MALGEIRGAM, MALGEIRU
Grionc heaved her freshly earned medal into her duffel bag with less care than she might’ve tossed a piece of scrap metal. It landed with a thud, a sound far too weighty for the flimsy honor it represented.
Looking back, she really should’ve seen it coming.
The Navy had to explain why it lost more ships to the High Council, and there was no better way to do it than making heroes out of the survivors. They were honored, their participation in the “victory” was not questioned, and the Navy didn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of the truth. Even better that the incompetent commander who made the stupid decision didn’t manage to stick around; no, he was a courageous martyr for the Malgeir people. What a story!
Grionc considered publicly protesting that decision, but the Terrans cautioned her against it… Euntribent had friends in high places. They recommended that she held her tongue until she regained command of Sixth Fleet, which was already going to be a difficult task; the newest victory opened doors, but politicking in the Fleet Council was never as simple as that.
Luckily, she had the support of her former subordinates, for what that was worth to the Fleet Council anyway. The whole command staff of the Oengro rallied behind her, outside the decision chamber.
“Your reinstatement hearing is in ten minutes. I hope you are ready,” Vastae’s voice cut through her thoughts as she turned to find him in the crowd.
The Fleet Council’s snail-paced decision-making had worked in her favor for once. Due to a disagreement between the Home Fleet Commander and a couple of other ambitious officers who also had friends in high places, Sixth Fleet still did not have a Fleet Commander months after she was stripped of command.
The committee, nine rotating Fleet Council members tasked with selecting a new commander, hadn’t yet settled on a candidate yet. Rumor had it, though, some hopefuls were on the brink of securing enough votes.
“Did you do your research on the committee as I asked?” Grionc asked, eyes sharp.
“Yes, Fleet Command— ma’am,” Vastae corrected himself, beaming the files to her datapad. “We’ve got the files on all nine members.”
She scrolled through the data with swift, practiced flicks of her wrist. The bulk of the information was just a repeat of what the Terrans had covertly handed to her, but there were pieces here and there that didn’t quite match up. Officially, the identities of the committee members were supposed to be a secret, but they were one of the worst kept secrets on Malgeiru. The Terrans certainly had no problems finding out who they were.
Vastae leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “You can count on three votes right away. That’s committee members 2, 5, and 9. They’ve somehow managed to keep their snouts above the stink of the Fleet Council, and they will make the decision based on competence. You are by far more qualified than any other applicant, so they will probably vote for you if you demonstrate your qualifications.”
Grionc nodded a quick thank-you, glad for his faith in her. Though she couldn’t fault their methods, the week she spent with the Terrans had not been the best for her self-confidence.
Vastae continued, “That’s about all the good news there is. Member 8 will vote for whoever pays them the most, and well… we’ve already spent every credit we had left in the Sixth Fleet’s general fund to get you an expedited hearing, so there’s not much we can do about their vote.”
“You shouldn’t have,” she mumbled softly.
Vastae waved her comment off and plowed on. “Of the remaining, members 1 and 3 are relatives of the Home Fleet Commander, whose nephew is one of the other candidates.”
“I suppose there’s no chance I can convince them on the merits of my case either?”
Vastae grinned momentarily at her joke. “Unfortunately not. And more bad news is we’re pretty sure members 4 and 6 are dining at the Home Fleet Commander’s table now too. Or at least that’s what we heard last night.”
“So that leaves committee member number 7. What’s their deal?” Grionc’s eyes flicked to the last unknown.
“They’re backing a special interest: the Granti remnant population. Their Navy-in-exile put up a candidate too, but I don’t think they’re being too serious about it. Just throwing one of theirs in the ring for show.”
“That sounds like I can sway them if I make some concessions to the Granti? Maybe give one of them a squadron command position? That’s not a bad idea anyway. We can certainly try to reconstitute Squadron 4 after what happened to their ships over Datsot—”
Vastae shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be worth a try. This is my first time dipping my paws into these treacherous waters and let me just say I’m not finding it an enjoyable experience so far.”
“Fair enough, Vastae,” Grionc acknowledged. “But even if I can pull member 7 to my side, and I get the three that you think will vote for me on merit, that still leaves me one vote short.”
“Yes, that seems to be where we are,” Vastae admitted, frowning. “We tried to brainstorm some ways to get us some quick money last night, but nothing came up. Do you have any ideas?”
Grionc shrugged, almost nonchalantly. “I guess I shall simply have to make a compelling case for the committee.”
“What did the Grass Eaters tell you to do? Didn’t you say they would give us a paw up on this one?” Vastae’s whiskers twitched with curiosity.
“They did,” Grionc replied, her tone even. “They said I should simply go into the meeting, do my best to present my case, and the committee will be convinced by the strength of my qualifications.”
Vastae chortled. “Present your case and the strength of your qualifications… These Grass Eaters clearly have zero experience with our Navy, and they must be as naïve as Tactical Officer Speinfoent, or should I say, Sphinx…”
Grionc chuckled slyly. “I wonder who leaked that story.”
Vastae’s gaze grew distant, thoughtful. “I think we should go the other route. Maybe we can find a way to cobble together some credits for member 8. If we mothball Squadron 12 and get an advance loan on the maintenance credits—”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Grionc’s paw shot up, squeezing his shoulders. “Don’t you dare, Vastae. If this fails, we’ll find another way. I’m not ready to start compromising the combat readiness of Sixth Fleet to pay bribes just yet. Let’s just see how this hearing pans out…”
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Stood tall before the committee, her uniform crisp, the medals on her chest reflecting the dim light of the council chamber, Grionc explained to the committee honestly what the Terrans told her: the war was going badly, they were on the brink of defeat, and the Terrans had entrusted her with a plan to stave off defeat and go back on the offensive.
“That is an interesting proposal, High Fleet Commander Grionc,” committee member 2 said, his face covered with a black veil as a formality. Grionc pretended not to know who he was. “Assuming we buy your premise, can you explain this plan?”
Taking a deep breath that filled her lung with the recycled air of the chamber, she began to lay out the proposal. “The Terrans call this War Plan Anaconda.”
She laid out the plan in detail. She didn’t leave out a single contingency. The Terran war plan had so many of those, so many branches and considerations… it was like nothing else she had ever heard. Almost like they could see the future. Grionc hoped the committee would be as impressed by it as she was.
When she was done, member 9 adjusted his veil and coughed. “I see. I remain skeptical of the premise, but the plan seems comprehensive. However, you still have not explained what makes you more qualified to execute it than the other… choices who have come before this committee.”
“I have been with our new alien friends. I have an idea how they think and operate. Some parts of this plan will require their participation, so we will need a commander who understands our allies,” she said her tone even, rehearsing the line she had practiced countless times. “It’s either me, or we waste precious weeks while another learns to think like a Terran. And they would need to go to the Terran home system to—”
Before she could continue, the first committee member cut her off, “Enough! I’ve heard enough of this. The rest of you can’t seriously believe in these Grass Eaters. The first element of this— this war plan is to abandon Datsot, a core world of the Federation. Have you all forgotten our responsibilities?”
There was a murmur of agreement. Member 9 tilted his head. “That is the part which makes me hesitate too. High Fleet Commander, can you go over that part again for us?”
Suppressing a sigh, Grionc reset her stance and delved deeply into the Terran explanation for why Datsot was ultimately not defensible.
As for the skepticism, she did not blame the committee. Not one bit.
After all, she had not been easily convinced either.
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Grionc blinked her eyes to adjust to the brighter outdoors.
“How did it go?” Vastae asked excitedly as she exited the chamber.
A smile creeped up on her face. “I’m back!”
Vastae punched his paws into the air in triumph, then lifted her up into the air in elation.
“Woohoo!” Vastae celebrated. “So, who ended up voting for you?”
“No idea. I guess they did buy my case,” she replied, smiling to hide her own confusion. “By the way, where did Speinfoent go? I haven’t seen him all day.”
“Bah. He went down to Bostruisa. I heard he’s got a social life now.”
“Oh, you mean that local celebrity that he was photographed having dinner with last time? Among other things…” she noted innocently.
“You saw that in the communication net too?!” Vastae gave her a mockingly severe look. “We’re not supposed to gossip about subordinates, High Fleet Commander.”
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Granti High-Councilor-in-Exile Guinspiu paced rhythmically beside the cascading indoor waterfall of her home. The trickling water was supposed to calm her nerves, but instead, she felt a sudden chill as the fur on the back of her neck stood on end. Spinning around, her gaze locked onto the glossy visor of the familiar armored figure.
This time, though, she kept her cool, refusing to give the impression that she was startled. To think that she would be taken by surprise by a smaller creature of prey was beyond unsettling. Guinspiu had been hoping that her unshaken demeanor might eventually deter the Grass Eater operator from these pointless theatrics.
It hadn’t happened so far.
For a split second, she contemplated asking her hosts to upgrade her security system, but she doubted that would slow the Terran down. Would he even notice it?
“Good evening, Hersh,” she sighed in reluctant acknowledgment.
“And to you, Councilor Guinspiu,” Hersh said, taking off his helmet to tuck it under his arm. “We understand that you have held up your end of the bargain. Two extra yea votes on the committee, as we agreed.”
“Indeed, I have,” she nodded firmly. “The High Fleet Commander is a qualified candidate, and it is in the best interest of both our species.”
“I can’t agree more,” he said with a hint of respect. “But we had to be sure. And regardless of your pure motives, you will be compensated appropriately for your services. The credits have been routed to the account as you requested. Our operators have set up several dummy accounts and relays… anyway, I’m not an accountant and I didn’t ask for all the details. Just know that it is completely untraceable.”
“Good,” she replied with satisfaction, “I promised committee member 8 those credits, and my word is always good.”
“As for the other, more personal request you had…” Hersh continued, his tone serious.
“My mind is unchanged. What we discussed last time, that is still my wish,” she insisted.
Hersh exhaled slowly. “I don’t suppose—”
“No, I know it is risky. Maybe my mate is long dead, but I would still like to know,” she said earnestly.
“A promise is a promise, Councilor. We will do our best,” Hersh answered.
Her eyes shone with a mix of hope and sorrow. “I wouldn’t ask you to put your team in unnecessary danger if not for how important this is to me, Terran. I’ve thought about this for years. I know that many… don’t survive the camps. But he was strong, so I held out hope even after more than four years. And if he is no longer alive… at least I’ll know I’ve done my best.”
Hersh offered a comforting pat on her shoulder. “Worry not, Councilor. We will find your mate, and we will get him back for you, one way or another. That’s a Republic promise.”
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ATLAS, LUNA
“Anyway, my deployment’s been redirected. And thank God because that backup plan to take out the trash at the Malgeir Fleet Council was a pretty shaky one to start with,” Mark said, glancing at Kara and John.
“Take out the trash? What are you, a North American mafioso in a twentieth century movie? I’m still not sure why they keep sending a dinosaur like you on these missions,” Kara teased. “We aren’t that short on operatives.”
He feigned offense at the barb. “Hey! Those movies are classic, and you can’t convince me otherwise. On the bright side, it looks like Hersh scored us a new rescue mission.”
“Rescue mission? I wasn’t aware the Resistance took any high-level hostages recently,” Kara said, puzzled.
Mark replied, “No, no, no. This is much, much dumber than that. Hersh says we need to go deep into Znosian territory and rescue some Granti’s mate on Grantor.”
Kara’s eyes widened. “Wait, did you say Grantor? Because I thought I heard you mention the alien-occupied planet of Grantor, at least… nine blinks behind enemy lines.”
“Hey, you’re catching on,” Mark confirmed, grimacing. “It’ll be all our asses on the line too, so I want you two to take the lead on the planning for this one. At least there’s no urgency on it and we can squeeze it in for a few months down the line.”
Kara thought for a moment. “We can always just burn the asset. Or better yet, we go in, get eyes on him with a bug, take a picture of him, send it back for proof of life, and we can get the Granti High Councilor to do whatever we want for the remainder of her life. Or rather, the remainder of his life since he’s the one stuck in a Znosian concentration camp and all. We don’t really need to rescue him at all. Or… wait a second, they don’t have impersonation technology detection, do they? We just rig up a few photos, I bet even a civilian-rated intelligence model can—”
“Yeah, that was my first instinct,” Mark admitted. “But… it’s nice to have the representative of an entire species in your pocket for a rainy day, even if they are down on their luck for now. Call it… investing in the future. Just treat it like a regular Red Zone rescue mission, except the enemies are dumber, blinder, and mostly unaware of our existence. Oh, and if we get caught, a xenocidal enemy might figure out where we live and come knocking at our door with less than honorable intentions, so you know, we gotta bring those oh-so-fun self-destruct options.”
Kara quoted, “Your mission… should you choose to accept it…”
“Hey! Who is the old movies connoisseur now?”