MFS PESMOD
“You’re always welcome on the bridge, High Fleet Commander,” Captain Pliont said, his eyes twinkling with a mix of respect and awe after she’d politely inquired about stepping onto his domain. “To be honest, it is an honor to have such a high-ranking officer and a war hero on board.”
Grionc offered a casual hand wave, dismissing the compliment. “Let’s not get carried away, Captain. I’m merely an exiled fleet commander who commands a flotilla of one. No offense to your well-run vessel, Captain, but she isn’t the combat command I’m used to.”
“None taken,” Captain Pliont assured her, grinning at her casualness.
“Think of me more as an interested spectator,” Grionc went on. “Or even better, consider me a guest like Ambassador Niblui here.” She gestured toward the cheerful Ambassador, who was already mingling with the familiar crew on the bridge. “We’re both just here to bear witness to this historical journey.”
Captain Pliont started to formally address her again, “High Fleet—”
“Please, just Grionc please.”
Pliont leaned back in his captain’s chair, grinning as he waved a hand around the relaxed bridge. “Alright, Grionc it is, as long as you call me Pliont. You should know, the Pesmod is primarily a civilian transport ship, so things are a bit laid-back around here. But as the highest-ranking officer on board, you’ll have full control over security protocols. Feel free to roam anywhere you like; we’ll defer to your orders in case of a combat emergency.”
Grionc nodded. “Very well, thank you… Pliont.”
Pliont’s grin faded a little. “The reason I mention this… is because of who they assigned to our escort task force.”
Grionc tilted her head in confusion. “Can you explain? Who is escorting us?”
Pliont tapped a few buttons on his console, pulling up a fleet roster for her. “Ah, I didn’t realize they neglected to tell you. I don’t blame them; I’d be embarrassed too. In its infinite wisdom, the Fleet Council has decided that because of our important mission, we need a larger than normal escort task force. In addition to our regular Gamma-class escort, the Seuvommae, they have assigned an additional seven, count them… seven, Delta-class ships to accompany us to the Terran home system.”
Grionc scratched her snout. “That… seems… not the worst decision they’ve ever made,” Grionc hedged. “What is the problem?”
Pliont sighed and explained, “The Navy officer they assigned to be in charge of the Seuvommae and the entire escort task force is a 55-year-old alpha leader named Euntribent.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Speinfoent piped in. “Nothing good.”
“Exactly,” Pliont continued. “He was my replacement when I was forced into early retirement before the war. He is as arrogant and headstrong as they come, and the only reason he’s sniffing a command position is… well… nepotism. He is the fourth cousin-cub of the current Home Fleet Commander, with all the corruption and none of the diplomatic or political talent.”
“I see…” Grionc said carefully. “Does he have any combat experience?”
“None, whatsoever. He lies about it though. His family members try their best to stash him where he can do the least damage and be the least embarrassing to their clan, and for now, it seems like that place is at the head of our escort task force,” Pliont concluded.
Grionc cleared her throat. “I understand now. That’s why you want to draw a clear line between my command and his.”
“Indeed. Hopefully, you can inspire him to reason and greater heights, but if you do not…” He shrugged. “At least the Pesmod and its crew can take orders from someone with a little sense.”
Grionc smirked at Speinfoent. “Hm… looks like our presence aboard the Pesmod just became somewhat useful in the next couple weeks.”
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“Blink emergence in 3… 2… 1…”
Grionc felt a tingling sensation — imagined, of course, as blinking is not noticeable by mere biology as long as the ship did not explode — as the mesmerizing starfield seemed to implode, snapping back into the more familiar stars and planets as their ship shifted back into normal space.
Captain Pliont pivoted toward the sensor officer. “Sensors, complete post-blink and report when ready.”
It only took the sensor officer 40 minutes to complete most of the preparations and come up with a status report. “Binary star system with six planets and an assortment of planetary bodies. Everything is as we expected from the charts. No other ships detected yet. We’re still re-calibrating our radar systems.”
Turning to the guests on his bridge, Captain Pliont gestured to the bridge window with his paws. “Welcome to what the friendly Grass Eaters call the Sirius system. They claimed this system is the interior of their defense network, but we didn’t see any signs of them in the previous few systems we visited. Then again, if what they said about their capabilities was accurate… we probably wouldn’t unless they want to be seen.”
Grionc chimed in, carefully choosing her words to sound more like a suggestion than an order, “What if we stretch our sensors to their limits? Do you think we can see how well their secrets hold up again, knowing they are there?”
“Aye, High Fleet Commander,” Captain Pliont acknowledged. “You heard her, crew. Crank those scanners up to eleven. Full sweep, all directions!”
Then he leaned closer and whispered to Grionc, “To be honest, I’m skeptical. Last time, they managed to dock onto our hull without so much as a beep on the radar.”
Grionc whispered back, “True, but if I read your report right, they used a decoy to distract you to send an infiltrator on board. I suspect we may be able to detect them when we have full power radar in all directions, and they get close enough. Our sensor suites on the Seiddiu did detect them at under a thousand kilometers.”
“Fair point, High— Grionc,” Captain Pliont conceded. “We’ll see.”
She added, “And unless Alpha Leader Euntribent and his crews are snoozing at the wheel, our escorts are probably scanning for them too. Their military radars and power plants are more powerful than ours. An extra set of snouts can’t hurt here.”
The minutes ticked away without a blip on the radar. Grionc started to think their newfound Terran friends might be running fashionably late when suddenly, the comm station erupted with excitement.
The senior communications officer hesitated, visibly puzzled. “Uh, Captain, we’re receiving a comm handshake, but it’s not from our escorts.”
Pliont raised an eyebrow. “Put it through. Transmit it to the escort task force, too. I’m sure they’ll want to hear what the new aliens have to say.”
The face of a Terran materialized on the main bridge screen. Grionc squinted. It looked like one of the officers who had made initial contact with Niblui, but Grionc was still having a hard time telling their faces apart so far. Seeing the prey-like animals on screen, a couple of the crew members momentarily raised their hackles in fear before immediately suppressing their overt bigotry in embarrassment. Grionc was glad to see Niblui and her staff remain perfectly composed. They’re just another alien species after all, she told herself, and most aliens turned out to be friendly.
Well… most.
“Welcome to the Sirius system, my Malgeir friends in the Pesmod. And your escorts. Alpha Leader Euntribent, greetings, hope I pronounced that right. I’m Vice Admiral Amelia Waters, in case you don’t remember our faces. I wouldn’t be offended; personally, I’m pretty bad with new faces, too.” The Terran officer grinned at the screen. “I notice you’ve all been looking for us. I’d like to thank you all for this opportunity in stealth ops exercises. No residual heat on our radiators to expose ourselves to you this time like the poor Nile did back in Oettro… To save you all the suspense, we’re hovering about two hundred klicks directly ahead of the Pesmod. Transponders going live… now.”
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Before Amelia could even finish her sentence, the Pesmod’s sensor officer almost leapt out of her chair as new dots appeared on her screen. “Two new ships detected! Two hundred kilometers in front of us, Captain!”
“Bravo, Sensor Officer,” Pliont drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Excellent effort.”
The sensor officer’s face turned pink.
Grionc stepped in to save her ego, shaking her ears. “Even our Navy escorts didn’t see them in time. Their sensor invisibility technology is remarkable. Completely in a class of its own: even the Znosian hibernation infiltration ships can’t compete.”
The Terran admiral continued on the screen, “If you can share with us your security codes, we will integrate our sensor data with yours and lead you to Sol.”
Pliont was directing his communication officer to send over the codes when Euntribent in his Gamma-class escort directly patched into the Pesmod’s communication system.
The screen flickered and there was Euntribent, the alpha leader. His brown fur was immaculate, but the way he wore his uniform, with a button conspicuously unbuttoned, screamed a level of informality that would have given real combat fleet commanders an aneurysm. He cast a disdainful look around the Pesmod’s bridge. “We will not be sending over our military-grade security codes. These aliens haven’t earned the privilege to receive them.”
Grionc almost growled, her ears pinning back in agitation. “Alpha Leader, what do you think you are doing? This is a civilian-led diplomatic mission, not a raiding party.”
Euntribent tilted his head haughtily, flicking his tail for emphasis. “Yes, but this is a matter of fleet security and thus under my jurisdiction, not yours. My decision is final. Our escort ships must keep our codes secret from the Grass Eaters. As a civilian ship under your command, the Pesmod can transmit your codes to them if it pleases you. I doubt the savages can learn much from your obsolete diplomatic skiff anyway.”
With that final snub, he severed the transmission.
Pliont glanced at Grionc, his eyes seeking guidance.
“I already hate him. I wish they sent another commander for the escort task force,” she lamented bitterly, her whiskers twitching irritably. Pausing for a beat, she continued, more formally this time. “Captain Pliont, you have my permission to send over the codes for this ship.”
Pliont eagerly stepped up to his console, paws dancing over keys as he operated the secure communication channel. “Admiral Waters, we are sending over the codes for the Pesmod. Our escorts are… experiencing technical difficulties and can’t transmit their codes at this time. Please do not be offended.”
Amelia lazily waved her hand over the screen and grinned. “Please, call me Amelia. And that’s completely understandable. Tell Commander Euntribent that our engineering staff are ready to board his ships and will be happy to assist him with any technical issues he is experiencing.”
Then, she winked at the camera. Actually winked. Like they were sharing some joke the uptight commander wouldn’t understand.
Ambassador Niblui stepped forward and chuckled nervously. “Um… hehe… there is no need to trouble yourselves. We would not burden you with these trivialities.”
Amelia gave a nonchalant shrug. Moments later, information came flooding in from the Terran ships. The two Terran ships — named the Mississippi and Nile — showed up immediately with data about their vector and detailed specs.
Speinfoent leaned close to Grionc and whispered urgently, “I recognize that script: one of those is the ship that our Seiddiu engaged at Oettro!”
Hundreds of other objects flickered into view, in cascades, from navigational hazards labeled with exotic Terran names to objects as tiny as a Malgeir paw. Several dozens of artificial objects appeared nearby: defensive batteries, detection buoys, spy platforms… each neatly tagged and categorized.
Then Grionc noticed that her eight escorts suddenly had a lot more information attached to their icons, including highly secret data about everything from their weapon systems to their drive acceleration curves that not even the civilian Pesmod crew was supposed to know, not to mention these aliens. She grinned and remarked, “Oh, Euntribent will not be happy about this.”
Pliont rolled his eyes and added, “He’s probably taking it out on his poor crew as we speak.”
Finally, after all the smaller objects appeared, a new star system was marked on the ship’s long distance navigational computers, replacing the Malgeir’s meaningless numeric designation for it with the simple Terran name, Sol.
“Looks like we have our destination. We’ll follow you in, Amelia. See you on the other side,” Niblui said.
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The blink to Sol was quick: a few days to cross the Sirius system, and another few hours for the blink. As their ship flickered into existence at Sol’s system limit, countless new icons appeared on the sensor station like a fireworks display. Planetary bodies, navigational hazards, dense debris fields, restricted areas…etc. To Grionc’s trained eyes, it almost looked disturbingly like… the aftermath of a warzone.
Unlike her, Speinfoent did not have the tact to keep this observation to himself. “Whoa, would you look at that! Debris as far as the eye can see! Do you think they’d pose a danger to our ships?”
Pliont replied, “Nah, we should be fine. They seem to have done their homework. Looks like they have carefully marked the areas that are off-limits and we can just steer clear of those.”
As they passed through the orbit of Sol-6, Grionc noted that there was a large volume of yellow indicated on the sensors where the planet marked Saturn was. Intrigued, she decided to open a comm channel with their Terran guides.
Amelia’s voice crackled over the radio as she received the question. “Hah, that’s the Saturn Red Zone. Just a heads-up: your color-coding system is different from ours. For us, red is danger. For you, yellow. So that big yellow blob on your sensor maps? Definitely a place you want to avoid.”
“What’s in there?” Speinfoent couldn’t help but ask.
Amelia squinted at her the camera, seemingly trying to put a face to the voice. “Nothing good… Gamma Leader. Pirates, criminals, terrorists, and extremists. The people who don’t fit in with the rest of society, along with enough civilian settlers living there to make hunting the real bad guys down a pain.”
Speinfoent’s response was a perplexed, “I… see,” although he clearly didn’t.
Amelia chuckled and flashed him a confident smile. “Don’t worry about it, Pupper. Your ships will be fine. The trouble doesn’t usually come out of the Red Zone because they know we’ll just swat them like flies. And if they do get suicidal, trust me, our ships will take care of them before you even know you were at risk… Now, if you peek your optics out toward your bow, you’ll see we’re entering the Asteroid Belt Economic Zone soon. There’s where we put a lot of our orbital industries.”
Grionc glanced at the sensor board and noticed a sprinkling of civilian ship blips popping up here and there. Space was big; the area wasn’t crowded or anything, but the Pesmod actually came within visual range of a couple of ships once or twice.
Niblui, catching sight of them too, asked lightly, “Are those ships just here to greet us? We are open to talking to your people.”
Amelia chuckled again. “Hah, you can try. Good luck with that. Those are automated logistics ships. At best, they’ll reply to you with the most yawn-worthy small talk or start reciting technical specs. Trust me, if they were crewed, they would not be allowed near us.”
That reply raised more questions for Grionc than it answered, and she filed it away in her brain for future conversation.
After another day, they finally reached the orbit of the Terran home planet, the third planet in the system. Amelia gave them some time to take in the magnificent view before leading them towards their sole moon, Luna. Grionc knew that Terra did not look much different from most of the colonized planets in the Federation, but the fact that these aliens were so paranoid to keep themselves hidden for years yet were willing to show them their home planet: it meant that some level of trust had been achieved without the Malgeir knowing it.
It felt like passing a test she didn’t even know they were taking.
Amelia’s voice buzzed through the radio as their ship settled into Luna’s orbit. “Home sweet home. Shuttles are on the way for your delegates and anyone who may want to join us on Luna. Will any personnel from your escort ships require transport? Your spacers are all welcome to join us on the surface.”
Hearing the question on the remote line, the escort leader Euntribent directly connected to the Pesmod without acknowledging the Terrans at all. “Our crews will not be joining you civilians on the Grass Eater world. We will stand watch with vigilance, as the task force has been charged to do. We wish you good luck on your pointless mission.”
Speinfoent leaned in next to Grionc and muttered under his breath. “What is his problem?”
“Just wait. I think this is him being friendly,” Grionc joked back in a low voice.
Unfazed by the tension, Ambassador Niblui addressed the Terran graciously. “Only the Pesmod will require transport, but thank you for the generous offer.”
“If any of your escorts change their minds, the invitation remains open. Alternatively, they’re also free to roam and observe the system as they please, as long as they stay out of the red— uh— yellow zones marked on your navigation maps. Automated systems and mines may engage trespassers without warning in those areas,” Amelia warned.
She paused dramatically before continuing on the open communication line. “As for your escort crews, it would be remiss of me not to let them know that we have several facilities in the duty-free transit zone that are specifically compatible with Malgeir physiology, and our government is paying for your crews as guests. We have spas, entertainment studios, an open bar, a Soerru Steakhouse alien fusion restaurant with part of its menu and ingredients copied from its namesake in Malgeirgam…”
Ah, Grionc smirked inwardly, the Terrans have quite the sense of humor and understand the concept of “port leave”. I wonder how long it would take before the crews bottled up on Euntribent’s ships started whispering about mutiny.
“Well, let’s get going, shall we?” Niblui caught Grionc’s eye and winked, clearly reading between the lines as well. “It’s been a while since I’ve had some decent food. No offense to you Navy people, but ship food is— ugh, it’s ship food. At this point, I’m open to whatever they feed us, even if they start serving us grass.”