Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “No one works that fast!” I exclaimed again, “I just stumbled out of bed to answer the door!”

  The sudden whine issuing from the flat bottomed but otherwise mostly spherical object the Comm Tech had just placed on the table, interrupted us.

  Sensing a sudden threat, I leveled my miniature blaster pistol. Wavering back and forth between pointing it at the Tech and then the device, I couldn’t decide which was the greater threat.

  When it failed to change in pitch or do anything except produce an irritating whine, my pistol settled on the Technician.

  For her part she was still too busy working on a handheld data slate to notice I was pointing a loaded blaster pistol at her.

  Since she didn’t even seem to realize she was under threat from her Admiral by the way she was so focused on tapping away at her little hand held screen, I started to feel foolish and slowly lowered the blaster pistol until it was hanging at my side.

  Lifting her head up the Tech smiled at me, then registered the hold out pistol in my hand for the first time and gave a start.

  Shaking my head I thrust the pistol through the front of my robe-like pajamas, where the cloth strips were tied together.

  “What is your purpose,” demanded Akantha, rolling out of bed and placing a hand on Bandersnatch.

  The Communication Tech looked at me before answering.

  I didn’t need to see the look Akantha was going to send my way after to know this was not an Admiral-helping response.

  “You can say whatever it is,” I said hastily, “Akantha is cleared for whatever information you think is so important it can’t wait until after my sleep cycle.”

  The Technician hesitated, biting her lip as she glanced back and forth between the two of us with deer-caught-in-the headlight like eyes. “Enough with the cloak and dagger,” I glared at the Tech. “Spit it out! The sooner you tell me whatever it is you think is so important, the sooner you can get out of here!”

  Seeming to find her courage after this last instruction, the brown little Caprian technician nodded decisively.

  “I was at my station performing a routine system update for units on standby when I noticed something unusual,” she paused to give weight to what she was about to say, “the long range program was already active,” she said triumphantly, “that’s why I had to take this to you personally and use the noise suppression field.”

  I blinked. It seemed that the members of my communications department needed some training in the art of communication.

  “What does this all mean,” I asked, using a tone of stupidity copied from one of the more dundering characters on the holo-vid. Then I dramatically struck my forehead with an open palm.

  Not picking up on my holo-vid copied speech pattern, the Comm Tech looked at me quizzically.

  “Explain the relevance of this finding and why you used a suppressor, because it all means less than nothing to me right now,” I said irritably.

  The tech turned her head and eyed me out the corner of one eye as she searched to find out how serious I was.

  The hard glare I gave her in reply made clear I was more than serious enough for her purposes.

  “The long range program,” she said slowly as if speaking to a child, “runs the long range communications array.”

  I shook my head. This was getting nowhere fast.

  She then looked at me like I was stupid. It was look I was quite familiar with receiving from women. Akantha liked to flip that look at me quite often.

  “The Long Range Communication’s Array,” she said, the emphasis on her words giving capital letters to the beginnings of each word, “you know Admiral, the same one that runs our ComStat Transmitter/Receiver array.”

  I started. “What? Someone was trying to check if part of the ComStat Network was still up? FTL Communication is gone tech, a thing of the past,” I said shaking my head, “the Imperials self destructed the whole network. It was probably a routine test of some kind to make sure the array was still functional.”

  “That’s what I thought too, Sir,” she said excitedly, “until I checked and realized we were receiving a transmission from outside the ship through that array,” at this little factoid I bolted upright.

  “There’s another ship in the system?” I demanded.

  “And shortly after that,” she continued, ignoring me, “the long range program booted up the long range array, and after exchanging automatic handshake protocols, it made a secure connection to a functional FTL relay station relay-program!”

  I stared at her.

  “What does this mean,” demanded Akantha, no doubt seeing how surprised I was and getting both interested and irritated.

  “But the ComStat Network was destroyed! There aren’t any relay stations left!” I said in disbelief.

  “That’s what I thought too, Admiral. But it looks like at least part of the network is still operational,” reported the Tech.

  “What’s your name, tech,” I asked, realizing I didn’t even know this woman’s name.

  “Lisa Steiner, Sir,” she replied blushing at this bit of attention from her Admiral.

  “Lisa, you must be mistaken,” I assured her, trying to quell the excitement I was feeling at the thought of being back in contact with the rest of civilization. “Maybe this buoy malfunctioned,” I mused aloud, “which is quite interesting and we should probably check it out on the way back—”

  “You don’t understand, Admiral,” she insisted, hopping back and forth from foot to foot. “The message itself was encrypted in an algorithm not in the database, but the message protocol was clear as could be. The original message originated outside the ship, and was relayed through at least six different FTL buoys,” she said agitatedly.

  I stared at her stunned by the implication that the ComStat network might not be as defunct in the Spine as originally thought.

  “You are saying that an oathbreaker on the Lucky Clover is using a long talker to speak with someone near another star?” demanded Akantha while I was still woolgathering over the advantages a fully functional ComStat Network would give my ship and any others in the fleet once we could link up to it.

  I shook my head in amazement; while I was planning for the future, Akantha had zeroed in on the most important factor.

  “Yes, my Lady,” the Technician said bobbing her head.

  “Who?” she demanded of the smaller woman.

  “That I don’t know, Lady Akantha,” she said for once sounding concerned, “I couldn’t break the communication from my console, and the long-range program wasn’t activated from the Flag Bridge.”

  “If it wasn’t activated from the Flag Bridge, it could have been from anywhere in the ship,” I said with frustration.

  “Not so Admiral,” she said shaking her head, “unlike the normal space arrays, the long range array can only be activated from a bridge console or directly at the array itself.”

  “So someone had to go out and manually override the program, that’s what you’re saying,” I concluded, my mind already racing with plans on how to catch whoever it was that knew about the continued existence of part of the ComStat Network.

  But the little tech was already shaking her head.

  “From the array itself or a bridge console, Sir,” she argued.

  But I didn’t see what was to argue about… Oh snap.

  “If it wasn’t from the Flag Bridge it could have been activated from the…” I trailed off as the implications sank in.

  “Correct, Admiral, it could have originated from the Command Bridge,” she explained, putting what could be the final nail in my great plans to catch the perpetrator. Blast that infernal Command Bridge; was this second bridge on my ship destined to be the bane of my present and future existence?

  “And the suppression device,” I asked with a sinking sensation.

  “I should have been alerted as soon as the long range program was activated,” said the Tech, “but someone disabled the watchdog program and used an ad
vanced encryption not in my database for the message itself. If they can do that and bypass my own hardwired console….” she trailed off, looking uncertain.

  But I was anything other than uncertain, “Then they can potentially do anything, perhaps even hack into our own wall based terminals,” I mused, looking at said terminal set in the wall of my personal quarters.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the Tech said faintly, looking uneasy.

  I shot her a penetrating look, “How effective is that suppression device? It’s an older model I presume,” I asked, leaving unsaid the fact that there were thousands of new personnel on the ship who might have brought much newer and more updated models to counter our aged security tech.

  The Tech blushed, “It's my personal unit, Admiral Montagne. I brought it with me at the start of our patrol. It was a top of the line unit back before we left Capria.”

  I blinked, “So it’s not 50 years out of date, only about a year,” I paused, as what I wanted to say was that even that was too old to rely on, But in truth, what did I know about dedicated security technology, even communications security technology? The only person I knew who might be able to answer such questions was my current Chief of Staff. With the return of parliamentary forces in strength on board the Clover, going to him could very well be a serious mistake.

  “I see,” I temporized. If I couldn’t go the Tremblay, then I couldn’t really go to anyone else on the ship right at the moment. I was just going to have to rely on the Technician here to do her best to recognize any dangers for me and take whatever countermeasures we could. For a moment I wanted to question whether I could even trust her, but that road let to paranoid inaction. No, she had come to me, so I was going to take her information and goodwill at face value.

  “Is it possible to monitor these communications, and if possible copy them for later review, or even simply stop the other side from knowing a message was ever received or not sent in the first place,” I asked, but the Tech was already shaking her head.

  “I don’t have the kind of training to even try something like that, we’d need a System Analyst for such a plan,” she replied.

  Now it was my turn to shake my head in negation, “It's too risky to involve another person.”

  To my eyes the Tech nodded in agreement, but Akantha must have seen something different.

  “What are you not saying,” she demanded of the Comm Tech.

  I glanced over at my wife with the intent of upbraiding her for accusing the Tech, when my eyes snagged on her long slender legs. Her quite attractive long, slender legs. They were very white and well-defined.

  I was only distracted for about a second, but that was long enough for the Tech to break down under the weight of my girl’s regard.

  “I already asked Mike’s opinion before coming to speak with the, Admiral,” she mumbled.

  Attention snapping away from my wife and back on the tech, “What?” I demanded.

  “Sir,” she said staring past my shoulder at the wall and drawing herself up to attention, “this crewman did already speak with a Systems Analyst before taking the liberty of bringing this information to the Admiral, Sir,” she reported, sounding quite official.

  “Who is this Mike,” demanded Akantha, still holding the sheathed and upside down Bandersnatch by the hilt as she stalked over to look the Technician right in the eye.

  “No one, milady,” said the Technician.

  “No one,” Akantha asked, arching a brow.

  The Tech blushed.

  “Ah, I thought as much,” my wife said with satisfaction.

  I was still out to sea. I mean, it was interesting information and all, but its exact relevance to our current situation was slightly tangential to the main point: the knowledge that the ComStat network might not have been entirely destroyed was not contained to the people in this room. How my wife had picked up on it in the first place…was beyond me.

  “Inform this System Analyst you are seeing, this Mike,” I said coldly, and trying for my most severe senior Admiral, “that information regarding a functional FTL buoy and transmissions to and from this ship are Secret Information and not to be shared with anyone else. The circle of knowledge is to be kept to the four of us.”

  “Yes, Admiral,” she replied, going pale as a sheet.

  “That said…” I paused drawing out the tension deliberately, “Good work Lisa, you are to be commended,” at her look of shock and pleased surprise, I nodded my approval, “Not only did you find this, you brought it directly to me. That took courage.”

  “Yes, it was very brave,” agreed the taller woman holding an ancient sword in her hand, who had a ship-wide reputation for using it on those who offended her.

  I cut in before Akantha could derail this conversation. “Since this Mike is already aware of the situation, you are to use your judgment to decide whether to involve him any further. However, if at all possible I want this information leak traced and stopped.”

  “Barring physically disconnecting the actual Array,” Lisa began doubtfully.

  “No, we’re not going to let them…whoever they are, know we’re aware of exactly what they’re up to,” I said shaking my head, “you let me worry about the array itself; I want you and Mike to focus on the programming side. Both cracking the message you’ve already intercepted, as well as intercepting any new ones!”

  “Yes, Sir,” Crewman Steiner said with a salute.

  “Dismissed, Crewman,” I said firmly.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she said before deactivating her suppressor and departing the room.

  “You know what this means, Jason,” Akantha asked in a quiet voice.

  “Yes, my love,” I said tightly, “They’re moving against us and they’re in contact with someone outside the ship…someone they think can help them.”

  My mind raced as I tried to devise a way to thwart their efforts, and a light bulb went off in my head. Using my dataslate, I pulled up the spec’s for the Lucky Clover’s communication’s systems and quickly found what I was looking for.

  “What is your plan?” asked Akantha after a silent minute or two of watching me input commands to the slate.

  “I have a little assignment for the good Colonel,” I explained after getting confirmation from Colonel Suffic that he had received my instructions. “But for now, we should probably get back to sleep.”

  We shared a long look before acting in silent unison and doing as I had suggested.

  Chapter 7: Spalding in Medical

  He was the very model of a recently upgraded Space Engineer.

  Spalding stared around him with a squint. Stuck back in sickbay, by each and every one of Saint Murphy’s Misfiring Engines, he harrumphed.

  “What a terrible place for an Engineer,” he groaned through pursed lips. As he adjusted his posture in bed, he heard the whine of a servo and the footboard of his hospital bed went flying.

  “Substandard parts,” he exclaimed, scowling down at his left foot, “only in Medical would they saddle an Engineer with such terribly out of tune prosthetics.”

  At the sound of rapid footsteps outside his door, the old Engineer groaned. “Now what?”

  A grey haired Doctor and a Nurse (with an entirely-too-sweet-looking disposition to belong in this rat’s nest of broken dreams and incompetence) rounded the corner.

  “Junior Lieutenant Spalding, I should have known,” Dr. Presbyter frowned.

  “Just what kind of low budget operation are you running around here anyway, Doc,” the wily old Engineer said fiercely.

  Presbyter cocked an eyebrow.

  “I beg your pardon,” the doctor said mildly, “our hospital beds are some of the finest in the database, and some of the best I’ve ever seen, I assure you.” If words could cut, the Doc’s would have been a scalpel shaving layers of skin from this particular patient.

  But Spalding was no ordinary patient, so he waved this off irritably. Being scolded by the Medical staff was for sick men and pikers more interested in making
time with that nice looking Nurse than an ornery old Engineer who’d spent entirely too long in this bed already.

  “Not the bed,” he cried shaking a finger at the Doctor, “it’s these bloomin’ legs you went and saddled me with: they’re clearly factory defective!”

  “A little time acclimating to your prosthesis as the neural connections between your new legs and your natural wetware stabilizes is only to be expected,” Presbyter growled. “That doesn’t mean that they’re sub-standard, or that you should consider yourself free to destroy our medical equipment any time you take it into your foolish old head!”

  “My fool head is it,” Spalding shouted, grabbing a hold of his right leg by the knee and raising it in the air for everyone to see. “They’re too blasted long! As even a man with his head stuck his unmentionables should be able to see.”

  “Contain yourself, Mr. Spalding. This medical unit is not a psych ward, nor am I the sort of doctor who is willing to tolerate such outrageous behavior,” Presbyter said coldly.

  “And they whine something fierce, every single time I move them,” Spalding continued scornfully, bestowing the full weight of his angry disregard on the factory defective legs they’d saddled him with.

  “Those legs were selected for you by members of your own department,” Presbyter disagreed. “Besides, you’re the engineer! If you don’t like them, fix them up when you get out of here, or simply exchange for another set and we’ll do a reinstall,” he said, turning to leave the room.

  Spalding opened his mouth to read the Doctor the riot act. Who was this man to turn his back on one of his most damaged patients; a man he fouled up something fierce while the old engineer was stuck unconscious on the operating table?

  Then he felt a hand on his upper shoulder.

  “Really, it does take a while to get used to them,” the Nurse explained in a soft voice.

  Terrence Spalding rounded on her, but in the face of such compassion as he found on her face, he was temporarily put off his stride.

  “They still need fixing,” he finally grumped.