Spooker
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Grass Eaters 2 | 30 | Reconnaissance I
🕑 Added 2024-07-24 16:47:00 +0000 UTCRepublic Senate Complex, Luna
POV: Amelia Waters, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Admiral)
Senator Blake Wald looked up in mild surprise as his morning newspaper reading ritual was interrupted for the second time in a week.
“Ah, Amelia,” he greeted. “Did you get the report from the Malgeir? I passed them onto Naval Command this morning—”
“I did,” she replied. “The good news is there’s no imminent threat of an attack on Stoers yet. Not at the moment.”
“And we know this how?”
“Not enough ships. They’ve only got a couple dozen there. And their depots are almost empty. If they wanted to be pushing for Stoers, they’d need to gather a lot more than that. They could have a whole fleet a system beyond, but from their perspective, there’s probably no point in that kind of deception. It’s not like the Puppers were actively reconnoitering the system, and it’s not like the Puppers would be able to stop them if they put a whole fleet in Pomniot. More likely, their defense fleet is holding to counter the Sixth Fleet threatening Plorve.”
“Ah, that makes sense. I guess that’s the good news. What about the bad news?”
“There’s a couple. First of all, we don’t know for sure where the bulk of the Znosian Navy is. They have literal thousands of combat ships hiding elsewhere deep in their territory. They aren’t just going to take their losses lying down. It’s possible they’re pulling back to re-evaluate…”
“But?”
“They could also be gearing for a major campaign. Could be Stoers. Could be Gruccud. Both are close enough to habitable clusters, so such an offensive would be going for two or three systems, not just the shipyard at Stoers.”
“We always knew that they weren’t just going to give up after a solid punch to the… snout,” the Senator shrugged. “This war is far from over.”
“Indeed. Which is the second concern from the reconnaissance,” Amelia said, tossing a printed photo onto his desk. “I know you love these things in print…”
Blake put on his reading glasses and stared at it. “What am I looking at?”
Amelia pointed at a peculiar looking ship docked at a resupply station on the grainy image. “That’s the resupply station at Pomniot-4. That ship look familiar to you?”
“Hm… I’m afraid not,” he said. “Is that a new one?”
“It is, but they come up with new ships all the time. That’s not what concerns us,” she replied, then pointed at a large dish-like structure towards the top of the ship. “This… is most likely what we would refer to as a low frequency, spaceborne phased-array radar system.”
“Huh, didn’t we have a cancelled program for that a couple decades years ago—”
“We did. It was… creatively called the SPARS.”
“Why was it cancelled again?” the pacifist Senator asked tepidly. He didn’t remember the specifics, but he was pretty sure he voted for the cancellation when the vote came up—
“Pirates and terrorists didn’t use stealth ships enough back then for us to justify investing a whole ship class just for detection. And gravidar came along, which did the job better.”
“Oh, so no harm no foul then?” he said in relief.
“Just one problem,” Amelia said, holding up a finger as if waiting to see if he’d figure it out.
He nodded after a second. “Ah, the Bunnies figuring out they need something like this in the first place.”
“Exactly. Unfortunately for us, our Malgeir allies didn’t capture any signals from it for us to analyze and figure out how effective it’ll be. Most likely, based on the physical specifications, they’ll still have trouble spotting our next-generation ships, and we can always just jam these. And their resolution sucks, especially long-range, so they can’t possibly be used for fire control. But if these ships work anything like ours did, my speculation is they’d be able to use them to figure out a general volume of where we’d be coming from. And if they’re smart enough to realize they need these, they’ll find a way to use it tactically… and they have plenty of ships to make whatever they figure out work.”
The Senator shuddered. “Well, that’s just the most terrifying news I’ve heard all week. Is there anything we can do about them?”
“We can always just blow them up.”
“Will they be hard to replace?”
Amelia looked at the photo for another couple seconds. “They look… expensive enough to be worth going after, but some egghead at Naval Command would know better. And we might not want them to know that’s what we’re concerned about. For now, what we really need is more intelligence on its signals so we know the nature of its threat, and these images won’t do. We need better pictures. And we need to know how they’re working with the rest of their ships in Pomniot.”
“I’m already trying to get one of your ships out there, the Mississippi, but the approval process is being jammed up by the New Hawks again,” he said, annoyed and shaking his head. “Can you believe it? Me. A dove. A pacifist. Trying to push up a naval deployment against the objections of some ostensible hawks. Against the warmongers. The galaxy’s gone mad.”
“There is another way,” Amelia suggested. “We can get one of their Husky-class battleships over there with their specialized communications suite; we’d walk them through the process of collecting the data we need. If you could get one of them to agree to it with some… political incentive…”
“Well… since you’ve asked so nicely, Admiral,” the Senator said, sighing. He activated his tablet. “Operator, can I get Interstellar Outbound, please.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
ZNS 0339, Pomniot-4
POV: Stsinkt, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Nine Whiskers)
The expression on the face of the tall commander on the video screen was inscrutable. “How could this have happened?”
Nine Whiskers Stsinkt executed a low, slow bow. “I take full responsibility for this grave error, Eleven Whiskers Sprabr. My obsession with resource optimization left our garrison fleet vulnerable to predator espionage. If I had ordered more of my ships into an active posture, the Lesser Predator spy ships would not have gotten into the system. Or if they had, they would not have seen as much of our testing platforms as they did.”
The grand fleet commander was silent, evidently digesting her explanation. He glanced down and operated the instruments on his end while Stsinkt and her bridge waited patiently.
After a moment, he looked back up at the screen. “Nine Whiskers, you rejected the combat computer’s recommendation for requesting additional patrol ships for deployment in Pomniot earlier this year. Why?”
Stsinkt resisted the urge to squirm. “I determined it was not in the best interest of the Prophecy. I saw that it was unlikely that Pomniot would see any active fleet action by either side, so I saw no need for additional patrols.” She hurried to add, “But as recent events have shown, that assumption was faulty, and I must also take full responsibility for this miscalculation.”
Sprabr frowned. “What was the reasoning behind your assumption?”
She let out an involuntary sigh out of nervousness. “On the Lesser Predators’ part, they are unlikely to attempt a counteroffensive in this axis. Reconnaissance showed that the two broken fleets they had garrisoned at Stoers were unprepared for any fleet action outside their own system. If anything, I expected such an offensive to come out of their temporarily victorious fleet at Gruccud.”
Sprabr nodded reluctantly. “That logic is sound, and what about us? How did you know we would not be taking Stoers through Pomniot?”
“It seemed unlikely to me that if we were to attack Stoers, I would not know about such a plan before hand,” she replied quietly.
A bemused expression appeared on Sprabr’s face. “We are supposed to clear our operational plan with you if we are going to take Stoers, Nine Whiskers?”
“That would be most logical, Eleven Whiskers,” she said, bowing deeply. “However, if such an invasion plan was supposed to be secret, so secret that the commanding officer of the frontline system of the axis cannot be trusted to assist in its execution, my garrison fleet’s passive posture would potentially loosen the enemy’s guard to aid in its success.”
“Clever,” Sprabr said, then snorted. “But you were wrong, and now they know of the new ships in our testing fleet.”
“Yes, Eleven Whiskers. I accept full responsibility for this failure.”
The senior commander looked away from the screen for a second before returning his attention to her. “Why now, though?”
“Eleven Whiskers?” she asked, confused.
“Why did the predators send in a spy ship now? What changed? Their fleets at Stoers are still in no position to attack — that is abundantly clear, and we haven’t done anything recently to warrant an unusual level of caution from them. So why are they doing it now?”
“I— I don’t know, Eleven Whiskers.”
“Me neither, though I believe I do have an inkling,” Sprabr admitted. He rubbed his whiskers, thinking, before he focused on Stsinkt again. “Nine Whiskers, I have decided. One of your whiskers is on probation and you will be transferred to my flagship as my new computer officer, effective immediately.”
Stsinkt looked at him speechlessly, in shock. Though technically not a promotion, the computer officer position on the grand fleet commander’s flag bridge was a highly prestigious move. The kind that opened doors in one’s career. And a probation of one whisker? Barely an inconvenience, the kind you’d give a subordinate who forgot your hatching day.
“Not what you were expecting?” he asked expectantly.
“N—no, Eleven Whiskers. I was expecting severe punishment, one that parallels the magnitude of my failure.”
His whiskers twitched. “What is the purpose of the assignment of responsibility in the Navy?”
She answered instantly. “To deter and learn from error. To weed out the weak from the strong, the incompetent from the excellent.”
“That answer is acceptable for a Five Whiskers in officer training school,” Sprabr said, shaking his head. “The real purpose of correctly assigning responsibility in the Navy, at least in my fleets, is to ensure that the Servants of the Prophecy assume the station that best utilizes their strengths and weaknesses. So, Nine Whiskers, what do you think are your strengths?”
“My strengths?” Stsinkt asked, even more confused. “I’m not sure.”
“Hmm… you’ll figure it out. In the meantime, return to Znos for re-training, and I’ll see you on my ship. Who is next on your succession chart?”
“My computer officer, Eight Whiskers Sutpra.”
The younger commander stepped up next to her commander.
Sprabr scrutinized her for a second. “Computer Officer, are you ready to assume command of the Pomniot garrison fleet?”
“Yes, Eleven Whiskers,” she replied, bowing her head as well.
“Good. You are in charge now. And if what I, and a certain State Security Director, suspect about the predators’ new behavior is correct, well… you are aware of what we do to predators who come snooping in nests where they don’t belong?”
“Very, Eleven Whiskers.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Black Site Deimos, Deimos
4 months ago
POV: “Mark”, Terran Reconnaissance Office
Director “Mark” gave a short nod to the two guards in Navy uniforms marked “MP”, and they filed out of the interrogation room. Putting his tablet on the table in front of him, he operated a few controls. The observation room window went opaque, and the blinking light on the surveillance camera went off. Seemingly not satisfied, he walked over to the camera and manually disconnected the power and signal cables.
He pulled his chair up in front of the amused alien creature waiting patiently on the other side of the table.
“Something funny?” he asked.
“You — and your outfit — you are the embodiment of your species,” the disgraced fleet master said, gesturing at the disabled devices.
“Careful?” Mark asked, sitting down.
“No, paranoid.”
Mark feigned a confused frown. “Hm… you just repeated the same word.”
“Your translator’s vocabulary doesn’t differentiate between— ah, I see, you are making humorous entertainment at my expense,” the captive said as he caught the grin on John’s face.
“Just keeping you on your paws, Ten Whiskers Ditvish,” Mark said, bringing up the notes on his tablet. “They treating you well here?”
Ditvish felt his whiskers curl. “Better than I would if the scenario is reversed— do you really care?”
“No, but Znosian prisoners who are asked that question before an interview are fifteen percent more cooperative.”
“That is… new knowledge for me,” Ditvish replied, intrigued. “I have never had to torture one of my own for information before. That is the job of State Security. Lesser Predator prisoners though—”
Mark sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately, the Republic no longer permits the development and use of enhanced interrogation equipment, but applying primitive sensory stressors to your subordinates has sometimes revealed valuable information for our scientists. Not as useful as you’d think though. Would you like to see how we do it?”
“No,” Ditvish lied, leaning back in his chair.
The director tapped his left temple, simulating where Ditvish’s mind reading implant was. “I thought we were past lying to each other, Ten Whiskers.”
He sniffed. “I imagine what you do with the others is not very different from what you do with me.”
Mark shrugged. “We don’t mistreat prisoners. We don’t need to. We can read your mind anyway.”
“Ah,” Ditvish raised a claw. “That implies you would do it if you could gain an advantage. If your so-called morality only matters to your people when it is convenient, then how is it any different from what we do?”
“Unlike you, we have a line we won’t cross.”
“We have a line too. And now we are just haggling over where the line should be,” Ditvish smiled triumphantly.
Smile. A facial expression he’d learned from the human. Unsettling. For both of them.
“Sure. All of morality is haggling over where the line is.”
“So what makes you think your morality is superior to ours?”
“We don’t murder entire planets for real estate.”
“Pointless weakness and sentimentality,” Ditvish dismissed casually.
“Yet… we captured you. And our supposed weakness earned us an alliance with the Puppers. If we wanted colonies on their fertile planets, we could simply ask. In a year, we’ve derived more economic benefit from our partnership with them than you’ve gotten from them with conquest.”
“For now, yes,” Ditvish admitted. “But in the long run, we will get to keep the planets and you will need to keep paying them for your… friendship.”
“If there is a price, it’s miniscule compared to the cost of full-scale planetary invasions. Your Dominion will never make that back in a thousand years. Especially now that you are losing. These attempted conquests of yours… they’re not just immoral. They’re inefficient. That is the real weakness of your ideology.”
Unable to counter his point, the alien changed track. “What are you even here for? I have already told you everything I knew about my Navy, with the help of your predator trickery. And I am sure my people have changed much of it by now, after learning about my defection. You are wasting your time here.”
“Want me to leave so soon?” Mark asked, crossing his arms. “Your mouth says no but your mind says arguing with me is the most interesting part of your week.”
“It is better than the boring meetings with your scientists accompanied by the commissioners,” Ditvish conceded. “I can see why your guards implement special measures to prevent us from killing ourselves.”
“Commissioners? That’s how you think of your Republic-assigned prisoner advocates?” Mark guffawed. “What do you think of me as?”
“Terran State Security,” Ditvish answered without hesitation.
Mark tilted his head. “Not quite, but fair enough.”
“You have dodged my questions with your own.”
“Indeed I have,” Mark nodded. “Deliberately. And that’s a privilege afforded to people sitting on this side of the table.”
“Not just in interrogation. I notice your people seem to do it often, sometimes to each other.”
Mark mimed pushing up imaginary glasses on his face, like one of the sociology scientists on the base would when he made an annoying point. “It is a social mechanism among individualistic species to avoid unpleasant points of conversation.”
“Now you are mocking me… somehow,” the alien pointed an accusatory paw at him. “And still dodging the question. What do you need from me?”
“Huh, and you didn’t even need a mind reader.” Mark paused for a moment, then asked, “Remember when we talked about your old mentor, Eleven Whiskers Sprabr?”
Ditvish narrowed his eyes. “I have already revealed to you everything I know about the Eleven Whiskers.”
“Perhaps you have,” the Terran said, seeming uncertain as the mind reader device confirmed his honesty.
“What has changed? Something must have. You have no reason to conceal it from me.”
“He guessed the truth about your surrender,” Mark revealed. “Which was no big deal… someone was bound to do it. But then he convinced your State Security of this. And now they are asking a lot of inconvenient questions to their turned sources in the Malgeir Navy.”
Ditvish thought for a moment and leaned back as well. “That is also good news for you, is it not?”
“How so?”
“You can use the opportunity to roll up our espionage networks among the— ah, you already knew who our spies were. Of course, that’s how you knew they were being asked questions. In that case, never mind what I said about good news — this is very bad for you Terrans and your existential paranoia.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Astute analysis, Ten Whiskers.”
“No matter what careful lies you feed through them, our people asking the questions will eventually reach the right conclusion about the sudden increase in competence and capability within the Lesser Predators.” The captive pointed to one of the Terran books they’d provided to him on his shelf. “And as your people know, you cannot fool all of the people, all of the time.”
“Wow. You sure are full of fortune cookie wisdom today, Mr. Lincoln. Anything other than the blindingly obvious?”
“No, but I will enjoy the thought of your difficulties very much when I go to sleep tonight.” The disgraced alien officer smiled smugly. “And you were right: this has indeed been the most interesting part of my week.”
