A Memory in the Black (The New Aeneid Cycle)

by Michael G. Munz

  CHAPTER 5

  The Aristarchus crater site loomed on the hackers' horizon, and Marc spent the cramped, fifty-minute shuttle trip meeting the rest of the team. He talked with them, he listened—well, mostly he listened. There were others, Nick and a blond German by the name of Gunther, who did most of the talking. Marc was content to listen anyway.

  Gunther did not particularly look like a "Gunther." To Marc, the name always seemed like it belonged with a muscular bald man with a multitude of scars who didn't talk much. He didn't know any other Gunthers, to say nothing of one who matched that image, but the association had always been there nevertheless. This Gunther was thin, unscarred, and pleasant, with what seemed to be a friendly intelligence behind his chatter.

  Along with Suzanne Namura, the Asian woman with whom he and Nick had arrived, there were three others: two women and one man. Unlike Namura, the other women were of European descent. One, named Elsa Litzenburg, was tall with short, dark hair. The other, who only introduced herself as Maria, was a foot shorter, with hair just as dark in a tight ponytail, and a data visor similar to Marc's own. Elsa seemed the more sociable of the two and often got a word in between Nick and Gunther's banter. Maria kept as quiet as Marc did.

  Still quieter was the man, a Brit named Nigel Marley. He took the rearmost seat and, aside from his introduction at the beginning, didn't say much at all. To Marc's surprise, it was Nick who finally tried to get him involved.

  "Yeah, you're pretty quiet back there, Nigel. You get all your sleep?"

  Nigel's eyes flicked up to look at them all. He shrugged, began to say something, and then paused on the edge of a stammer. "Bad dreams," he said finally.

  Gunther went on to talk about previous odd dreams he had experienced over the course of his life, and Maria turned around in her seat to say something more to Nigel. Marc couldn't hear what was said.

  Marette spent the flight in the cockpit beside the pilot. Before boarding the shuttle, everyone wanted to ask more about the project. She dismissed the questions as she had the previous night and assured them that she would give a full briefing when they arrived at the site. Once in flight, her seating position served to keep her out of the circle of conversation. She wasn't avoiding him, but Marc did wonder if she was intentionally distancing herself from the others.

  He also wondered if being a double agent was taking its toll on her. Their talk the previous night obviously indicated that she found it difficult. But then, who wouldn't? Each day there in the service of ESA was at least partially a lie for her, and now ESA was making her lie to the hacker team on top of that. Marc worked only for the Agents of Aeneas, with no cover affiliation. He still had to keep secrets, yes, but Marette's duty was far beyond that. Undertaking this mission added to his life a small fraction of the stress Marette dealt with every day, and he was already feeling it. How did she cope?

  The question remained unanswered as they made a final approach to the crater site. The pilot banked the shuttle and kept their approach vector such that none of them were given a complete view. Marc was sure it was intentional. Based on what he'd learned from AoA reports, he knew that ESA had expanded the originally excavated sub-lunar tunnel along Paragon's side to create an oblong, concave depression that extended outward and was now open to space above. They then constructed the complex at which they were landing up against the side of the alien ship. Paragon itself was not supposed to be visible from above. Tarps concealed parts of Paragon not hidden by the complex or still buried under the lunar surface so they would appear to merely cover unfinished construction. The pilot's care ensured that Marc was unable to see for himself if the reports were accurate.

  After their landing, Marette led them out through a gantry and down a short series of corridors more visually sterile than any hospital Marc had seen. They wound up in what appeared to be a control room. A door beyond the one through which they had come sat across the room in the center of a bank of terminals. Inactive video screens framed the two shorter adjoining walls, and a large conference table strewn with a myriad of interfaces dominated the room's center. Marette motioned for the seven of them to sit. As they all deposited their equipment on the table, she moved to one of the screens.

  "Welcome to ESA Lunar Research Complex Omicron," Marette announced. The display screen flickered to life to show the ESA logo within a crescent moon. "This complex, when complete, will house the bulk of the Space Agency's classified lunar research. Your purpose here today is to test the security of the base's encryption and data storage network in accordance with a number of worst-case scenarios."

  There was a slight murmur of anticipatory body language around the conference table. Nick shot Marc a grin.

  "The Omicron Complex is connected to external ESA networks through a series of redundant links, the nature of which I am not permitted to discuss with you. The integrity of these links is being tested by another group, which, for security purposes that are no doubt clear, will function independently of your own. Your group will operate under the scenario that external security protocols have failed. You will therefore have full access to the complex's internal systems."

  Though Marc nodded with the rest of them, like Marette, he knew there was no other team, or even an operational external link. Though a data link via standard radio could be established in an emergency from within—and only from within—Omicron, any data leaving the complex otherwise would need to be physically carried out. But for the cover story to fit, they needed to say there was an external way to connect to the complex. Why hack-test a mainframe that was physically inaccessible? ESA certainly wasn't going to tell them what they were truly hacking into.

  He supposed there really was another team of sorts, once. After all, ESA had managed to create the link to the ship via an interface they'd reverse engineered from the ports lining Paragon's interior beneath the black substance. They uncovered one of the ports and installed their own construction atop it. When the black stuff was allowed to consume the area once more, it accepted the artificial port for the one it was covering, and an active connection was made. But now that the door to the metaphorical crypt was unsealed, after the tragedy of the first physical entry six months prior, they were sending in the expendable diggers first.

  Charming.

  "Your first objective is basic," Marette continued. "Get in. Once—or if—you obtain access, you are to test the limits of that access. We have deposited a selection of junk data into the mainframe of the complex. Get out with what you can."

  Gunther raised his hand and spoke. "So there will be no particular data we're looking for?"

  "Not at first. Initially, get what you can. The junk data will be encrypted. In subsequent stages of this operation, you will test the individual file encryption."

  "What sort of encryption are we talking about, exactly?" It was Namura this time.

  Marette smiled. "That will be part of the test, Ms. Namura. You are the encryption expert. I am told that you may expect a challenge."

  The Asian woman grinned. "Something new then?" Her British accent still threw him.

  "Most definitely."

  It was Marc's turn to ask a question. "Is there a time limit?" An ESA imposed time limit would be illogical under the circumstances, but asking helped Marette point out that they could take time to be cautious.

  "There is no operational time limit for this phase. The Space Agency wishes to determine if you can crack it, not how fast. Our computer scientists do not expect you to succeed."

  "Ja, and where are these scientists so that we may rub their faces in it when we prove them wrong?" Gunther asked. The table chuckled collectively. Even Nigel managed a smirk.

  Marette smiled but let the question go unanswered. "You have all brought your personal equipment with you. As promised, you will be supplied with any additional resources you feel you may need. Connections, of course, will be achieved through the interface table before you. . ."

  Marette continued to detail the technical eleme
nts of the operation—what few ESA knew. As he listened to the cover story, Marc examined the table before him, planning. He already intended to ask for an artificial intelligence matrix: something simple to handle the data switching and analysis. It felt strange to think that when he plugged in, the thing on the other end would be an alien computer.

  As he made a show of listening to the superfluous briefing, the thought continued to occupy his mind.

  The remainder of the briefing, questions and all, took another twenty minutes. Equipment requisition and set-up ate another forty. Then they began to cook. There was much discussion of strategy. Most of the hackers seemed unaccustomed to working in a group. Egos and ideas rubbed up against each other, but fortunately didn't collide. After the first hour, the group managed to agree not only that they needed more information about the system, but, more importantly, just how to go about acquiring it.

  The tests began. Virtual feints were used to test the system: delicate, minor incursions just potent enough to trigger an alert response that could then be measured, analyzed, and modeled. Nigel, seeming to be both the most cautious and the most patient, coordinated the tedious process. The entire group handled the analysis, though Elsa and Maria appeared to be the most practiced at it. Marc handled the data management and, with the help of the junior A.I. he'd requested, created a rudimentary construct of what might be the inner workings of the alien system.

  The A.I. was also secretly recording and transmitting every moment to an AoA link Marette had prepared.

  Just after three-thirty in the afternoon, Marc was attempting to sum up what they had so far. "So what we're looking at," he started, "is a level five-equivalent security grid supported by either a human sysop with A.I. assistance or a fully automated A.I. that appears to outclass third-F capabilities."

  "They don't have a sysop," Maria said. "The data's just not right for it."

  "But you can't quantify that," argued Gunther.

  "Not specifically, no. It's just not reacting the way a human would. They've come up with a revolutionary A.I. It must be."

  "Yeah, Marc's the expert on that," Nick said. "What do you think?"

  Marc knew it wasn't anything human on the other end. "Maria's right. What we're seeing might be the result of a few first-Fs in tandem somehow, but ESA's proud of something. I'd say they've come up with a new class. Something experimental."

  "Yeah, makes sense," Nick agreed. He let out another of the exasperated sighs that had punctuated most of his arguments for the past hour. "So now we've gotta do even more tests to figure out what this—what, it'd be a first-G, yeah? What this first-G can do?"

  Elsa stood by the wall monitor, rubbed her temples, and sighed. "I don't know that there are more tests we can do. Not that I'm aware of. Not without just going in."

  Marc looked around the room. "Like I said, it behaves most like a few first-Fs in tandem. If we have to, we can proceed on that. Unless anyone knows any more tricks we can run on it from outside, it might be time to go in." He waited. Gunther opened his mouth but shut it before saying anything. No one else offered any suggestions.

  "Great!" Nick grinned. "So we go in!"

  Marc's stomach knotted.

  CHAPTER 6

  The fact that Nigel Marley chose not to use a wet-link both frustrated and relieved Marette. Direct neural links were widely accepted as more efficient and effective for the sort of intrusion the team was to attempt. This group had been picked to get results, and they should all be using the best tools for the job. Even so, the lack of one would make for an interface more separated from whatever they were about to tap into.

  There was no danger that Marette could consciously name, but the total destruction of the first team to physically enter Paragon continued to haunt her. Nigel's separation provided a small measure of comfort for which she was both grateful and resentful of her own need.

  "Call me old fashioned," Nigel said. "I prefer to use my hands."

  "Yeah, that's what she said!" Nicholas called out with a snicker.

  Gunther slipped an interface cord into his bio-port. "You don't think you could handle things faster if you jacked in?"

  "I've never had cause to complain before. I've got a custom interface. Optics based." He pointed to his eyes. "It's fast enough."

  "Yes, but there's more than just speed at stake," Namura said. "Perceptions of your environment. I know I just plain understand things better. Especially doing encryption work."

  Nigel shrugged. "I don't like having the world's finger in my brain."

  From beside one of the wall monitors, Marette decided that she disliked that particular metaphor.

  "Everybody hooked up?" Marc asked.

  All answered affirmative save Nicholas and Namura, who awaited a go signal. The team's plan was to use the bulk of their energies to run multiple decoy attacks against the system in an effort to draw on its resources and, essentially, distract it. The other two would then attempt to slip into the protected areas and come away with data. Marc appeared reasonably confident in the idea. She was pleased with his attempt to provide the group with some leadership. He was doubtless more comfortable in this arena than in that of the previous night.

  And then the first group was in. Eyes closed to block out distractions, they slipped into a world of code and altered perception. Nigel remained engrossed in his own rig's screen. His fingers clicked as his gaze darted across the readouts. Nicholas and Namura sat waiting, eyes on the wall monitor beside Marette. Nigel had devised a way to gauge the percent of system resources directed toward the first team's distraction. It was estimation only, based on theory and assumption, but it was the best indicator they had to work with. The remaining two hackers would wait until the percentage had reached a certain point, and then make their runs.

  It was an uphill climb. The first diversionary hits raised it to twenty percent before it leveled off. They set more intrusion programs running, all designed to eat up system resources with tests and tasks. Marette did not understand every detail, but she understood enough to know that they were feeding more and more into the system, piling their own processing power atop it in an attempt to make it buckle, and constantly adjusting existing attacks while sending in new ones. Marette quietly linked one of the main ESA computers into Marc's already augmented rig and added its power to the onslaught.

  The readout reached eighty-five percent and Nigel spoke without looking up. "I think that may be as high as we're going to get it. Go."

  Nicholas and Namura acknowledged. Their eyes shut. They were in.

  Marette wished she could see what they saw or do more beyond standing by the wall. The two hackers called out instructions and status to each other as they began their intrusion.

  "We can't make a dent in this sodding thing yet," Namura said after the first few minutes. "Can you punch it up a bit, Nigel?"

  "No promises."

  Marc turned his head toward Marette. His eyes might have been open and focused on her, but that cursed visor prevented her from being sure until he motioned to the A.I. sending data to the AoA. His eyebrows raised in a question. She could guess at what the question was. Allowing the A.I. to discontinue the transmission and add its full resources to the effort might give the second team some breathing room.

  She nodded. Marc made the switch. ESA was making its own records. The AoA would have to get its copy later.

  The system readout reached ninety percent.

  "Yeah, I got something!" Nicholas called a moment later. "What the hell, this is some screwed up structuring in here."

  Marette watched the storage disks fill with a few hundred megs of data that would instantly be copied and shunted to protected storage.

  Namura shouted in triumph and the storage increased by a factor of one hundred. "Ha! You got the first bite but I got the big one!"

  "Yeah, we'll see about— Ah, shit!" Nicholas shouted.

  "What happened?" Marc shot, giving voice to Marette's own thoughts.

  "I'm kick
ed out!"

  "Same here," Namura said.

  "We're all still in over here," said Nigel. Everyone providing the distraction remained connected.

  "Yeah. I don't give up that easily."

  "Right behind you," Namura called. "Arseholes and elbows."

  Marette glanced at the system readout: ninety-two percent.

  "Uh, hang a bit there," Nigel warned. "I'm getting some odd readings."

  "Define odd?" Namura asked.

  The readout jumped to ninety-eight percent.

  "Uh, Marc?" Nigel's sounded confused.

  "I'm getting it, too," Marc said. "Hang on."

  "Yeah, getting what?"

  "Guys, I'm showing one hundred-seven percent system operation. Something's not right."

  "So your estimator's off," Elsa said. "We're still good to go."

  Namura licked her lips. "Closing in on another big file here."

  "Sure, take all the juicy ones yourself, yeah?" Nicholas told her.

  "You got it, love."

  They both forged ahead. The readout jumped to one hundred thirty percent.

  Marc shot Marette a look that she felt through his visor. "Suzanne, back off! This A.I.'s— Shit, something's not right."

  "Marc's right, something's bollocksed," Nigel called.

  One hundred eighty percent.

  Marette took a step forward and then stopped herself. She'd have to wait for Marc before she could act without blowing cover. Merde.

  "Hang on, yeah? She's almost got it."

  "We're supposed to be testing this thing," Namura said. "Just hang on."

  "She's right." It was Elsa again. "Push it!"

  "No!"

  "I've almost got it!"

  "Right behind you," called Nicholas.

  The readout went blank.

  "You don't understand!" Marc grabbed the link to Nicholas's rig and ripped it out of the socket.

  The young man's eyes snapped open. Surprise flashed to anger. "What the hell!"