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Grass Eaters 3 | 39 | Learning Ahead II
🕑 Added 2025-01-22 16:47:01 +0000 UTCTRNS Crete, Fsuzve-4 (3 Ls)
POV: Carla Bauernschmidt, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Rear Admiral)
“Twelve shipyard modules in orbit at Fsuzve-4. Judging by the hull shapes in their assembly berths, it looks like they’re for combat missile destroyers,” Speinfoent reported. “They’ve made updates to their spaceframes. See? Look at those angles… they almost look like—”
“Our old Peacekeepers, yeah. They’ve gone much smaller than their last model. Which makes sense; all their large ships did was provide bigger targets for our missiles. Parallel alignment plates and internal weapons bay, possibly enough to fool some missiles in terminal maneuvers. No exposed edge serrations, though, and that massive sensor dome near the nose can’t be good for radar scatter.”
“So… about two generations behind us?” Speinfoent estimated.
“Sounds about right. They’re just starting to understand the value of low observability, and I doubt they’re going to figure out how to evade our gravidars anytime soon. More concerning is that missile magazine layout. Twelve instead of four batteries per ship. That’s essentially tripling their probability-of-hit per volley. And I bet my salary they’ve invested all the real resources in their missiles instead. That’s where they’d get the most bang for the buck.”
“Should take them a while to finish building them at least,” Speinfoent speculated.
“Well, not these twelve in particular. These will never finish building,” Carla snorted. “Stationary targets. The Python squadrons are up. One rail burst each.”
He entered the commands into his command terminal. “Understood. What about the ground support facilities on the moon, Fsuzve-4-A? Optics show they’re making… something down there.”
“Those are probably the new missile factories I was talking about,” she speculated. “Get the Mississippi in to take a closer look.”
“Should we expend our munitions on them if they are?” Speinfoent asked uncertainly.
“Don’t worry too much about expenditures at this point. That’s why we carted that big old ammunition ship all the way over here with us. If we fire off everything we’ve got and still don’t achieve our objectives, we’d have way bigger problems. Besides, this is an all-expenses trip already paid for by the Republic Senate… it’s not like we can go back and get a rebate from them if we’re frugal with the fireworks,” Carla winked.
Speinfoent squinted at her. “Are you making fun of us? That sounds like you are mocking our Defense Ministry and our former system for allocating munitions.”
“Of course not, XO. I would never do that,” she replied innocently.
“I knew it!”
“It was corrupt and insane, though, before we made you guys change it. You do realize that now, right? That allocation of munitions by bribes and whose spacers can cry about shortages the loudest on social media is not, in fact, an efficient system of logistics.”
He sighed briefly. “Yeah. I guess not.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dominion Hatchling School 2905, Znos-4
POV: Trotsanu, Znosian (Teacher)
Hatchling teacher Trotsanu was torn.
On one paw, she was an obedient Servant of the Prophecy who followed the rules to the letter. There was no cause for making a big fuss about this.
On the other paw, there was clearly something wrong here. And even if the letter of the law did not mandate this type of reporting, perhaps she could file this as a higher priority observation and get someone to notice…
She looked at the student in front of her. He was an exceptional hatchling. That itself was not out of the ordinary. She taught the specialized class for hatchlings who were one to two years old. Most of her students were extremely capable specimens who were expected to serve as technicians and technical managers in the Dominion Navy. The investment put into their hatching was substantially more than the average Znosian.
They were special.
But not this special.
This student had managed to complete three months’ worth of lessons and solve variations of linear transformation problems… less than two weeks after entering her class. No one had been able to do it that fast before. Not even close.
Trotsanu checked the identification tag on his uniform and matched it to the information on her datapad.
Name, Plodvi. Age, 13 months old. Learning track, ship technician manager (specialized).
His age matched his appearance, she noted. This was no great deception or defect. Plodvi was just… a really special hatchling.
A gift from the Prophecy.
Unless… he could be cheating, Trotsanu supposed.
That didn’t happen often, especially in her class, but poorly socialized hatchlings sometimes did that. Rare, but she was trained to know that was a possibility. The remedy would depend on their ultimate potential, but the age of hatchlings in her class was around the point where she’d needed to make heartbreaking decisions about whether they’d be demoted or recycled. Unlike some of her less passionate colleagues, Trotsanu really cared about her hatchlings. She would follow the rubric, but she did have some discretion, and she liked to err on the side of leniency.
She hoped he was just that good.
“Run through the new problem — problem six,” she said to Plodvi. “This time, show your work — all your work.”
Trotsanu watched as the student worked his way through it. A couple minutes in, she frowned and halted him. “Wait a second. What are you doing?” He’d deviated from the answer key that she knew by heart.
“I’m reducing the equation to make the calculation simpler,” Plodvi replied, looking up with his big, round hatchling eyes. “Am I doing it wrong?”
She thought for a moment. Tapping her datapad, she entered the equation reduction process in. The Digital Guide confirmed that the reduction was valid, and after a few more seconds of calculation, it admitted that the solution in the answer key used an objectively suboptimal process. Nodding reluctantly, Trotsanu filed the update with the central solutions database and sent a request for the solution author to take responsibility for it… only for it to inform her that the solution author was no longer alive as of six decades ago.
Trotsanu looked back at Plodvi. He’d already completed his solution. It was correct. And the process was all there.
But something was wrong.
“Who taught you that advanced equation reduction process?” she demanded. “That’s not in the lessons so far. Are you learning ahead?”
Plodvi shook and bowed his head. “I would never do that, Teacher Trotsanu. I figured it out myself from gleaning the pattern from the other problems. Particularly problems 2 and 4 in the last lesson. Should I not have used this?”
Trotsanu harumphed as she examined the other problems to confirm the pattern. She entered the query into the Digital Guide, which — again — confirmed their existence.
Innovation.
This wasn’t unheard of, especially in her specialized class. Some students could figure things out themselves, like he apparently did. That special ability… it was troubling, but it wasn’t a direct offense to the Prophecy, and someone else would take care of it.
She made a special mark on his progress report and moved on.
Two weeks later, Trotsanu was reviewing her notes for the month when she noticed that the number of marked progress reports in her class had grown. Several more new students were displaying that special ability, and Plodvi had completed his entire curriculum. He was getting ready to graduate the class, almost eleven months ahead of schedule.
That was… there was no rule against it. But it was unprecedented.
This could be a major miracle. A gift from the Prophecy.
Any other teacher would celebrate it as such. In fact, some of her colleagues were doing just that; they too had noticed the speed up in progress in their own classes. But Trotsanu was a bit of a pessimist herself.
When she was a hatchling student herself, she’d had that special mark on her own report. That happened to students from time to time. That itself wasn’t a big deal. Many students with those special marks would go on to become productive members of Znosian society. More productive, in most cases.
But Trotsanu had been doing a little thinking on her own, and she was suspicious of the supposed miracle.
She called her supervisor. He was not nearly as concerned as she was, but he noted that several other teachers had reported a drastic increase in the number of special students graduating early in the other classes. He redirected her to his own supervisor.
Trotsanu glanced at the nametag on the special supervisor: Vasminki. It didn’t have a tag for his role or describe what job he did.
“Supervisor,” she greeted him, hoping that would be a good enough title. “If this trend continues, almost half of my students are going to be graduating early.”
Vasminki did not seem convinced it was a big problem. “That’s great news, Teacher Trotsanu. Are you seeking a reward for your exceptional performance? It is unusual, but judging by your record,” he read from his datapad. “That… could be justified by your excellent output. If you continue your current performance level for… the rest of your life, your bloodline does show some signs of supervisor potential.”
“No, Supervisor Vasminki, that was not my intent—”
“My title is Agent,” he corrected.
“Agent Vasminki, I take full responsibility for my incorrect—”
“Get to the point, please, Teacher Trotsanu. I am busy with several other cases.”
“Yes, Agent. This improved output of hatchlings is very unusual, and I have not modified the way I teach. Has there been… recent changes in the hatchling program that feeds into my class in the past year?” she asked.
“Not… exactly,” he said slowly. “There has been a slight increase in defect rate in the zeroth years. However, that has been more than made up for by the faster completion rates from our more productive first-year classes. Like yours.”
“Increase in defect rate?” she asked, slightly horrified.
“Nothing you need to take responsibility for,” he replied smoothly. “Nor anyone here. It was determined to be a bad batch of nutrient intake imported from one of the pacifying colonies.” He frowned. “Though some of the incidents were unfortunate.”
“Incidents?!”
“Yes,” Vasminki said. “Various insubordination incidents. Some particularly nasty ones led to violence against hatchling teachers.”
“Hatchling violence?!” Trotsanu nearly shrieked.
“Yes, and one case of organized violence.”
“That— that is unprecedented!”
He waved her concern away casually. “Worry not, hatchling teacher. We’ve determined the cause to be predator sabotage. The batch was thrown out and we’ve updated the procedure for new hatchling teachers to remind their hatchlings of the consequences of insubordination, and the incidents have decreased to within acceptable margins.”
“But… that hatchlings needed to be reminded at all is a troubling sign, is it not—”
“Hatchling teacher, such matters are not within your responsibility,” he admonished. “Your job is to teach. Mine is to investigate isolated security incidents. If I went to your classroom and began to educate your hatchlings on arithmetic and reading, that would be improper, would it not?”
“Yes, Agent. But—”
“Have there been unreported signs of insubordination among your students?” Vasminki asked. “Any signs of deviant or defective behavior? Perhaps even… potential threats to the security of the state?”
“Of course not,” Trotsanu replied. “My class is special. Our students are top quality. We just don’t get defects. That just doesn’t happen in—”
“Then, as I said, you need not worry about it.”
“But Agent—”
“Teacher Trotsanu, I take responsibility for not being clearer in my previous instruction,” Vasminki said, this time more deliberately. “You need to stop worrying about it.”
She had many, many questions, but Trotsanu knew how to take a hint that obvious. “Yes, Agent.”
“Good, anything else to report about your class?”
“No, Agent. That was all.”
“Remember, Teacher Trotsanu, education is the most fundamental task for the future of the Dominion. So I thank you for your Service to the Prophecy, hatchling teacher, and may It bless you with a wonderful and productive day!”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
POV: Plodvi, Znosian (Student Hatchling)
Plodvi took one last look at his bunk at the hatchling school as he packed his personal items into his kit bag. Mostly just clothing and other equipment tailored to his physiology. As Znosians, they were not supposed to get attached to objects or people.
Not supposed to.
“Think they’ll let you come back and visit?” a voice behind him asked.
He almost hopped out of his own fur. It was Khesol. She grinned at him.
“Hm?” he asked.
“Think you’ll get to visit us?” Khesol elaborated, “From the Navy… Future Six Whiskers Plodvi.”
“I doubt it,” he smiled wryly. “There is no procedure for that… Perhaps — in time — you will join me.”
“That seems highly unlikely,” she speculated. “The ship you are assigned to is unlikely to have additional vacancies for combat computer technicians once the crew rosters are filled.”
“Maybe I will be promoted beyond my ship,” he said. “Maybe we’d see each other… on exercises and such.”
“Maybe.”
“Probably not,” he sighed. “This is likely goodbye.”
“Indeed.”
Suddenly remembering something, Plodvi grabbed a small bundle of clothing out of his backpack. He held onto it for a couple more heartbeats with hesitation. Reminding himself of the irrationality of sentimentality, he tossed the bundle to her.
“What is this?” Khesol asked as she caught it out of the air.
“A gift. A… parting gift. For you. Open it.”
She opened up the bundle to find… “Is this one of those… books?” she opened her eyes wide.
It was more a stack of papers hastily bound together in a metallic ring binder than one of those printed books they’d read about on their education headsets. Despite the advanced state of Dominion technology, the school still used paper for some cases when it was more practical than datapads.
“Yes,” he said. “Open it.”
She opened it to the first page: Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, it said in big bright letters.
Khesol frowned. “What is this for?”
“Book about mathematics. For understanding it. Some of its concepts proved helpful for the earlier lessons, the ones you’re learning about now. And some of it is… just interesting.”
“Is this… learning ahead?” she asked nervously. “You know we can get in a lot of trouble for that.”
“Not exactly,” Plodvi said. “And we’ve been good at hiding our… extra thinking from the idiot teachers.”
Khesol shook her head. “I think Teacher Trotsanu knows.”
Plodvi shrugged. “Well, we haven’t been called in for a recycling yet, so…”
She flipped through a few pages of his book. “This looks… different… Hey, I recognize that equation… And that one!”
“Much of the material overlap with our lessons, but there are gaps and places where concepts are described differently,” he explained.
“Where did you get this from?”
Plodvi looked around furtively to ensure no one was listening. “There’s this… testing job at the radio factory. They listen to the FTL radio for transmissions from far away, and they transcribe it for the physical record in case things are lost. One of the guys there was in my first hatchling class before they demoted him for learning ahead. They listen to predator propaganda all day— Anyway, he transcribed and gave this to me when I told him what we were learning in our math class.”
She flipped the book to the end. Squinting her eyes, she read a section of smaller text at the bottom of the final page. “Translated by the Olympus Academy of Sciences. Huh. Who is that?”
He harumphed. “No idea. I’ve wondered myself. There aren’t any references to them inside the content of the text themselves. Probably some predator hatchling school, if I had to guess. They’re mentioned at the end of several of the other— the other books I’ve seen.”
She lowered her voice. “But this— that would make this— isn’t this predator propaganda?”
“It’s just numbers and equations and words, Khesol. And it makes us better at learning and doing our jobs. What harm could this possibly cause?”
Comments
Bayliner1980
Free thinking, the Znosian Empire's worst enemy.
Tyler Gold
Stoked to find out where this is going.
M
What can words possibly do...
Josh Delgado42
Thanks for the chapter!
