The first reports started coming in an hour after we launched what Marcus had dubbed "Operation Magnificent Stupidity." And they were even better than I'd hoped.
"Fishing fleet seven has successfully confused three enemy scouts," crackled a transmission from Captain Netweaver. "They've been following us for two hours trying to decode our 'formation patterns.' Should we tell them we're performing the Wedding Dance of Port Kallisto?"
"Negative," I replied, grinning despite our desperate situation. "Keep dancing."
"University team twelve reporting," came Professor Thornwick's excited voice. "We've got four ships maintaining surveillance on our 'critical research facility.' They seem particularly interested in our weather prediction experiments."
"What are you actually researching?"
"Whet
