I. But let’s be honest—it’s that way with everyone. Right? Right?

Report: N-1FG-5299-Z

Serial: N-1FG-5299-Z

Distribution: DBS//DSS//DAK//DFR//BB//CLOSED NETWORK A66

Classification: Special Protocol Required

Summary: Erratic information operations.

Details: Nude, multicolored portraits of famous human scientists were not authorized in the information operations campaign. If you see such posters, you are to remove them immediately.

Report Submitted By: F-GC-001

Stick This in You

“We’re being jammed,” Rogers said.

“Jammed?” McSchmidt asked with half of a piece of chicken hanging out of his mouth.

McSchmidt, Rogers, Mailn, and the Viking were enjoying some of the first bit of real food they’d had on the Flagship since Rogers had arrived. All the transferring of personnel seemed to finally be working out; instead of empty, desolate places of depression, the mess halls—except the Kamikaze, since it had been charred by the fire—were starting to get a little livelier. The troops were actually talking to each other. Rogers even thought he might have heard someone laugh.

“What makes you say that?” the Viking asked.

“Let’s just say that there’s no way in hell headquarters would ignore the messages I’ve been sending . . . I mean, Klein has been sending. The strange thing is, it seems to only be official communication. People are still getting messages from friends and family. And our supply runs are still happening, so we’re still getting materiel. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Wouldn’t Communications know that we’re being jammed?” Mailn asked.

Rogers shook his head. “I talked to them. According to their records, all messages are going out like they should. But I’m positive that Klein’s aren’t going anywhere.”

“Maybe they’re being intercepted?” McSchmidt suggested.

“What kind of intelligence guy are you?” the Viking said. “It’s data. You don’t just catch it in a net and put it in your pocket. If someone was intercepting them, they’d still get to headquarters.”

McSchmidt shot her a dirty look, but at a growl from the Viking, his face took on a much more subdued expression. Rogers felt his heart beat faster.

“Any more on the ‘invasion’?” Rogers asked.

McSchmidt wiped a pair of greasy hands on his pants and pulled out his datapad, slapping it down on the table. “Yes and no.”

“Those two statements are mutually exclusive,” Deet said.

McSchmidt raised an eyebrow.

“Ignore him,” Rogers said. “They don’t understand the subtleties of human speech.”

“Anyway,” McSchmidt said, “the intelligence reports coming in about the Thelicosan fleet have probably doubled in the last few days. The sheer volume of information is huge, but it doesn’t seem to mean anything.” He started tapping away on the datapads, and reports flashed by.

He stopped, placing his finger on the center of a mess of text and symbols. “This, for example, is describing how much closer the Thelicosan fleet has moved to the Meridan border in centimeters.” He flipped reports again. “And this here is supposed to be intercepted radio transmissions from their flagship.”