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"Marshal, is there any reason for us to believe those ships were ours?" Imcedi Odegi frowned, looking over the ancient wood-paneled desk at who was, by fate, his closest confidant. The fact that said confidant was as loyal as a trusty hound bred for the hunt was of immesurable comfort to the merchantile autocrat; the fact that said canine attitudes came with equivalent intelligence left him thinking that more could be desirable.
Sphet looked over his displays. Although he wasn't the quickest when it came to diplomatic artifice, he did know his duty well enough to get by. "That's the thing. We did build 'em. Problem is, we didn't order them anywhere."
"Was it Garbog, then?" Odegi looked over his shoulder as if Chreeti was about to kick down the door that instant. "Or the Inquistion? Knowing this would be quite helpful, because that evidence could go to the good Supreme Emperor who would then abstain from making it a life goal of hers to obtain my skull for use as a chalice."
"From the scuttlebutt trail... no, not really picking up anything about Garbog ordering it. If it were the Inquisition, I thought it'd be... you know... quieter..."
"Chreeti's mad and you know it, Marshal," Imcedi snapped, "that or she has an angle I can't grasp at the moment. I've got Reavers and am soon about to have Zone battlefleets in my empire because of her and her machinations." Certainly it was his own machinations which got him personally into this state, he admitted to himself, and the irony was not lost on him. "To her we're all pawns--not just you and me, but the Reavers and the Zone too. I don't know what game she's playing, though, or if it is any we'd even recognize once it was translated from the mad rules she's going by."
Inquisitor Chreeti folded her hands, sitting back in thought in her own throne in her 'office,' a tiny adjunct to the Pontifical Dais room, ignoring through years of training and experience the metal spines that poke into her back through her robes. Mortification of the flesh leads to excitation and augmentation of the mind, and so she slowly lifts and lowers on the balls of her feet as she thinks, thighs and back constantly shifting against the steel barbs pricking and poking. This was an unexpected occurence, she admits to herself, and yet it serves the same purpose as all the rest. The Reaver invasion, the civil war... all these are necessary. All these are necessary for my people.
All these are necessary for me.
Is it truly that bad?
Billions of light-years away, Xonmik nodded to an unseen questioner from the out-of-the-way niche where he tended to his wounds, violent gashes in his chest and shoulders, all oozing blood slowly but constantly. Yes, Ancient One. It is what I feared; his peculiar methods have made him too vulnerable and his mind, not flexible enough to admit the possibility of failure, has broken. I am the only one who suspects, but he has wounded me. He looked down again and coughed, spitting out the result in a ruddy splatter. While I cannot contact the rest of the crew, neither can he--he has killed his own Aggregate. I am simply too weak, and the crew too cowed to...
He couldn't even think of it, literally. The closest he could come to 'rebel' or 'mutiny' or even merely 'resist' is 'do what needs to be done.' Unless you can find another agent, Ancient One, there is nothing that can be done.
Back under the dome on Sh'kai, the High Mind Empress' eyes widened a bit. Of course. Certainly there is another captain who can take my banner, or I can make the entire ship submit to my will--
She cut off with a burst of pure NOISE that tore at the mind and the psyche, forcing her to break contact with a hiss of pain and anger. So they begin jamming again?
Director G't'zazz pointed towards a fuzzy zoomed-in frame from the Time Machines' investigation. "These are the markings of the lead battlecruiser in the raid." Tapping a button on the device in its bony exoskeletal hands, the image switched to a much clearer yet still blown-up frame showing the blunt-pointed prow of the polyhedral vessel attached to the arm of the fleetyards. "These are the markings of a battlecruiser docked to the Green Sector fleetyards imaged by Ares just before GLAIVE left." The markings were remarkably similar, although much sharper than the first. Another tap, another frame, this one showing clear and distinct but small blocky ships moving away from a gracefully swooping yet very much severed docking arm. "Finally, four battlecruisers of the make and model of those used in the attack were operating under their own power when Ares hopped in to ice the fleetyards."
Supreme Emperor J'hsen nodded. "Conclusions?"
"We can't be sure that those in the last frame are those in the first. They could've been captured elsewhere. We also can't be absolutely sure that the four that were at the fleetyards when GLAIVE abandoned its position were still there later to be captured by the Reavers. Nothing prevented them from leaving. From image analysis, we can say with about ninety percent certainty that the markings match up, but that's not proof in and of itself either."
J'hsen sighed and shook her head, muttering a quiet invective to herself. "And altogether?"
"Fact: their squadron-nav systems were down and yet their formation flying is still perfect. Fact: Thaurian training is specifically centered around not being able to do this, as it allows them to be threats to their commanders. Final fact: these markings are remarkably similar; the only possible difference is that the accent mark may be here instead of there." With each point, the insectoid raises one blue finger; it then begins to counterpoint, lowering each finger in turn. "Analysis: they found some way to communicate for formation changes outside of group-nav and in some means undetectable to us, similar to QE... but we know their QE systems, especially on the class in question, don't have the bandwidth to support this. They may as well be using ULF for it. Analysis: these 'Thaurians' were acting outside of any known or postulated Thaurian training structure, in a culture that punishes initiative beyond that of artifice. Final conclusion: Reavers can communicate vast amounts through telepathy, allowing for the necessary transfer of information to keep formation by hand. Reavers are capable of intuitive tactics and excel in moving and acting as one, because that's what they do. The similarity in markings points out the fact that if the battlecruisers GLAIVE saw didn't leave in time then the Reavers probably had every opportunity to capture them when they took the fleetyard."
"So nothing smoking-gun conclusive, but a lot of circumstantial evidence that points in the same direction?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
"So either the Thaurians are trying to get away with murder, using their ships but making it look like the Reavers are crewing them..."
"Or it's the Reavers trying to get away with murder by just using Thaurian ships. I call Occam's Razor, ma'am."
"Hrm." J'hsen leaned forward, elbows on her desk, fists on her cheeks as she looked down and to the side in thought. "The Reavers do have the better opportunity in this case, but what's the motive?"
"What's the motive for either one?" G't'zazz mimiced a shrug. "The Reavers have a better motive for it, trying to draw out forces from Pioneer--which we've done--and ease the pressure on their primary front."
"But it also opens a secondary front where their force concentration isn't," J'hsen replied.
"That's the risk, and that's the point of using the Thaurians for cover. We're caught in a Schlieffen Plan between two adversaries; each adversary only has one target, that being us. It only fails if we realize who's really behind it and concentrate our effort on only one target... which we should probably do anyway. The Reavers are a greater threat than the Thaurians at the moment and all of their actions, all of our intelligence seems to indicate a desire just to expend our force against false targets."
"So, if I understand you correctly," the woman murmured, "your recommendation is that we build up the Thaurian front as would make sense with our current stance and then use that to arc up into the Reavers as well? I'll leave that up to the admirals, actually; I'm not all too sure I want my intel advisor determining my military policy."
The Director raised his chitinous shoulders and lowered his neck and head in an exoskeletal approximation of a shrug. "Just an idea, ma'am. Just an idea."