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Second Forward Fusor trium, all three Meme, jerked in shock as their feeds went violently dead. Electromagnetic feedback whipped through the network, as well as emotional resonance from so many of the crew watching the battle on the base.
A moment later, Observation trium provided an alternative view, from the closest Sentry drone to the enemy moon. A dirty fission-fusion explosion, primitive but powerful, had scoured the base from its surface, leaving a deep crater. A storm of interacting gases, heat and ice roiled the area before slowly dissipating, leaving nothing of use.
“What happened?” Three asked.
“I suspect they self-destructed,” Two answered.
“Obviously,” chimed in One. “Close Combat should have anticipated such a tactic,” he said with righteous indignation.
“You didn’t,” Three replied, and then suddenly withdrew his eyeball below the rim of his tank.
One controlled his response with difficulty. “I did, actually, but I did not wish to embarrass Close Combat trium by pointing it out.”
Three, whatever he thought about this explanation, apparently decided not to argue, and only slowly extended his optical stalk again, inserting it into his screen socket and avoiding eye contact with his superior.
“It is unimportant in any case,” Two said. “We lost some Purelings, and they have lost a valuable base, which cannot now be used against us. Once we have conquered this system, we can examine it at our leisure.”
“And,” One interjected, “there are plenty of Humans to serve us as Underlings on their home planet. Billions, if the reports are correct. At least a few million will survive our attack.”
Three made a gesture of acknowledgement. “Perhaps...perhaps Close Combat will be censured, even demoted for their lapse.”
“That would be agreeable,” Two said.
“Most agreeable,” said One. “My plans continue to improve our opportunities.”
Two rolled his eyeball in Three’s direction, thinking One would not notice. One noticed, but chose not to say anything.
He would remember that slight, however, as he ascended.
