Free World of Water by James Lovegrove

lieutenant said the sea monkeys aren’t savages,” said Milgrom. “This’d seem to contradict that, don’t you think?”
    They examined the bodies one after another to see if any of them was by some miracle still alive. None was. Dulled, horrified eyes stared down emptily at them. Slack mouths hung open in silent cries of protest.
    “Is this everybody?” said Blunt. “The whole crew accounted for?”
    “I’ve patched into the ship’s onboard manifest and apparently it has a complement of forty-three, so yes, by a rough head count, I guess this is it,” said Sigursdottir. “The Tritonians were thorough. Rounded them all up, marched them down here, strung them up like sides of beef and slaughtered them. Didn’t miss anyone out.”
    “What for?” said Dev. “Why do this?”
    “To scare the shit out of us, for one thing.”
    “Full marks to them, then,” said Blunt. “Achievement unlocked.”
    “But also, more importantly, to send a message. They don’t like humans killing redbacks. It offends them.”
    “Do they regard these whales as sacred or something?” said Dev.
    “Not particularly. In fact, they harvest them as well. Use them as a source of food and construction materials. Clothing too. They make their own version of leather from redback hide steeped in the redback’s own ambergris. Whalers like this are poaching their game and hence pissing them off.”
    “There are less drastic ways of showing you’re upset,” Dev pointed out.
    “The Tritonians aren’t really big on dialogue and diplomacy,” said Sigursdottir. “Ask your friend Handler. He’s the one who’s supposed to be the ambassador between us and them. Ask him how much success he’s had getting them to see things from our point of view or, for that matter, putting their point of view across to us.”
    “Spoiler,” said Milgrom. “Not a lot.”
    “The history of settler–indigene relations on Triton has never been a happy one,” Sigursdottir said. “Mostly it’s been a case of the two sides trying to ignore each other as much as possible. Handler and all the envoys before him, they’ve not been much more than window-dressing. Lip service to the idea of mediation. Something to show we’ve at least made an effort, we’ve tried to be reasonable, we’ve met the Tritonians halfway...”
    “So don’t blame us if they haven’t reciprocated,” said Dev.
    “Bingo.”
    “If a single envoy is all we’ve offered, is it any surprise they’re getting militant now?”
    “No, but we can all pretend it is.” Sigursdottir twisted her mouth in a cynical grimace. “This has been a while coming, but it was always inevitable. People had begun taking the Tritonians for granted, thinking they’d just go on passively accepting our presence.”
    “No one reckoned that if humans kept pushing them, sooner or later they’d push back.”
    “Quite. So along comes a whaler like this, and it’s just too much of a provocation, far as the Tritonians are concerned. Too intrusive to ignore. Big old ship pulling the planet’s largest mammals out of the sea and turning them into steaks – how can they let it be?”
    “No excuse for getting quite so radical,” said Milgrom, tapping the corpse nearest to her with the barrel of her rifle. “At what point does legitimate grievance become a sanction for mass murder? There’s a line, surely.”
    “Anyone mind if we carry on the conversation somewhere else?” said Francis. “I don’t know about you people but this place, these bodies, it’s giving me the willies.”
    Blunt sniggered. “Never heard you complain about being given the willies before.”
    “Skank.”
    “Whore.”
    “Bitch.”
    “Slut.”
    “Stow it, ladies,” barked Sigursdottir. “We all know you love each other like sisters. But Francis is right. There’s nothing we can do for these poor bastards, and frankly I’d rather not have them hovering over me like the world’s ugliest piñatas. Let’s bail and regroup