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Grass Eaters 3 | 28 | Erroneous Assumptions
🕑 Added 2024-12-27 16:47:01 +0000 UTCTRNS Crete, Prinoe (22,000 Ls)
POV: Carla Bauernschmidt, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Rear Admiral)
Carla stared slack-jawed at her command console. “They— they what? Is that— is that what I think it is?”
Beth examined the data feed for a second longer. “Kill codes, ma’am. They must have remote— remote kill codes for— for their own ships. Preliminary analysis says it’s the inertial compensators, the engines, or the ship’s central computers, in that order of likelihood.”
“Did— did we get a copy of the broadcast? Please tell me—”
“It appears to have been a light speed transmission. The Sonora is observing at the system blink limit. We will get the full transmission in an hour even if the Resistance refuses to hand it over.”
“Mein Gott.”
“Yeah…”
“Kill codes.”
“Yeah.”
“Kill. Codes.”
“Yup.”
Beth shrugged.
“How has none of the dozens or so species they fought against not… exploited that?”
“Maybe they’ve never had to use them before? We didn’t find them in the ones we captured. It may be some kind of clever exploit our computers didn’t see?”
“Well… we know now.”
“That we do.”
There was a long moment of silence on the bridge as they all contemplated the implications.
Doing his job as executive officer, Speinfoent cut into her thoughts. “What about the Ace, Admiral?”
Carla tried to keep the schadenfreude from her face. “What about her? The Buns didn’t get her, right? I’m sure they’ve got it all handled.”
Speinfoent read the incoming message on his screen. “They’re demanding— requesting help with… processing their newly captured ships. And search and rescue. They have a squadron’s worth of casualties.”
Glancing around at her bridge crew, most of whom now looked conspicuously occupied with their tasks, she sighed. “I suppose it would be bad karma for us to hang them all out to dry. Get me the Sonora.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dominion State Security HQ, Znos-4
POV: Svatken, Znosian Dominion State Security (Position: Director)
“There’s good news, and there’s bad news.”
Sprabr sighed wearily. “What’s the bad news?”
“We lost most of the Cretae defense fleet, and the commander of the Crissoel defense fluffle — Nine Whiskers Slotkro — insists that she can’t hold the system when the Great Predators come knocking there next.”
“She is… probably right about that. I recommend we order her to withdraw all the way to Gructons.”
Svatken didn’t even bother to pretend she heard his suggestion. “I’ve ordered her to defend the system to her last breath, or we prune her bloodline and her place in the Prophecy.”
“That… is certainly bad news. What is the good news?”
“I’m not done.” Svatken continued, “There is more bad news. With the loss of Cretae, our supply transports can no longer go through the shorter northern route to Grantor. We’ve directed them to take the safer southern route, but because we’ve optimized them for the previous route, a quarter of them don’t have enough blink range to get past the Pemvuns-Stoxspontis connection to get to Grantor without a costly refit. You’ll have to do with approximately three quarters of the supplies for now until we sort that out.”
“That is… certainly inconvenient,” Sprabr commented. Then, he muttered, “Not that it will matter much once they take Crissoel and cut us off completely.”
Svatken ignored the blatant defeatism she’d come to expect from him. “There is also significant good news: we’ve captured about three dozen of the Great Predators’ people during our defense battle in Cretae.”
“Captured?! Great Predator prisoners?! How?”
“That is not something you— it is a state secret.”
“Director, there is a reason why Dominion Navy regulation requires all secrets be shared with high level commanders. Transparency and responsibility are our advantages against the predators. Though State Security certainly has the right to withhold information, there is a reason it has traditionally used that privilege sparingly.”
Svatken looked at his serious image on the console and reluctantly gave in.
What did it matter? The predators have probably figured it out already.
“The predators tried to attack us with our own ships. We broadcast a State Security remote kill code to disable parts of their ships at a critical moment during the battle. And with the sacrifice of many good Navy spacers, we whisked the prisoners out of the system before they could get their own hiding ships in there.”
“Excuse me?” Sprabr looked like he couldn’t believe his own ears.
“I said, we whisked the prisoners out of the system before their hiding ships can—”
“I meant before that.”
“Oh, we broadcasted a State Security remote kill code to disable parts of their ships at a critical moment during the battle.”
“Ah, okay, then I heard you right the first time,” he said. He took a deep breath. “There are State Security remote kill codes for our ships?!”
“Yes. Just our combat ships.”
“Oh, okay. Only our most important warships.”
Svatken nodded. “Yes. It wouldn’t be very meaningful for the security of the state for us to rig up the unimportant ones, would it?”
Sprabr sighed. “I don’t suppose I may know… why? Or why I wasn’t informed of this?”
“No, you may not.”
“But— but— but the predators will now just use those codes against us!”
Svatken shrugged. “Like I said, they are necessary for the security of the Dominion state.”
“But… that’s— that’s absurd! Our enemies can exploit this, and there would be nothing we can do! Is it even possible to remove them from our ships?!”
“No.”
“No — as in, it’s technically impossible, or no — as in, State Security will not authorize their removal?”
“Both.”
Sprabr struggled to find his words. “That’s absolutely— are you out of your— excuse me, Director, but let me be clear, we absolutely need to remove these kill codes from our combat ships, or the next time one of our ships faces a predator, they will throw that trick right back into our faces!”
“No, Eleven Whiskers. We are not idiots. We pushed a software update out to all our ships as soon as we used that code. The kill code has now changed.”
“That— that is— it’s a kill switch embedded in a regular software update?!”
“Yes. And no, you may not have the new codes.”
Sprabr opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it with a sigh. “That’s not— that is not even on my top fifty list of desires,” he replied after a few heartbeats. “What if the predators discover our new kill codes?”
“They won’t,” she replied confidently. “We used secure, physical couriers. And they clearly haven’t so far. Or they wouldn’t have allowed the trick to work against them.”
“Well, now that they know it’s there…”
“This matter is not something you should concern yourself with, Eleven Whiskers,” Svatken replied calmly with a finality that made it clear that he was not to bring up further objections or questions.
Sprabr paused for a moment, as if gathering himself before asking, “What about the prisoners we captured? Have they revealed anything important?”
“We’ve captured live specimens of nine Great Predators. The remaining were captured prisoners— of apostates who they were using to operate our captured ships. The apostates have been executed.”
“We— we weren’t going to question the— the apostates?!”
“You are full of erroneous assumptions today, Eleven Whiskers,” she admonished him. “Try again.”
“I take full responsibility for my impatience, Director,” he bowed. “It has been a long day.”
“As you should. Your responsibility is noted,” she declared coolly. “And we did question the apostates thoroughly. They gave the answers to us willingly before we recycled them. As for the Great Predator prisoners, we have broken a couple of them. But it is a matter of time; they will all break.”
Sprabr leaned forward into the camera. “Did they reveal anything? About their future strategic plans and…”
“Yes, their current mission is to invade until they get to the Spofke system, at what they call our pre-Granti-war border. They plan to take its orbits, bring up their orbital infrastructure, and produce combat robots until they can conquer and settle the system.”
He frowned. “That seems… unlikely. Or incomplete information. Their plans must be more extensive than that. Or at least more sophisticated. Perhaps that is deliberate disinformation.”
“No, they are very insistent that is the extent of what they have planned. In fact, they barely have an idea how to even achieve their limited invasion plans of Spofke.”
“It’s… not very like them to do that. Why would they only go for a single border system of the Dominion? They have the means and opportunity to be going for more. I suspect they are going for critical shipyards or facilities in the heart of the Dominion.”
“You cast doubt on the thoroughness of our interrogation?” she asked, her eyes gleaming dangerously.
“No, but it has not been much time. Perhaps the prisoners are still covertly resisting?” he suggested.
“Perhaps,” she admitted. After a second of thought, she decided, “We will torture them more to see if they will reveal such plans.”
“Good.” Sprabr nodded. “It doesn’t hurt to be thorough.”
Finally… an agreement with the obstinate fleet master.
She smiled. “Not for us, anyway.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
ZNS 4130, Crissoel (13,500 Ls)
POV: Slotkro, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Nine Whiskers)
Get your flight suits ready, that alarm ain’t no test,
The Ace saluted her pilots in their fireproof vest,
They launched into the void, their fighters primed for war,
The Free Zone fights as one!
“What in the Prophecy is that rabid predator screeching?” Slotkro snapped at her computer officer.
“No idea, Nine Whiskers. The two captured squadrons masquerading as our ships appear to be broadcasting some kind of pre-battle war cry on the open FTL spectrum. We’re monitoring it for intelligence. Maybe it is some kind of code.”
“Good thinking, Computer Officer. See if the Digital Guide can make sense of it.”
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN,
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN,
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN,
The Free Zone fights as one!
“Nine Whiskers, may I ask a question about State Security?”
Slotkro looked at her computer officer with half surprise and half weariness. “A question about State Security?”
“Yes, Nine Whiskers… I was studying our reconnaissance records for the most recent battle. Why didn’t the Director give the Cretae defense fleet and Nine Whiskers Fskokh the software update that changed their ships’ kill codes before allowing them to activate it on the captured ships controlled by the enemy?”
Slotkro shrugged. “Tactical surprise, maybe? He was ordered not to even tell his other captains about it, only to prepare for a possible contingency.”
That apparently wasn’t enough to quench his curiosity. “Yeah, but if he had done it securely, wouldn’t that have given us a massive advantage and perhaps an even more major victory over the abominations?”
She wasn’t quite sure how to answer, so she settled for the honest answer, “I don’t know. The Director must have her reasons.”
“Is it possible that she… doesn’t have any Navy advisors with her that can—”
“Computer Officer, if you think an error lies in the way the State Security Office communicated and released that state secret…”
He bowed hastily. “Of course not, Nine Whiskers. I’m just wondering—”
“… they would have taken full responsibility for it,” she finished loudly.
Across the light years, we burn and blink to distant stars,
Where alien foes await us in star systems near and far,
Our squadrons locked in combat as we fight them night and day,
The Free Zone fights as one!
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN,
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN,
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN,
The Free Zone fights as one!
Beneath the moons of Jupiter, the battle’s heat,
Our rockets flare like stars in night, the drums of war we beat,
Against our unity, the enemies must retreat,
The Free Zone fights as one!
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN—
“Is there a way to verify that we’ve correctly applied the latest software update, Computer Officer?” Slotkro asked restlessly.
“From the diagnostic, it appears that we are on the correct version number.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“What are you asking?”
Slotkro hesitated for a moment. But she had to know. “Is there a way to verify that the old kill codes won’t wreck our inertial compensators when we broadcast them this time?”
“Not without activating it to make sure,” he shook his head, then quickly added, “I take full responsibility for not adding this to our verification process.”
She sighed. “Your responsibility is accepted. Send the proposed process modification out to the relay ship at the blink limit. Perhaps it will be useful for them in the next system we’ll have to defend.”
In the shadows of asteroids, we plan our next attack,
Our sensors are a-buzzing, there’ll be no turning back,
The enemies waver as their numbers start to thin,
The Free Zone fights as one!
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN,
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN,
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN,
The Free Zone fights as one!
“Nine Whiskers, they’re almost in maximum powered range if we can kill their mobility now.”
“Broadcast the kill codes,” she ordered.
There was a brief moment of worry as he entered the sequence into the radio. But her ship’s systems held up. The update worked.
Her relief was short-lived. A moment later, her heart sank as she read the battlemap.
“The kill codes are not working on them either,” her computer officer reported.
“Maybe we didn’t do it right?” she asked hopefully.
“I’ve run through the procedure and broadcast it twice, Nine Whiskers. They must have fixed it on their end too. Somehow.”
“I suppose they are as adept at adapting as we are.”
“It appears so, Nine Whiskers. What should we do?”
Slotkro strapped herself into her command chair, closed her eyes, and began to chant the Prayer of Death, “My eternal gratitude to the Prophecy for this insignificant life of service…”
From Earth to Mars to Titan, Ceres, Ganymede,
For the good people of Sol, our fighters freely bleed.
Attacked our habitats and stations, the Buns will regret,
The Free Zone fights as one!
Vive, vive, spacers of the SRN…
++++++++++++++++++++++++
TRNS Sonora, Crissoel (22,000 Ls)
POV: Catarina Ibarra, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Rear Admiral)
“What? It’s a perfectly catchy tune,” Kyrylo asked, humming along with the radio despite Catarina’s dirty side-eye. “Terrorists can make some banger songs too.”
“You know that they just replaced all the places it used to say Reps and jackboots with aliens and Buns, right?” she asked dryly.
“Yeah, and honestly, it was catchier before the recent… lyrical update. Did you know the original song they stole this one from was an old song called the Battle Hymn of the Republic?”
Catarina tilted her head. “I’m pretty sure that meant another republic from the nation’s era, not the Terran Republic that—”
“Whatever, nerd. It’s my Basic Terran Right to listen to trashy Resistance music whenever I want—”
“You signed away those rights when you joined the Navy a couple decades ago!”
“Our battle rings through empty space, to every distant moon,” he started to sing along.
“Don’t make me take away your radio controls,” she warned.
“Our victory lights the galaxy, triumph will be our tune. Together we are mighty and WE’LL BATTLE ’TIL WE’VE WON. THE FREE ZONE FIGHTS— hey no, turn it back on I’m listening for important enemy intelligence!”
Comments
AnAbsoluteVillain
Buns never bothered consider they caught the varsity team. God sakes they have a pregame cheerleader squad. Wonder if they will have a half time show. Krissy sophie duet maybe? 😂
ColonelCodfish
Not just any republic! THE Republic! USA! USA! USA!
