Grass Eaters 3 | 34 | Civilized

Atlas Naval Command, Luna

POV: Amelia Waters, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Fleet Admiral)

“I’m here to begin negotiations with your people. Like civilized creatures would.”

Amelia stared at the screen for a full ten seconds, wondering what was going on in that tiny Znosian brain. “This is a hoot. Alright, just to let you know, Bun, you’re barking up the wrong tree unless you’re looking to surrender. I’m only in charge of our military, not our whole species. And don’t screw around. I know you guys have that concept too.”

Svatken dismissively waved away her objection. “That’s fine. But all negotiations have to start somewhere. And I’m sure you will relay whatever I propose to your leaders.”

“Tell me exactly what you want before I hang up, and I’ll think about sending your demands to our decision makers. I’m sure we’ll all have a good laugh about it afterwards.”

“Excellent,” Svatken said. “We want to propose a cessation of hostilities between our two people. The war has been devastating for both our peoples, and it is not necessarily to either of our advantage to continue our war.”

“A ceasefire?! After you’ve just sent an extermination fleet to— to one of our systems?!” Amelia asked.

“There is no need for such a transparent ruse, Admiral. We know from your new pets that Sol is your home system. And we know that we have done incredible damage to your infrastructure and your planets. Many of your people are dead, your colonies laid waste, and your production facilities destroyed. As for who started this war, objectively, neither of our species has clean paws; if I recall, your ships did attack ours first. Anyway, as civilized peoples, I’m sure we can come to an agreement that looks past this sunk cost and prevent further loss of life.”

“She’s fishing for information,” Samantha mouthed to Amelia.

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’ve really done us in. We’re basically begging for a ceasefire now.”

“That is excellent news! I am prepared to discuss with you details of a hundred-year ceasefire—”

“No, you idiot! The audacity of the suggestion! We aren’t just going to roll over and make peace with you maniacs right after you just attacked our system!”

“Ah. Is it a problem with the inequity of such an arrangement? After all, we must have killed so many of your people,” she said with zero hints of contrition or even faked empathy. “That is a condition we are prepared to address with an offer: reparations.”

Amelia couldn’t help but be surprised. “You? Reparations?!” she snorted. “I didn’t even know you had that word in your language.”

Svatken nodded solemnly. “Indeed, if you offer us evidence of your casualties, we are willing to pay in equal amount. For every Great— for every… human we have killed in this war so far, we will select one of our own and send them to you so you can execute them.”

“Send us your people so we can… execute them?” Amelia echoed numbly. “What the actual—”

“If the problem is that you think an equal exchange is unfair, we are prepared to negotiate on that point. For a reasonable concession on our part, would two Znosians for one Terran deceased be a more acceptable ratio for your leaders or—”

“No!”

“I’m afraid we can’t go much higher than two, but perhaps exceptions can be made for certain—”

“No! None of that is reasonable! We don’t want to execute random Buns! We’re coming after you! The assholes in charge over there! You!”

The Znosian seemed to think for a moment. “That… is an interesting complication you propose, but not entirely unreasonable for—”

“What? It’s not a proposal at all!”

“As I said, not entirely unreasonable. If you tally up the number of your leaders we’ve killed, we can also send you an equivalent number of our leaders of equal importance and rank for your people to execute. And I know your primitive species is not as keen on documentation as we are, but I’m sure you have records on the service ranks of officers and spacers and Marines we’ve killed. We can have a corresponding number of the equivalent ranking personnel sent to you for your disposal. Or we can work out some kind of conversion formula between our whiskers system and your mess of a…”

Amelia looked at the psychopathic enemy coldly. “We are not interested in eye-for-eye justice, and we do not believe your promises of temporary peace. There is exactly one arrangement I know we would accept for a ceasefire.”

“What is that?” Svatken asked eagerly. “We will hear out your—”

“Unconditional surrender. Your armed forces must disarm and surrender all weapons and ships. Your people must hand over all leaders responsible for your attack on our people. And you will pay reparations — actual reparations, not… whatever you seem to think the word means — for the damage you’ve caused our people. We will discuss with our allies the matter of your payment for the damage you’ve caused them over the last decade. And we will rehabilitate— somehow find a way to fix your people and make you less cavalier about the uncountable number of people you’ve murdered over the centuries, to ensure you never do it again. Total and unconditional surrender. And then, and only then, we will have peace between our peoples.”

Despite the alien biology, Amelia could still see Svatken’s face falling as she iterated the demands listed in the latest Republic Authorization of Use of Force resolution. As she came to a pause, Svatken cleared her throat twice and harumphed, “That doesn’t sound like a very realistic or equitable exchange either.”

“Perhaps not, but this — capitulation — is the only one we will accept for peace.”

“Hm? That is a word we do not have in our language.”

Yeah, right.

“Then, you will learn. We are excellent teachers.”

The Znosian paused, her expression unreadable. She asked, “What about deals less than peace? I know you have those from your history, as we do. For purposes unrelated to the ultimate war aims against us. Exchange of prisoners, perhaps. Or allowing the passage of ships and such.”

“Your trapped fleet in Granti territory? At Grantor?” Amelia said, narrowing her eyes. “What about them?”

“Our fleet is not trapped,” Svatken insisted. “They are defending our rightful, captured territory. And they can move in and out of Grantor system at any time they wish.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Guess there is nothing to negotiate on that point then.”

“Another proposal then: in exchange for all our prisoners, we’d give you all your people back.”

“All our prisoners for a couple dozen Resistance idiots who we’d prefer that you keep? Pull the other one, Bun.”

Svatken tilted her head. “Fair enough. I meant all your barely civilized pets’ people we’ve captured. Surely you can use that as a bargaining chip in your own negotiations with them to extract payment and other favors from them.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed as she studied the screen. “All the prisoners you hold? That includes all the Malgeir and Granti civilians in systems under your occupation?”

The Znosian seemed to think for a while, as if she hadn’t considered them at all. “Sure. As long as you provide them with transport off our planets and out of systems. I’m sure the details can be hashed out—”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think so. Hah.” Amelia barked a short laugh. “Those aren’t your planets. And I think we both know the Malgeir Navy is about to liberate every single one of those star systems right from under your nose anyway.”

“Perhaps.” Svatken seemed to hesitate. “But perhaps we will rather throw those planets into their stars than allow you to have them.”

“And perhaps we would prefer that to giving you back the numerous Znosian prisoners we hold.”

Svatken seemed increasingly unsure on the screen, as if she was internally balancing the narratives she helped make up about predator barbarism and savagery — against the narratives she helped make up about predator weakness and short-sightedness.

“You must be bluffing, Admiral,” the State Security officer concluded after a few moments. “There is no way you would allow that to happen. Your pets would turn against you.”

Amelia bared her sharp teeth at the enemy. “Would they? Do you think you know them better than we do?”

Svatken’s face went blank for a moment, betraying no further emotion. “Hypothetically, what if we returned those systems and all their peoples? All of them. Would your leaders agree to peace?”

“No. But you’re getting warmer,” Amelia admitted coolly.

“Not even a temporary one?”

“We might… be prepared to allow you to withdraw parts of your fleets to your pre-war system borders instead of destroying them where they orbit right now,” Amelia said. “But that kind of decision would be up to our leaders and not me.”

“Your people have yet to demonstrate the ability—”

“I’m not finished,” Amelia continued. “Even that would already be a major concession on our part, trading a civilian advantage for our people against a military advantage for your people. We would never accept that deal without other compromises from you.”

Svatken tilted her head. “Such as?”

“Such as handing over your high-ranking fleet commanders and Marine war chiefs who were responsible for planning the attack on our star systems.”

“And after that?” Svatken asked. “What would you do after we withdraw to what you call our pre-war borders and hand over our military leaders?”

“After that?” Amelia shrugged. “If… if there is a ceasefire condition… We’ll wait it out. Then, we’re coming for the rest of your ships, your leaders, and your capability to make war until you have absolutely none left.”

“As I was saying, your people have yet to demonstrate the ability to do any of these things you threaten,” Svatken said as she glared at the screen confidently.

“Perhaps not. Perhaps you should ask your Grand Fleet what we are capable of.”

“They are merely one of our many fleets. The breadth of our Dominion is far beyond the comprehension of simple—”

“Then you can ask your Grander and Grandest Fleets the same thing when we get to them. And when we are done with them, this deal will not be on the table for you anymore.”

Svatken shook her head. “This proposal is unacceptable to us. We will not agree to this.”

“Good,” Amelia said coldly.

“Good?”

“Good.” Amelia bared her teeth at the enemy again as she prepared to disconnect the call. “I was really, really afraid you’d say yes.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

“What do you think they’re playing at?” Samantha asked.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Amelia snorted.

“Oh?”

“They’re reloading. And they want a free timeout while they do that.”

“What about the prisoner exchange offer? Allow their Navy to withdraw safely and the return of prisoners of war, in exchange for no funny business with the planets and a few of their high-ranking officers?”

Amelia paused, considering the question. “Returning their POWs will give them a pretty good idea what the shape of our capabilities are. It’ll allow them to learn how to mitigate our attacks better, build better ships, better tactics… And it’ll open the door to at least a few of our people demanding a longer peace, which they want — to rebuild their fleets for another go at us. The Republic’s current sky-high support for the war won’t last forever. If we have an armistice, they will be back at our doors in a decade. She pretended to be stupid and caught off-guard, but this had to have been carefully calculated. Even if it is genuine, it’s a trojan horse deal, and it makes no strategic sense for us to agree to it.”

“Is there a but I sense coming?” Samantha asked.

Amelia sighed. “Tens of billions of innocent, living people. The people of our allies. And even if we do manage to stop their insane plan to just wipe out all these habitable planets, our attack through the Grantor perimeter will still be rough on the Malgeir Marines. We can guarantee all their safety, and we can have it all now. How can the Republic not at least consider it? No, they aren’t all idiots in Znos after all.”

“What about— what about the Skyfall Plan?”

“You mean the insanity the TRO cooked up and leaked to The Atlas Times last week?”

“Well… yeah. It’s a mess, but—”

Amelia sighed in exasperation. “Are we supposed to consider every bloodthirsty scheme cooked up by our psychopath friends downstairs? Did I miss a memo somewhere?”

Samantha took a deep breath. “Public opinion polling shows that the option is wildly popular. Sixty-five percent of Republic voters in the last election either substantially or somewhat support its implementation as— as it was leaked. The Senate is holding a vote—”

“The Senate is holding a vote on revising and relaxing the rules of engagement in the Republic Navy,” Amelia said firmly. “They are not voting on the strategy the Republic Navy will actually be pursuing in the war. With or without my emergency powers, I will not be implementing a plan where Republic spacers indiscriminately throw big rocks at random Znosian planets full of noncombatants, no matter how the Senate votes. If they try to force me to do it, they can have my resignation, and I will be joining those dozen or so idiot pacifists protesting in front of the Congressional Complex every other Saturday.”

“I— I understand. What about their planets hosting industry and military targets?”

“We will destroy those targets… while following the rules of war to the best of our abilities. Our rules. The rules that are in the founding charter of the Republic.”

“The Buns won’t be following those rules.”

“I know. But while I remain in command, we will.”

“Isn’t there some flexibility, some argument that in such an existential war, we must use every means available to us? That we can’t be naive to the danger the enemy poses to us?”

“We are not naive.”

Samantha hurried to explain. “I’m not implying—”

“I know what you’re saying.” Amelia cut her off. “Our rules of war are designed to reduce needless suffering and death. The operative word is… needless. By definition, they do not stop us from doing what is necessary. Yes, on the margins, there may be problems and inefficiencies incurred from the restraint we exercise, but there are also benefits. Being able to see the battlefield with clear eyes and even heads… it is around this cold, calculating clarity that our entire way of war is built. That’s why our weapons strike with precision and deliberation. That’s how our ships live and breathe on situational awareness. And our spacers and Marines who are on the frontlines can take comfort in that… that even in the chaotic heat of battle, they can know with absolute certainty that at least some of their commanders are still sane and responsible.”

“So that’s why we fight with… shackles on?”

“So that’s why we fight with the values that brought us here. You dance with the partner that brung you. And when our people look back at this war in a hundred years, they will not say the Battle of Sol was where the Republic was destroyed. Because the Republic isn’t just a fleet of powerful warships. It isn’t just billions of angry humans all marching in one direction with pitchforks and torches. It is more than that. Unlike the enemy we fight, we— we actually are civilized. We are better than they are. Regardless of how some extremists weaponize that against our own people… our systems and our way of life are actually superior to the Znosians’. And that comes with responsibilities, and it comes with rules.”

Samantha did not seem fully convinced, but she looked contemplative in silence for a moment.

Amelia glanced at a battlemap in the command center showing the salvage operations in the still-littered orbits of Earth and Mars. She pointed a finger at the screen. “Or, we can fight like they do, but… didn’t work out so well for them, did it?”