote a different way. Voting cycle will end each Thursday so I may have enough time to complete the chapter.

Those who like can discuss the protagonist’s options and I promise to answer your questions concerting Terran culture, philosophy, and worldbuilding to the best of my ability!

If you like what you read, consider buying any of my published works.

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Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

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Chapter 11

When the bush speaks Terran

Rain’s gentle prattle had long since echoed far, far away between distant mountain rocks. Sparse fog crawled across the leafy, muddy ground. Weird animal noises came from every tree, bush, nook and cranny. Bugs, some large, others tiny, yet numbering in their countless thousands, crawled over their armored spacesuits. Jerry-rigged with yet another layer of plating, their movement was ever so sluggish as their now useless, top-notch magnetic boots got stuck deep in the squishy mud.

A patrol of twelve star warriors soldiered on, grumbling behind their faceplates.

Every step was harder than the previous one, their exoskeletons whining in protest. Their spacesuits’ otherwise ample power supply was rapidly diminished witch each new and hefty upgrade, limiting combat operation time. Though they gained more and more protection, they’ve rapidly become less mobile. It was only thanks to the suits’ plasma engines that the pirates could even close the distance and slay their evasive enemy.

The planetoid’s anomalous magnetic nature, the Clan star warriors learned to despise it with all their heart. Hand scanners and the trusty scan-goggles of their suits were almost useless. Used to the cold silence of space combat, where scanning beams replaced eyes and ears, most of them had long since gotten unaccustomed relying on their fleshy senses.

Moreover, the constant failure in detecting enemy movements meant that the pirate star warriors fell into one ambush after another. Orbital scans were widely ineffective and what was left of their Rangers could not help much. Their superior skill was overwhelmed by a combination of booby traps, sensor decoys, and the militiaman’s cammo gear.

Worse, the enemy specifically aimed to kill them first and had nearly done so!

Four star-weeks after landing on this stinking rock, Zhur’s crew lost multiple expensive vehicles, and over thirty dead. Out of their Ranger complement, but two remained among the breathing. Crippled, many others languished in agony, awaiting cybernetic surgery in their starship’s medical bay. Without organ and limb replacements they couldn’t return back and fight in this sticky hell.

“Halt and disperse!” – Roared the lead star warrior and everyone immediately took cover, their eyes looking even for trace amount of sentient movement or shapes.

Not every tree, shrub, or rock looked like a lurking militiaman trained by the furtive Terr’aans, yet many a pirate heart quickened. The longer they exposed themselves to the chaotic sonata of animal, plant, and worst yet, bug noises, the more they began to hear and see things which weren’t there. It took about five star-minutes of intense observation, for them to be assured that there was no one around.

“All clear, Hullster, sir!” – Chimed one of the warriors, addressing their leader who would be otherwise called a Bosun in olden Earth navies.

“Deploy the shield! – Came another command, and the man who carried a squad shield generator on his back, took a knee.

Armed with a shor-range boarding particle-beam carbine and a vibroblade, this was perhaps the most lightly armored warrior among them, and fitted with the best exoskeleton. He activated the bulky, heavy device with voice commands from his faceplate.

“Field is up, but at seventy-nine percent.” – The specialist grumbled aloud, making everyone shudder in their heavily armored suits.

These star warriors, scourge of the star lines, down here in the mud they felt as if butt naked.

“Can’t you recalibrate it?!” – The Hullster’s voice betrayed if not anger, anxiousness; a feeling of creeping dread that all of his warriors shared.

“I’ve tried, three times already. The gear just says ‘unknown interference detected’ and is stuck on seventy-nine percent.”

“Probably one of these anomalous zones.” – thought aloud one of the pirates and shifted his stuck in the mud armored feet – “With our abysmal luck, we should be happy it even works!”

The patrol leader addressed this man’s complain with a dismissive gesture, one which could be loosely translated from Clan battle lingo to “be silent.”

“This will have to do.” – said the Hullster and motioned two of the backpack carrying warriors – “Techs, set up the Pinger on the double!”

“Who else thinks this plan is gonna fail?” – One pirate hissed under his faceplate, the coded comms link translating his words into text for a selected handful of his peers to read.

“Remember that deathtrap of an IFV? My sister fried alive in it!” – Another pirate whispered, gnashing her teeth as she added – “Zhur and that flipping mad Corpo bitch are gonna be the death of us.”

“These Pingers have an effective range of only ten clicks. Even with a dozen of them installed, our starship sensors could maybe scan up to the mountain range.” – The first one complained, wincing at his suit’s dwindling power reserves.

“With Zhur’s luck, it will be all for naught.” – snarled a third pirate – “Crusted in animal shit barren rock, ‘tis what this mountain is!”

“Yes, and how many of us will live to see the Corpo moneys?!” – the female pirate agreed, concluding – “There is no glory to be earned here, in this slimy mudhole.”

“We best have an exit plan or we’ll rot here till this miserable star withers away.” – said the first clanner and shifted his tired feet, the over-tasked exoskeleton whining in protest.

“I bet ya half my loot, them Terr’aan trained rodents are stalking us as we speak.” – said with ever-increasing anger the second pirate.

“Yes, they most assuredly are! Better it is to be swallowed up whole by Holy Darkness than to die a meaningless death here.” – Anger fueled resolve, when the first clanner stated – “I say, we cut ties with Zhur, commandeer one of the shuttles and split.”

“Dead pirates spend no coin!” – Whispered all three, one after the other, in but a few star-seconds of thought.

Uneasy, their fellow Clanners nevertheless sprung into action. The techs unpacked two parts of a longish device and while one was fixing them together, the second dug a hole. His progress was hampered by the soft, slushy mud, which almost instantly filled what little he managed to dig out. With the help of his fellow warrior the Pinger was placed into the earth and promptly activated.

“Weird.” – commented one of the techs – “I pick up our starship’s sensor carrier wave, but it is warped and can’t establish stable connection.”

“Is the Pinger broken?” – grumbled the Hullster.

“No sir, we tested it back at base camp!”

“There is an interference of sorts,” – reported the second tech, sifting through the data-link from his PDA – “and I think I just found it!”

“Looks like another comm link, set on a low-band wireless frequency. This makes no sense!” – and the first tech frantically turned around.

“You better start making sense or...” – The Holster shook an armored fist his way.

“Sir, it says the link ends right over there!” – exclaimed the first tech and pointed at a piece of rather leafy, stumpy example of the local flora – “But there is nothing h-”

He could not finish his thought because the mud beside him grew arms. A vibro dagger with serrated edge plunged into the side of his belly, ripping through armor and turning his guts into minced meat. Another muddy arm aimed a laser pistol and promptly shot the second tech straight in his head. Hit from point-blank range by an overcharged laser beam, most of the warrior’s head left his helmet through the molten faceplate.

Its command interface destroyed, the shield fizzled immediately.

The Hullster, who aimed to shoot his heavy beam pistol at the bush in question had half-raised the gun, when the shrubbery opened fire. A torrent of red particle-beams zinged through the air, water droplets popping as if doused in hot oil. Hit and from a few paces nonetheless, the heavy armor cracked like a thin rock smacked with a sledgehammer. The flesh underneath ripped and tore to shreds, which, hit by even more beams, expanded.

Clanners had no time to observe the spectacular, gory demise of their Hullster, for they too, were under attack. Beams, shot from one of their own looted repeaters, peppered their left flank, pinning a handful of them. The hated staccato of Mannlicher railgun rounds coming from the right announced that indeed, they had walked into yet another ambush.

Pirates opened fire at trees, rocks, and mounds of dirt. Camouflaged militiamen had lay here immobile, covered in their chameleo-cloaks, mud, sticks, and leaves. They endured the heat and humidity, suffered worms and bugs crawling all over. A few of them buried themselves under a layer of disgusting mud and waited until the very last possible second, till their enemy was right on top, to attack.

The exchange of weapons fire lasted about a star-minute, yet to some of the Clanners, it felt like an hour. It was true, they did outclass this gaggle of farmers and factory laborers. On another day, on a different battlefield, they’d win and without breaking a sweat.

Down here in the sticky mud, they were flanked, caught in overlapping fields of beam and railgun fire. More, there were enemies in their very midst! But three in number, they were spraying unremitting beamfire with their tubular snub guns. Of Terr’aan design, these weapons bellowed death-delivering beams and with ferocious intensity. There was no comparable beamgun in the Clanners’ arsenal. Only the famed Taz’aran RBG could maintain such a high rate of fire, yet not for that long a time.

The Hullster, his two techs, and the shield specialist were joined by four others. Not even the added protection of jerry-rigged armorplates could save them from the unrelenting barrage of railgun, laser, and beamfire. The militiamen didn’t even have to lob their nasty grenades, though that wasn’t of any help for the Clanners. Hit by overwhelming in intensity enemy fire, their very armor became shrapnel. Spalling, bits of molten metal, oft entire shards, flew in all directions, impaling their fellow crewmates to death.

The brown mud became gray and then green, a foul muck of gore, blood, and hissing hot armored corpses.

Even inexperienced troopers would be painfully aware that they were all cooked at this point.

“Split or die!” – screamed the would be mutineer, and spacesuit engines bellowing hot needles of plasma, leapt away.

His two cohorts followed him without a second thought, beckoning their remaining comrades to follow. As they flew away, the three drew in enemy fire and themselves lay down suppressive fire with their beamguns. All too late. Far too many beams and railgun rounds hit in or around for their crewmates to replicate their prudent example. Those three escaped certain death, while the rest desperately fought for their lives, dying one after the other.

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Pink squares popped up around twelve red dots, and, giving his system operators no time to send the ground support craft over, deleted them. For but a short moment there were three dots zipping away from the pink squares, yet they too, vanished from the sensors.

Captain Zhur wasn’t leaning over his command holo-screen. He did not need to zoom in one or another detail to know that this was yet another defeat. Standing beside him, his seemingly uncaring employer loudly sipped from a can of energy drink. For a couple of seconds the Corpo marveled at its colorful holographic print which read “Super Slimer Under 9000” and giggled, her tongue colored cyan.

The Clanner could barely conceal his vicious frown.

“We still have most of the Pingers at place, right?” – She asked pointing at the topographic holo-map, as her brain finally processed the fact that her hirelings had suffered even more losses.

“Yes,” – the captain slowly let a raspy breath, gritting his metallic teeth as he did so – “except the one your escaped slaves just looted.”

“Will one pinger derail your carefully crafted plan, Captain? I say,” – Berul opened another can, took a glug and her tongue glittered with silvery sparkles when she said – “switch the scanner mods on and send in your star warriors.”

“Oh, believe me, I will. However, section four of our contract demands action from you, as well.” – sneered the captain, his face a mask of cold rage.

Director Berul’s smug expression gave way to worry and her eyes winced, yet before she could say anything, Zhur continued:

“I never sign anything before reading even the coded, hidden holo-print, Director. Tell those mercs of yours to get ready for planetary deployment. Your men blathered without end that ‘they are veteran enforcers’, and kept boasting how they ‘never lost a battle’. It is about time we put their word to test.”

“But,” – her voice lowered down to a whisper as she leaned closer – “this will hurt my bottom line. Combat deployment is a different pay bracket and their contracts demand wound and kill benefits. Do you even realize...”

His merciless look silenced her complains and Berul gulped nervously, spilling some of her energy drink on the command deck.

“If I were you, Director, I’d suit up and join them myself. We are, as you yourself said numerous times, on a rather tight schedule. What will happen if Terr’aan reinforcements arrive before we are finished with this punitive operation of yours?!”

“Ummm... we will fight them off?” – said the Corpo with hesitance in her voice, meeting the startled gazes of Zhur’s bridge crew.

“You’ve never seen Terr’aan star marines do battle, have you?” – Captain Zhur’s voice hardened as he said this and pointed at his face – “I have.”

A long, seemingly endless and rather thick silence conquered the bridge. Berul’s want for money gave way for her feeling of self-preservation and she quickly finished her energy drink.

“Lieutenant, get all of your men ready for planetary deployment. Full tactical gear, spare ammo and everything! Assemble in one star-hour at the hangar deck.” – She commanded in her elaborate earring which doubled as comm bead.

“Yes, and tell everyone they will get their battlefield bonuses.” – Berul added following another brutal glare from Captain Zhur – “Prep my executive combat gear too. I will be joining you in the field myself!”

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Vinson stood at attention saluting the four dead militiamen. Their burnt, cut with vibroblades bodies were to be entombed in sealed metallic coffins, later, when all of this was over. Assembled behind him was the rest of the militia, including the walking wounded.

Seven casualties for about fifty dead pirates and probably a hundred wounded.

“The Clanners planned on smoking us out.” – Vinson addressed his troops, and pointed at the dead – “Yet, because of their sacrifice we stopped it.”

Eyes darted between the dead, all wrapped in funerary shrouds handwoven with Terran Minarchy flags, and the captured enemy sensor gear. Nearby, the two engineers tinkered with their spoils of war – a squad shield emitter.

“Things are not looking good for Captain Zhur’s crew cohesion.” – The Morale Officer assured them – “Today, three of his star warriors abandoned the battlefield, switching their sensor tags off.”

“Sir, I am still unsure about letting them go.” – Noln made a step forward, holding the vacfoam sling of his brand new snub beamgun, which he named “Beamretta” after listening to one too many of George’s gripping war stories.

“Alive and running away, they will further demoralize our enemy. If Zhur catches them, he will be forced to execute them. If they manage to desert, this will erode his command.” – Vinson said with a somber smile, once more saluting the dead before Fan and her medics carried them away.

“A loss no matter what he does!” – Exclaimed the young man, a hesitant grin forming on his battle weary face.

“Sir, me thinks they will eventually find us.” – Squeaked Pews since he and Blam completed their analysis of the Clan Pinger device.

“How long?” – Vinson asked.

“Probably one and a half star-weeks? Maybe two, if we keep giving them grief.” – Sergeant Blam concluded, his eyes studying a holo-file with scans of the enemy device.

“This gives us more than enough time to act. Plus, our reinforcements should be here around that time too.” – The Morale Officer reassured the militiamen.

“First, we need to deal with Director Berul and her thugs... permanently.” – and Vinson looked at his troops, carefully studying their facial expressions.

There was only slight hesitance and little bit of confusion. Fears under control, it was ice cold, sharp anger which dominated their emote. All except their leader.

“But, Sir... she is a craven coward! There is no way that vile bitch wi-” – Noln raised his voice, fists clenched and eyes wide full of seething hatred, which prompted Vinson’s immediate reaction.

“Coward, yes, but a greedy one.” – said the Morale Officer, one hand on Noln’s shoulder – “Her kind fears losing money more than the lives of her own men.”

“We forced her and Zhur to act the way we wanted.” – continued Vinson – “Now it is time to ensure that they’ll go where and when we want them.”

(One) “Sir, I think we should do the Boom.” – Said Lieutenant Pews, counting something on his PDA before he added – “Them last Clan Rangers may grow some smarties and discover our boomy stuff.”

“Yesh, and that won’t be cool, Sir.” – chimed in Blam, his otherwise cute eyes laden with cold fury – “Them ‘splosives been griping for days already!”

Noln and the militiamen exchanged confused, startled looks, and Vinson swiftly intervened.

“This was just a hamster joke.” – smiling said he and clapped his hands – “We are mounting a surprise sneak attack to pin them down inside their base camp, right?”

“That would be best, Sir. We want as many of them there during Boom Time.”

(Two) “On the other hand,” – George spoke up from the workbench where he crafted special munitions for his Elizabeth – “We can mount a diversionary attack at their base camp. Pin as many of them there and then blow them up, while the rest of us go on a little raid.”

“What do you have in mind?” – Noln asked and there was a gleam in his eye.

“Something nice and proper, lad, one old school resistance trick me knows. See, they don’t need to have all their air assets, those Clan foes of ours.”

“George, is this you trying to pull off a second ‘Dover Red Wing Burn’, who knows how many light years away from old England?”

“Well, it went swimmingly the first time!” – Chuckled the oldster as he held a brand new, shiny round for his anti-material rifle up for the scanner to double check it.

“I hope we can make it work.” – Vinson canted his head with a smile – “ George, just keep one thing in mind.”

“What is it, laddie?”

“You are not dealing with communists now.”

(Three) “What if we do this instead?” – and Vinson projected a holo-map of the enemy base from his PDA, elaborating further as he zoomed in – “Mount a diversionary assault on their base camp with one squad, from this position here.”

The Morale Officer rotated the holo, positioning all of their forces and moving them one after the other, in complete sync.

“Leave the air assets alone, just for a short while. When the base flies up in the air and they call their dropships to reinforce them, we wait. When they fly in full of star warriors and begin deployment, trying to secure a perimeter, we still wait.” – Vinson laid his plan with a most serene smile on his face, one that soon became contagious.

“I think I get what your spin is.” – George smirked as he twirled his mustache.

“Then,” – and Noln scratched his chin, eyes wide with amazement – “when their dropships are on the ground, we blow them up, right!?”

“Yes, and we leave them all down there, stranded. Their supplies and fuel all gone, and who knows how many wounded screaming Zhur’s ears for help.”

“Lad,” – George winked and nudged Noln – “them Terran Morale Officers are scary.”

“Heey!” – Lieutenant Pews squeaked and waved his little hand.

“We cannot, of course, forget the full measure of terror that our friends, otherwise known among the enemy as ‘Tiny Feet Of Doom’ are capable of.” – Wisely added Vinson and then addressed the militia, as he checked his time:

“You get some food and drink in you, rest your feet. Assemble in full kit in one hour.”

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Dear reader, please do not forget to post your pick in the comments below, and elaborate upon why you think our protagonist should do so.