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Grass Eaters 2 | 42 | Ghost Fleet I
🕑 Added 2024-08-21 16:47:01 +0000 UTCLima Mine, Titan
POV: Felix Lamar, Terran (Civilian)
Felix tracked the suborbital superiority jet buzzing across the sky until it disappeared beyond the horizon and breathed a sigh of relief.
Sixth time this week. The Reps have been patrolling the sector aggressively. Rationally, he knew that if they really discovered this abandoned mining facility, the next thing that would come out of the sky was going to be either an orbital bombardment best described with religious vocabulary, or an entire division… or two… or three… of their Marines.
Either way, he probably wouldn’t even feel a thing when they came.
Felix tugged instinctively on his heavy thermal cloak as he heard the wind pick up in his helmet. It was there to protect him from the Rep reconnaissance and their thermal optics, not the wind chill, but decades of habit from growing up on Terra didn’t die easy.
He felt a mechanical vibration behind him. It was the mine shaft elevator, carrying his shift change replacement.
“I’m here to relieve you,” Evonne announced as she stepped out into the heavily camouflaged guard post.
Felix turned around and nodded. “I am relieved. How’s it going down there?”
Evonne began to set up her rangefinder. “Not much. There was a news dump two hours ago, and they’re making chowder for dinner.”
“Oh yeah? News dump, eh? What’s new?”
She shrugged. “Same as the last few. Another couple cells dropped off the network today. Downstairs, they’re saying it’s probably even worse than we know, because some of the ones still reporting in are now likely collaborating. Can’t trust anyone these days.”
Felix stared off into the distance. “The Reps sure are taking this whole thing seriously now, huh?”
“Yeah. You think?” she asked sarcastically.
“I think… we didn’t sign up for all this,” Felix pointed out into the frozen wasteland.
“Yeah?” Evonne snorted and flicked her head towards where he was pointing. “Feel free to leave any time. Go on. I won’t stop you.”
She wouldn’t need to. He could see the terrain for dozens of kilometers where he was. If he deserted, he’d still be running when the next watch shift came up. Or the next. Or the next. And then the planet would kill him; he’d either run out of battery and die from hypothermia, or run out of reserve oxygen and die from that.
“Yeah,” he muttered and sighed. “I just thought it would be more to it than… this. We’re supposed to be a real navy… Not just waiting— hoping the Reps go away so our ships can take off without them watching.”
“Vive la Résistance,” she drawled bitterly.
Felix stewed in his thoughts for a bit, then asked, “Evonne, do you believe in God?”
“Not really. You?”
He sighed. “I was brought up to. Religious family. Taught all about God having a special plan and everything.”
“Yeah? What about now?”
“There’s a story the station bartender on Galileo Three used to tell. A supply shuttle pilot crashes into another supply shuttle, and he goes to heaven. He walks up to God angrily and complains, I believed in you, I thought you had a special plan!”
“Yeah? What did God say?”
“God said, I do have a special plan. It’s for the other pilot.”
Evonne chuckled a dry laughter into the barren landscape. “Maybe that is it. Maybe the Reps are the other pilot.”
“Maybe.”
She teased, “What? Are you questioning the divinity of our beloved Ace downstairs? Don’t think she has it all figured out?”
Refusing to answer, Felix shook his head sadly, and he headed back into the elevator.
The journey from the surface to the hangar took minutes, even with the modified elevator. The light of Saturn was replaced by the dim electronic lighting of the base interiors. When he got to the bottom and through the airlock, he noticed a crowd was gathering around the hangar control office.
What’s going on?
He recognized the tall woman in it, speaking to the crowd: the base commander, the infamous Ace of Clubs. As he began to remove his suit, he could hear more and more of what they were talking about.
“—just rumors. Nothing has been decided yet. We are just gathering options—”
Someone in the crowd shouted through the talking. “I thought you said we were going to fight to the end! For Jefferson Port!”
“For Jefferson Port!” a few onlookers repeated, though noticeably less enthusiastically than normal.
“Look, all of us want justice for Jefferson,” the Ace of Clubs explained patiently.
“Justice for Jefferson!” the crowd repeated. The mantra was over half a century old and none of the people present knew anyone from the Jefferson, but repeating it — that was just a thing they did.
She nodded. “But a war — our struggle — it’s not just a bunch of people endlessly chanting slogans. We can’t be blind to reality.”
“Sell out!” one very brave agitator yelled.
“Collaborationism!”
“Enough!” she snarled, conspicuously putting her hand on her hip where her sidearm rested. “This is not a democracy. I am not your Senator. If any of you got a problem with my style of command, feel free to leave through your nearest exit!”
No one moved or shouted back at her, though some in the crowd murmured and whispered among themselves.
She softened her tone, “Listen, I have been fighting this war for decades. I was here through the last war with the Reps, and the one before that. Our Resistance — it’s an ongoing struggle with a real purpose, not just endless fighting with ships and guns. In this round, our warriors have fought with honor, and we have made the Reps bleed for every strike, every raid — which is why they are now desperately signaling they’re ready for talks!”
The crowd looked skeptical, but she continued.
“Now, we are not going to negotiate sovereignty beyond Jupiter with the Reps. We will never hold negotiations with the Reps on that!” the Ace of Clubs said to nods in the audience. “This is in the founding spirit and charter of the Resistance!”
More nods.
“But it won’t hurt for us to hear what the jackboots have to say! To listen for intelligence. To expose their lies to their own people. To negotiate for prisoner exchanges, like the two captured alien officers we are holding downstairs. That is what the rumors are based on! Yes, as the only remaining Ace on the network, I have agreed to attend some of these meetings on behalf of the Resistance. But that doesn’t mean we are planning on giving up! Those rumors are part of the ongoing psychological warfare they wage against us. Partial truths to convince the gullible!”
Felix noted that the crowd was a bit more pacified, but there were no fewer doubters. He himself had some. He just wasn’t dumb enough to voice them.
“And if anyone has legitimate questions, my office is open.” Her voice turned to steel. “But… if I hear anyone spreading false rumors about the Resistance, there is only one thing in the galaxy I hate more than collaborators: defeatists! Now, get back to work.”
The crowd looked around at each other, and gradually, they dispersed.
Felix headed for the bunks. He checked his tablet… and sighed. It was his parents, complaining that they missed the latest weekly paycheck from his “job”.
Again.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Atlas Naval Command, Luna
POV: Amelia Waters, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Admiral)
Amelia’s expression was harshly neutral as the face of the remnant enemy materialized onto the main screen at the command center.
Samantha, her lead analyst, glanced at her. “Facial recognition and voice confirmed. That could be the Ace of Clubs.”
“Republic Admiral Amelia Waters,” the enemy addressed her curtly. “I can’t say I’m surprised they put one of you in charge of these peace negotiations.”
Oh yeah, that’s definitely her alright.
Amelia’s face tightened further. “I am not. There are no peace negotiations. The terms of the Republic have been clear from the beginning: hand over every criminal responsible for the Tharsis attack, and we will accept the unconditional surrender of the Resistance.”
“Let’s not waste each other’s time with word games, Admiral,” the Ace of Clubs scoffed in the dim lighting. “We only have a few minutes. I know your people are trying their best to track this call. But they will fail, as they have for the past forty years. I will lay out our terms for a ceasefire: full recognition of the SRN as a legal alternative governing power of districts in the Free—”
“You appear to not have heard me correctly the first time, terrorist,” Amelia replied tartly. “Your existence is a crime. We do not negotiate peace with you. The only reason we are having this conversation is because your people said you are open to an exchange of captured prisoners of war.”
Holding her head high, the Ace countered, “Our brave warriors have fought with yours to a standstill. Even now, Resistance operatives are inflicting severe casualties on your forces in the Free Zone. Your mounting casualty rate has not gone unnoticed by—”
“Surely you are not so delusional to believe that. Surely you have noticed the dwindling nodes in your network, the cessation of supply shipments, and the number of your own people who are turning against you. Surely you are not an idiot blinded by hate,” Amelia said, her voice dripping with contempt. “Then again, you are an Ace of the Resistance, so it is hard to tell.”
“Insults will do you no good, Admiral,” the Ace of Clubs tutted. “Nor any good for the prisoners we’ve captured from your recent raids… sixteen alien Marines. Sixteen of your pets. We are willing to agree to a good faith exchange with our prisoners and other conditions.”
“We will need identification and proof of life before we can begin discussions.”
With a flick of the Ace’s wrist, videos of the captives appeared on the screen. As the Ace claimed, sixteen of them: all Malgeir Marines, obviously subjected to varying levels of mistreatment and abuse. More than one was missing their tail or other appendages.
Amelia controlled her flaring temper. After a few seconds, Samantha nodded to her solemnly, confirming the identities of the missing. As best she could against the technology anyway.
“You will get your proof of life before we conduct the exchanges,” the Ace of Clubs continued casually. “Now, let us discuss terms. On principle, we will accept the release of one thousand Resistance prisoners, chosen by us, for each of your enlisted captives. The two officers we have identified will be two thousand each. Amnesty for all our leaders whose position on your wanted list is under top five hundred—”
“Release thousands of murderers and thieves from Republic jail?! Unacceptable and delusional.”
“Eighteen thousand, to be exact,” the Ace of Clubs continued without bothering to stop, “Additionally, we have a list of Resistance traitors. We demand you hand the collaborators over to us for justice. And as an incentive, we are going to offer you a twenty-year ceasefire, like last time.”
“Like last time? Like last time?! This conversation is preposterous. None of your demands are realistic, given your position. I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything better from a bunch of damn terrorists.”
“And… if you do not negotiate in good faith, we will contact the alien embassy on Luna and relay your stubbornness,” the Ace smiled slyly, as if revealing her trump card. “I’m sure they won’t take kindly to your lack of care for their people’s lives.
Amelia barked a short, mirthless laugh. “Hah. Go ahead. You realize the Malgeir are fighting an interstellar war right outside our borders on multiple fronts, right? Their average weekly death toll exceeds every Republic casualty in half a century of war. Your fighting has killed as many of them in months as they threw away every five minutes at the opening phase of the Second Battle of Datsot. You think their embassy communications intern is even going to bother connecting your call for sixteen hostages, or do you need me to give you Ambassador Niblui’s personal number?”
The Ace took a sip of water from her cup. “More Republic war propaganda—”
Amelia looked at her tablet. “Here is a somewhat more realistic list, terrorist: one hundred of yours for sixteen of ours. We’ll be keeping a close eye on the parolees with monitoring bioimplants, and if they so much as step one toe out of line, they’ll go straight back to Neu-Nuremburg. Amnesty for another two hundred Resistance operatives who haven’t committed a violent crime, not including anyone on the Republic top-hundred wanted list. Reduced sentences and station arrest for anyone who turns themselves in. And you can forget about your ‘collaborators’: we’re not sending anyone back to you involuntarily. Then, because I know you’re the one gasping for breath, a two-month ceasefire so your holdouts can settle their affairs before we continue our campaign. Take it or leave it.”
“We’ll leave it, Rep,” the Ace replied hatefully.
“Your funeral, Ace. And just to make it clear, these terms will only get worse for you as we get closer to you. How long do you think you can last in that hole of yours without paying your people?”
“We’ve been here for decades, and we’ll be here long after you and your Republic are gone— ah.” Suddenly the Ace stood up in the camera, looking offscreen to her side. “Looks like this conversation is over. Vive la Résistance!”
The screen went black as the signal cut out.
Amelia looked at Samantha. “What did we get, Sam?”
Samantha shook her head. “Not much. Trace went nowhere again. Judging by the video, she is in a 1G environment. Audio forensics indicates an inertial compensator in the background, but the feed is too fuzzed to get its signature. That could be a ship, an asteroid base, Titan… well, pretty much anywhere but Terra. We already knew she is probably on Titan.”
She then pointed at another screen, showing a map of Titan. “We cut power to the civilian settlements for a few seconds during the call. But her lights didn’t even flicker. And no noise or audio shift on the feed. So she’s either not in the Republic settlements or has an independent power supply and robust communications system. Again, not much information there that we didn’t already know.”
A video on the screen showed a series of lingering mushroom clouds. “We conducted large scale weapons test detonations at six sites on Titan, near settlement concentrations. There was a slight tremble in the water in her cup on the video feed around the time the detonations went off. But the magnitude was too slight to triangulate her position. Maybe she’s far away from the sites, or maybe she has a sturdy desk.”
Samantha sighed. “In short, we’ve got nothing. There’s a reason they call it the Ghost Fleet.”
“They call it the Ghost Fleet because it’s dead. It hasn’t flown in twenty years. A bunch of hangar queens gathering rust down there somewhere. If we weren’t on time pressure—” Amelia sighed. “Call Ambassador Niblui, I’ll need to tell her about her people.”
Samantha looked at her worryingly. “You think they’ll start executing the Pupper prisoners?”
“Probably not. Too valuable for them, and they are getting more desperate for us to stop. Then again… it’s the Resistance.”
Comments
AnAbsoluteVillain
Hype for a dog fight with ghost fleet. Sphinx vs Ace of Clubs. 🐶 vs ♣️
