This idea created a disturbance in his brain that continued to trouble him throughout the day. He built a database to single out potential candidates to impersonate. He dubbed this effort, the ID thief project. He allowed two types of error, wasting time, mistakenly rejecting a suitable candidate.
Gallant made several attempts to practice his Titan social skills. He began by visiting several social gatherings while interfacing with the network. After several interactions he could mingle without feeling like the least socially competent being there. This was a grossly ineffective approach, but no others presented themselves.
It was a problem to discern what was an insult or inappropriate comment when addressing Titans because they gave no feedback of any kind unless specifically asked. He was overwhelmed by the sheer unreasonableness of the task.
It was a trap of his own making that might destroy him.
CHAPTER 20
The Letter
Gallant tried to work at his cabin’s computer console, but he wound up dithering. The plain truth was that he didn’t want to dive into routine matters when all he could think about was the most nagging and immediate cause of his discontent—Alaina.
He was in an emotional wasteland—unable to escape her hold on him. She had everything he wanted in a woman—daring, gaiety, intelligence, and beauty.
Am I too late? he wondered.
He let his mind wander back in time . . . to a little café they had visited over a year ago. She was his on that day.
He imagined—the waiter coming to them and asking what they wanted. They could take that as an invitation to visualize all their future desires. It would be a great game . . .
They could pretend they were living the life they were meant to live. They could talk of growing old and fat together, living on a small farm, traveling around the unexplored portions of the planet, spending hours sailing, and lying on the beach. She would say, “But Henry, I don’t want to get fat.” He would smile indulgently, as if it were merely a choice. She would say, she was satisfied to have him come home every night. He would say, he was eager to work with his hands and his back, instead of his overworked mind. What could be better? By the end of the meal, they would have mapped out their entire future and be merely observers as it unfolded.
He knew he was only playing a fantasy, but he disliked his present reality so much, he reveled in it. After a few minutes the heart had gone out of the little charade and he was once more morose.
KNOCK! KNOCK!
The rap on his cabin door was a welcomed distraction.
“Enter.”
Roberts poked his head inside and asked, “Got a minute to sign-off on some maintenance requests, Skipper?”
Gallant nodded reluctantly.
Roberts was carrying two cups of coffee, as well as the maintenance requests. He offered one to his captain who eagerly accepted.
Gallant had no intention of discussing his private misfortunes with the XO, but within minutes they were deep in a personal discussion. He was in exactly the state where a man might say something revealing or stupid despite himself. His secret thoughts and longings came bursting out.
“I’m totally irrational where Alaina is concerned.”
“You? Irrational? Really?”
“Where Alaina is concerned, I am.”
“I’d say you were in love.”
“You’d be right.”
Roberts asked, “Do you miss her?”
“Every day,” he said, looking out from sad pleading eyes, “but I’ve lost her.”
Roberts said, “Sometimes things don’t work out. Perhaps you should consider moving on.”
Certainly sound advice.
“No, I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”
“You’re in a sorry state. Make up your mind to accept your fate—you must either let her go—or win her back.
“I’ve tried to forget her, but she’s constantly on my mind. Last night, I couldn’t sleep at all. She’s found her way into my dreams.”
Roberts asked, “When you picture your future, what do you see?”
“I don’t know exactly—more war and upheaval . . .”
“No. Not the future of planets and peoples. What do you see in your future—the future of Henry Gallant? Can you visualize a family?”
“There is too much in the way. I can’t see that far ahead.”
“The question is: are you willing to fight to get her back?”
“That’s just it. I’m eternally bewildered by Alaina. I don’t know how to win her back.”
“How does she feel?”
Alaina’s parting words haunted him . . . Go! Do your duty! Forget me.
“She said she loved me and then she said she didn’t. I’m really not good at understanding the needs of others. She said she was being perfectly frank—when she said that our relationship was over.”
“Personally, I’ve never known a woman to be perfectly frank about stating her true feelings. I’ve never actually known a woman whose feelings weren’t a little ambiguous—even to her.”
“Oh . . . Uh.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Yes. I could use one.”
“Sometimes when I’m too tongue-tied to express myself verbally, I find it easier to write out what I want to say.”
“You mean express myself in writing—now—before we return?”
“Yes. Like a letter of sorts. Of course it can’t be delivered, but you may find the exercise liberating.”
Gallant said, “Thank you, John.”
When Roberts left, Gallant started to compose a letter on his tablet.
He wrote, ‘Alaina,’ then deleted that and wrote, ‘My Alaina,’ then deleted that and wrote, ‘My Dear Alaina,’ then he deleted that.
This was going to be harder than it sounded.
He tried again, ‘Dear Alaina, I’ve been unhappy since leaving you. I want . . .’
What did he want? Did he know?
He tried again several more times until he had written a complete note. Then he reread it.
Dear Alaina,
Our breakup has caused me great unhappiness and because I have had the misfortunate of gaining your disfavor, I now wish for an opportunity to put things right. I wouldn’t dwell on the past differences that have brought us to this point, but I hope you will find a way to forgive me. I am unwilling to forget your past affection and I ask nothing of you that I am not willing to give myself. I am writing without the intent of upsetting you, but I still believe you harbor strong feelings for me. Pardon my liberty in expressing what I perceive to be your desire in this matter. I hope to secure your love once more, and I have no hesitation in complying with whatever conditions you impose.
I hope to hold you in my arms once more.
Adieu.
Love.
Henry
That sounds affected and hollow. Why am I so awful at expressing my emotions?
He wrote and rewrote the letter many more times. He tried to express his hopes and dreams—his sorrows and despair, but he never achieved that goal. He wanted to say what he needed of her and what he could offer her, but in the end his efforts were maudlin, melodramatic, and confused—a perfect representation of his state of mind.
Finally, he deleted the letter, but at least now he knew what he had to do.
He had to face her and speak directly from his heart. Only then could he hope to win her back.
CHAPTER 21
Identity Thief
When you’re a one man invasion, you want to look omnipotent, but remain invisible. By using asymmetric tactics, such as misinformation, identity thief, and blackmail, Gallant hoped to achieve what every spy desired—to confound the enemy while stealing his secrets.
It’s tricky to harvest lots of data and not leave evidence of an intrusion; but so far, he had been successful learning public information about the Titans’ history, society, and industry. However, if he wanted to collect secret military intelligence, he needed
to become an identity thief.
“How are you going to steal a Titan identity?” asked McCall.
“And how will a phony ID get you secret information?” asked Roberts.
“I’ve got a plan,” said Gallant.
First, he needed to find the right victim to impersonate. After several trips in the Wasp to access the alien communication junction box, Gallant gained access to the ID index system itself. By probing the index, he scanned for individuals with the authorization he sought. This was real power, but it was like moving from petty larceny to grand theft—his instinct told him to proceed with caution.
A casual addendum to a report drew his attention and put him on the scent of a possible candidate, an individual with the right access, who often fell off the radar and became ‘invisible’ for periods while he was on assignment—a useful cover, to be sure.
Gallant reported, “I think I’ve found the right identity; a computer security officer third grade, named Balazar. I’ve studied his background and his compulsive behaviors.”
“Mmmm . . . he’s a good one to start with,” said McCall going through the file that Gallant had accumulated.
He said, “He performs his duties diligently, but any errors by others irritates him He is so intolerant of poor performance by others that he is often ostracized and isolated. Because of the complex Titan relationship structure, he attends many social rituals and gatherings, but avoids direct personal contact with others.”
An actual conversation with an autistic savant could be very stilted because of the multifaceted nature of their definitions of words and numbers. For example, if he were to ask Balazar, when he was born? He might respond that he was born thirty two years and forty-two days ago on a ‘squeaky yellow day’ because in his mind, all dates had sound and color associated with them. He might even say that numbers were his friends, more so, then the other children of his hatchery, if only because he didn’t get along well with them. Titans were capable of great incites and creativity, but they had difficulties relating to each other in a personal way.
McCall said, “That’s typical of the Titan society.”
“I’ll be able to use his ID to get into places I need to, while not being bothered to discuss my activities.”
Eventually, Gallant was able steal Balazar’s identity codes. Using the network switchboard directory, he granted himself access using them.
He was confident he could translate and engage in something that resembled a ‘person-to-person’ conversation—by using a disembodied 3-Dimensional projected image—an avatar.
When Gallant connected to the communication network, his avatar appeared from a video protector. The Gallant/Balazar avatar appeared as a very thin biped without hair, or markings on his grayish-hued skin. His eyes were a strange iridescent violet and cobalt.
“Who are you?” queried the Titan administration operator.
Gallant said, “I am computer security officer Balazar of Gliese-Gamma and I’m making sensitive computer programming updates for the Gliese-Beta AI system.”
“Provide your ID information.” ordered the operator.
On his video screen, Gallant saw the operator’s image which was nearly identical to Balazar’s avatar.
“Here is my security code and vital information.” Gallant gave the operator the stolen codes and waited while he ran a check through the security database.
“Your ID is verified. How may I assist you?” said the operator.
Gallant breathed a sigh of relief. He had passed the first test of communicating directly with a Titan using a phony avatar.
“Would you connect me to the following administrator third grade?” Gallant gave him the codes for a low level official he knew who worked in the Gleise-Beta’s data update exchange.
When the link was made, his avatar appeared in the computer room with the physical Titan he was calling. He asked, “Are you the administrator for network messaging?”
The administrator stepped toward Balazar’s avatar as if scrutinizing it. It stopped several meters short and abruptly bowed.
“Yes, officer Balazar. How may I assist you?”
Gallant manipulated his avatar to mimic the bow. “I need access to read several ID index databases and send untagged messages.”
“That is highly unusual.”
Gallant made his avatar show a tired well-worn expression of superiority, “I understand, but I am a little odd about how I do things. This may seem a strange to you, but it is important for security and privacy reasons. Will you grant the necessary data entry and programming privileges for the basic public system?”
“Yes, sir,” agreed the administrator reluctantly.
Once Gallant was given the security entry privileges he embarked on a series of steps—thanks to his stimulated superintelligence abilities. The privileges allow him to see reports on the Titan civilian public ID index and make simple programming apps. They also enable him to send and receive messages without going through the networks security protocol, thereby leaving him anonymous and untraceable.
With these capabilities he embarked on the first step in his invasion plan. He set up a phony organization called the Resistance with an anonymous network address and a phony list of supports.
In war, no matter how strong an authoritative government controls its people, there was always some dissent—a minority who oppose the war for a variety of reasons from unwillingness to make sacrifices, to opposing philosophical ideas. Even the most slender reed of hope for a better life is enough to excite them. Gallant hoped to exploit any lack of confidence in the leadership. To test the population’s confidence, he posted several anonymous messages on the network’s public billboards.
One message he left said, “War enriches the wealth and impoverishes the poor.”
Another said, “You’re innocent until they start investigating. Then no one wants to know you.”
Another said, “The humans are winning and supporting the Resistance.”
His test of the climate of public opinion soon produced a reaction. There were no comments to his postings, however, he found that the postings were all delete within ten minutes which told him the government was on high alert for any dissent. He concluded that there must be some unhappy Titan out there, so he set up an automated anonymous message posting that sent disgruntled messages on a random basis.
He was creating a distorted reality—a misinformation disease—and like any disease, he expected it to spread. He wondered what might spring forth from this infection.
***
With step one well underway; Gallant was ready for step two.
When a major industrial accident occurred, he sent an anonymous untraceable message to the news outlets:
Citizens,
We’ve heard your cries. The destruction of nuclear power plant No. 23 is the first of many acts to redress your grievances.
The Resistance
He then sent congratulatory messages to various individuals in government thanking them for their support. He was sure to send copies to the news media, as well.
Then he waited for the reaction which was swift as several officials simply went missing.
Step three required Gallant to use his superintelligence abilities to hack into a small bank and implant a computer app that sent small sums of money to many thousands of citizens throughout the planet.
It was not surprising that nearly all the erroneous deposits were reported and returned to the bank. The bank assumed it was a minor glitch and wasn’t concerned, but then it didn’t know about the few deposits that went unreported. These were what Gallant was hoping for—a few Titan malcontents willing to accept a small blessing despite the knowledge that they might be punished if discovered.
He sent a second small sum to those few who had not reported their first windfall. The next day when they hadn’t reported that sum, he followed up by depositing a large amount of money in their accounts.
Next the Gallant/Balazar avatar paid a
call on the lucky individuals and gave them their orders.
Initially he had difficulty conducting conversations without stumbling over some social gaff. When he did make an error, the responder would often lambast him. He could only withdraw and try someone else. They were oblivious to their own condition and subtle nuances in language were not easy. Titans rarely engaged in discussion of trivia, or their daily lives, or routine family activities, however, they enjoyed logic and rational activities that improved efficiency. Gallant had to become sensitive to their compulsive behavior and responded properly. Some subtleties eluded him, but eventually he learned to mimic their compulsive behavior as part of his disguise.
***
A worker for a Titan electrical power company sat restlessly in his tiny apartment shaking his head over a deposit notice from his bank. His single five by five meter room was sparse, but extremely well-organized and so clean that it was very nearly sterile. There were no windows and only a single door. The few pieces of furniture were without artistic merit, but served their function well enough, a table and chair, a bed, a cabinet, a closet with only a few changes of clothes though each item was folded, or hung with great precision and care. A food dispenser and washing sink occupied the furthest corner. There were no personal items displayed; no photos, no letters of commendation, no awards, nor anything that could identify the apartment’s occupant. It bore a striking resemblance to a prison cell.
The worker lounged in his chair chewing a bar of sim-food while perusing the notice. He had no reason to believe his privacy had been invaded, but in fact a communication connection had been opened and an avatar stood behind him.
The worker leaned over his computer and started punching in the security code for his bank.
“Don’t bother,” said the avatar. “You wouldn’t like the answers.”
Startled, the worker looked around. “Who’s that? What are you doing in here? How did you get in here?” The worker was not frightened—merely puzzled.
Commander Henry Gallant (The Henry Gallant Saga Book 4) Page 14