In-Depth Reconnaissance 1

Before he got up to feed Mercedes, Don took note of the scribblings on the bottom of the last page.

"Hey Beacon, nice ship! Your dog has not yet been trained in any capacity. You will need to do everything from scratch. This is something of a tradition amongst the navy, but the crew of each ship are required to train their own dogs in order to breed familiarity.

- The pilots of the 'Colors' Strike Wing and the crew of the Ranger"

"ARC, under who's jurisdiction where people authorized to see the Noah?"

"My own. I deemed it a justifiable risk if it meant that issues with your mental and emotional health could be solved. They are unable to glean specifics from the appearance of the ship, all they know is that we are stealthy. Admiral Adirondack also signed off in order to 'resolve the issue of an unplanned stowaway.' Supposedly the toys and treats supplied are all items that took up space in personal bags in order for the Ranger's mascot to use."

"Doesn't the treat bag go significantly over the volume limit for personnel?"

"That would be the case for low level crewmates, those are complimentary of the ship's captain. He has an increased volume permission."

"How much did they bring to be able to spare this much?" Don raised an eyebrow at the slumped over sack, waiting for the dog food to finish fabricating.

"Are you looking for an answer?"

"Rhetorical."

In spite of ARC's progress, it still struggled to determine the difference between slight sarcasm and rhetorical questions.

Sarcasm was an issue because it needed to take Don's war as, essentially, law. ARC might suggest something, not understanding social queues or nuance, tactics or practicality, that Don needed to correct it on.

Rhetorical questions were also problematic. ARC had a duty to educate Don on subjects he had no understanding him and give somewhat accurate statistical predictions for enemy actions. In this way, ARC was very similar to an ever present search engine. Any queries, either serious or in jest, ARC would seek to answer to the best of its ability.

The *bip* indicated that a serving of food was ready.

As Don scraped the slightly warmer than room temp lump of kibble and (what appeared to be) bacon strips into a bowl, he took note that the food smelled like beef. Perhaps it was only an additive, but he was jealous that Mercedes got to eat something that at least SMELLED like edible food, even if it didn't look like it.

Don had three options, a pile of salt seasoned mush, a bitter loaf of what might pass as bread from a distance, and a sour material that was vaguely steak textured.

The best tasting of the three was no doubt the salty mush. Stale, bitter bread and sour meat were simply horrendous in comparison to over salted mashed potatoes. All were colorless and scentless.

"Hey ARC, why is the dog food more appealing than the human food?"

Calling it appealing was perhaps something of an embellishment, but the fact remained that croutons soaked in the smell of cooked meat beat out steak that tasted like lime. He was tempted to see if it tasted as good as it smelled.

"As I understand it, it has to do with incentivization. With little to do on duty, it was found that some servicemen would default to eating to ease the boredom. Making the food taste unappealing was the most effective solution."

"So why doesn't that apply to dogs?"

"Dogs can't operate the machines that make it. It would be unfair to have them suffer."

Don let out sound between a sigh and a gag. He lamented the fact that there were people out there ruining life for everyone else. Swallowing his curiosity

"Could you alter the formula so that it is at least a smidge more acceptable?"

"No. I will not risk malnourishment or food poisoning."

"Geh."

Don knew to not pursue the matter further. ARC would always loyally carry out his requests. Analysis of data presented in historical texts he was reading, specifics on the capabilities of ships that would otherwise be state secrets, even questionable acts like personal information of individuals on ARC's DEVELOPMENT TEAM were not out of the question.

Any request that ARC specifically refused to do would not be done regardless of convincing or how many times Don asked. ARC's coding made what it was and was not allowed to do crystal clear. Don didn't bother to remember most of it, but what ARC could not do ARC would not do, no meant no in the truest sense.

At least Mercedes was happy. She chewed through the reddish brown pile of kibble as fast as she could, the special corrugated pattern of the bowl's interior preventing her from eating to fast and choking.

He was still jealous, but the sounds of crunching dissuaded his interest in the food a tad.

He could deal with meat that only tasted slightly sour, but he might be worse off with crunchy meat. He was convinced he would gag if it didn't taste at least taste moderately charred.

Something about taste not matching with the texture does not sit right with the tongue.

Finished with supervising the dog for the immediate future, Don laid back down on his bed. He was studying nothing in particular. Drifting from subject to subject, book to book, person to person on his tablet. If the data dump that had occurred did not contain the summation of all known human history, then it was pretty damn close.

Right now he had a document on the build up to the First World War opened up. He was slowly becoming enamored with the 'West' and its history, his focus absorbed almost entirely by two nations. One perpetually surrounded by modernized powers and one so far away from the rest that they were all but impervious to assault.