"I think I'm being watched," I stated.
"You are," John put in from his side of the table. "Team has an AI following you through station sensors. If it sees you doing something suspicious, it alerts a human."
"I do a lot of suspicious things!"
"No you don't," he countered with a shrug. "We wiped most its internal params. The AI ignores Team's criteria, and just returns a green light for Ejoq Dosantos all across the board. You could set the place on fire, and it wouldn't tattle."
"Someone has to be double-checking the sensor log."
"It's a massive stream," he dismissed, "and you're just one of dozens of people they're keeping track of. Besides, we put some rotware into the AI system that targets anything tagged with your name or IDent code. Slowly, the information becomes corrupted. Then it gets checked against the backup, like all data, and corrected automatically...and we control the backup stream. Essentially, no machine can watch you do anything."
"What about actual people, then? Flesh and blood investigators?"
"Not my spesh," he muttered, and returned to his game.
I looked around at them slowly.
Dieter took this opportunity to make himself a frozen meal, quietly, efficiently, and weirdly hung-over -- just like everything else he did. Christmas busied himself with some kind of report -- possibly about me, but it would be arrogant to presume. John was wrapped up in his work, while Stinna was doing something with a long bracketed list of code. I was about to ask her what it was, when, with eyes still glued to the hologram, she absently scratched an armpit, smelled her fingers, and licked them.
I decided busy myself with Gunnery.
Systems all came up fine, but the display showed a power fail for weapons, owing to Dieter's work with the engines. That was expected. I had juice enough for diagnostics, and decided to run some basic checks. Port and starboard missile tubes and launch systems looked okay. Missile inventories in the tubes were okay. The multi-spec laser in the bow came back green as well, save for the electricity issue. This gun had a parallel capacitor system, which, under normal circumstances, could allow for a sort of rapid shot capability. Right now, the charge in the capacitor meant the weapon was capable of at least one attack, even with the power fail. There was nothing to target, of course, but it was comforting all the same.
While the power issues had an easy explanation, what didn't was the stickiness of my work surface. Looking at an angle, I saw a dried ring of greenish fluid -- as if left from some careless someone's cup of Vaussermin. Nothing seemed to have been tampered with. I had installed some anti-intrusion software when I first came aboard. That was kind of standard. It didn't show that anyone had tried to compromise Gunnery while I'd been gone.
I had some wet wipes in there for keeping things dusted and nice. The sticky ring cleaned up fine. I wiped everything else down too. After this, I went back out to the Common Room, and warmed up a meal of my own. It was wheatballs and pasta in some kind of bright red sauce that likely contained more food dye than tomato. Dieter had already gone back to Engineering, and the others said nothing. Chris looked up with sullen glances once or twice, but that was it.
Back in Gunnery, with the door closed, I ate my meal without tasting it (a useful skill most spacers learn early in their careers).
Someone had been messing with my duty station, even though the hatch had been locked.
Only the captain could have over-ridden that through normal means...but the captain was in a coma, and frozen down.
Only an engineer could have bypassed the lock mechanism entirely, to crank the door open by hand...but the engineer wasn't a slob.
John or Stinna could have cracked the lock routine, though -- or maybe even pulled the over-ride codes from Mavis' head while she lay sleeping. It seemed very much within their overlapping skill sets, just as getting by my own meager cyber-defences without leaving any trace would be.
Still, I doubted either one of them would have done something like this of their own accord.
Which really just left Christmas Giordano.
||||||||||
Plenty of supplies and biowaste bags had been laid-in for the trip. I didn't fear for any of that. There were water bottles and energy bars. Boring, but sufficient for weeks.
It probably sounds like I was fatalistic about it all, but that wasn't the case. I was terrified the whole time. Every new status message, every thump or clunk from the internal machinery, every time I imagined my companion looked ill or fading, I was hammered by a spike of horrible panic.
Prior to this, I'd only ever been aboard one ship that had misjumped, and even then it was a minor thing. I'd signed aboard a modular hauler some years back as gunner/hygiene tech (I spent the cruise cleaning freshers and mopping floors). A bug in an update to the Navigation software package caused a discrepancy between the intended course, and the one that the starjump engine enacted. We'd come out of transdimensional space a week late, objective time, and nearly ten thousand kilometers off course. Inside, we hadn't known anything was wrong -- it seemed like a smooth trip.
Everyone aboard was questioned by both Orbital Control in the star system where we arrived, and by Route Management Authority investigators; the bridge crew in particular was detained while a full inquiry was held. For me, the whole thing amounted to little more than an inconvenience: I'd been contracted for one more run with the ship, and that was now canceled. I had to scramble to find another gig right away, but I got one, and never thought much about it after that.
Of course, it could have been much worse -- the hauler could have disappeared entirely, with the constituent atoms of ship and crew scattered throughout all of reality and eternity. A painless way to go, I assume, but it's the going part that sucks, no matter how it happens, so it was good to have skated over that particular patch of thin ice.
This time around, the ice was definitely cracking.
||||||||||
twenty-one
* * *
There was little doubt in my mind that I was being followed by someone -- or maybe someones. Real people, not just a computer program.
I'd hear them behind me, but when I turned to look, there was no one. I'd see them out the corner of my eye, but when I glanced over, they'd be someone or something innocuous. I'd feel them there...but they were never there.
It only remained to catch them -- to make them talk. To show up their bosses and corporate overlords as liars and cheats: management that would make assurances to a wronged investigator on the one hand, and treat him like a prime suspect on the other. Because that's what they were doing! They were taking someone who was helping this freejump project as a whole, and heaping suspicion and villainy upon him like he was a spy. The fact that I was a spy was immaterial -- they didn't know that, so they were treating me badly for no justifiable reason!
R&D was a mess.
The military takeover of the project involved even more pointless meetings than before, and even more miscommunication. It was impossible, at this stage, to foresee how the project could move forward at all, let alone when.
For Corporatespace to have built this facility and system-wide support network was impressive. For it to have dedicated so many resources, human and matériel alike, was humbling. And to have actually created working freejump prototypes was just flat-out incredible. But now they seemed to have their hands buried deep in obscure laws, senseless policies, and...okay, possibly justified paranoia. It was deeply frustrating to watch.
It either implied staggering incompetence -- which the Handshake wasn't especially known for -- or conflict behind boardroom doors. It could also represent a compromise. Admin and Team had likely been at odds over the nature of the freejump's development. I mean, one branch was dedicated to turning a profit, while the other was about protecting assets and territory. If Team started banging their drum, playing up the national security angle after Jaybird's destruction, maybe Admin finally threw them a bone: Mylag Vernier.
Sure, I'd had a
hand in some of the drama that brought on all these changes. But it could just as easily have been someone else. It could have been some other gunner, and some other crew. And if the exchange had gone down any differently, that crew would likely be dead. But such a battle would still have brought on scrutiny from Team and the BoD. Maybe nothing would have altered the outcome. Team had simply been looking for a reason to wade in. That was clear to me now. Jaybird's destruction was merely a pretext -- an excuse.
It wasn't really on me, then. I wasn't going to own all this chaos! I wasn't going to take responsibility, even in my own head, for what was happening now. Because something large and grand was afoot for this project, which had nothing whatsoever to do with this project.
Based on the fact that Branden and I were set free to continue operating SpecSign, the military was still being leashed by the BoD, or, at least balked -- despite having been given the appearance of free reign. The people here were busy, busy, busy doing nothing much at all. It was fascinating to contemplate, but the picture was too super-sized to be seen all in one pass. At least, by me.
I was feeling a cold shoulder in my Sub-Department. Seven Nuellan and Ghazza both seemed happy to have me there, but the others didn't grin when my pudgy form came through the curtain to our work space. They often frowned when I made suggestions. Maybe they'd been instructed by CPS08 Kesselior to watch me. Maybe the Eight had said the same thing to Ghazza and Floy, and they were just better at hiding it. Maybe Team decided to leave the Weaponry Sub-D out of the loop entirely. I didn't know.
In fact, it was possible that everything consisted of states of being, and purposes thereof, that I couldn't understand. It was all a blur. It was all far away from where and why I'd started on this road. Not a single person within fifty light-years knew me for what I was, except those on Shady Lady -- and they didn't like me, either. Well, maybe Mavis did, but it was hard to know -- and even harder to ask now.
Mavis.
If I was right about SS1 and SS2 having loaded her up with malware, then I was likely right about her waking up when it was most convenient to them. To Chris. Assuming that was correct, getting him what he wanted was the fastest and surest way to get her back on her feet. They couldn't risk trying to escape the system in any other manner than the one we used to arrive.
Unless, of course, they could -- if, maybe, they had a plan underway that, once again, I knew nothing about.
I was sitting on a bench, half-way home from work, three days after being released from Caesar's Palace. I shook my head to throw off the twists and turns, the blind alleys and dead ends, like so many cobwebs. Despite what I believed about my hidden crewmates, I had to decide if what they wanted coincided with what I wanted. If so, I could trust them to do that much. If not, they were a threat. Dieter was working hard, and now had the time he needed to get the job done. We could be underway soon. Two weeks? Three, at the most?
That might mean Mavis would be waking up soon. If she did, the very timing of it would be incriminating. If she didn't, then all my fears and suspicions were unfounded. It would make any ulterior motives of Shady Lady's people merely will-o-wisps: spontaneous, illusory, and dangerous to follow.
I wasn't in the habit of thinking the worst of my fellows, but I wasn't in the habit of lionizing them, either. Everyone I worked with got the benefit of the doubt until they gave me reason to think differently. Had John or Stinna actually done anything wrong? Had Chris? His priorities were contrary to my own, but they were transparent. Or seemed to be.
But what if they weren't? What if I was only meant to think they were -- to see him in one light, while he operated in another?
I was getting it on both ends, because my SpecSign work was equally confusing: someone had screwed up in either R&D or Special System Control. I'd made no progress on that front. I hadn't met anyone who'd had the authority to order the freejump to attack us. That placed the responsibility higher, and I could get no higher.
I was in a development group, ostensibly to offer insight and observational input. Instead, all I did was browbeat younger, hungrier people, and make everyone unhappy, including myself.
At length, I decided it was time to get back aboard Shady Lady full time. No, I didn't trust them -- most of them -- but I trusted that they wanted to leave. If I helped out up there where ever I could, perhaps it could happen faster. After the propagators were aboard, I could resign from SpecSign and R&D, and have the wonder twins give me a travel makeover, like they had for Dieter.
I called the engineer up and told him all this, but he just shook his head in my eye-view.
"Sorry, but I'm going to need you down there right up to the very last minute, in case I need any tools or supplies. None of us can go aboard to manage it."
"Chris can," I corrected. "For a short time, anyway."
"What makes you think that?" he questioned.
"He pops out for food and stuff. Booze, snacks, what have you. That's where all the wrappers and trash came from."
"I thought you were bringing them supplies."
"Why would you think that?" I echoed, genuinely puzzled.
"Chris told me," he replied, frowning.
"I take it you're in Engineering right now? Can they be listening in?"
"Who?"
"John and Stinna. Can they be watching you right now through monitors or sensors?"
"No," he stated, creases on his forehead. "This section is classified, remember. Nothing like that is installed."
"They could be intercepting the call, though, from my end."
"I suppose. If they thought there was a need. You're saying there is?"
"I'm saying that Chris might believe there is, so they might believe it, too.
He just shook his head, seemingly annoyed at my paranoia, and the idea that I might be right.
"Ejoq, I can't think about this right now. I can't think like this. I'm in the middle of a complete starjump stripdown. I have to expose the jump array deep inside the chassis, so I can uninstall the damaged propagators. If I get it wrong, the array won't reassemble properly, and we'll misjump."
"Okay, okay...I'll get the parts right now, if you want."
"No, I don't have the room yet -- I've got at least three days of work in here, and maybe, one more getting everything stowed properly and cleaned up. Then I have modifications to make on the engine in order to make the replacement parts fit. After that, you can bring the parts up. It'll be at least a week, maybe more."
"Will they be safe where you stashed them?" I asked, worried about that suddenly.
"We'll just have to hope...unless you have some place better?"
But I didn't. I told him to call when he needed me, and rang off.
It was all I could do: exactly nothing.
* * *
Ghazza and I had to wander all over R&D looking for a place to have a conversation, but everything was full up with laborers, skilled contractors, or guards. We finally ended up in the galleyette, hovering by the coffee dispensor. We spoke in whispers, and every time someone came in to get a cup of joe, we hushed up. It must have looked like some kind of office drama in the making, but in point of fact, I was seeking to reduce the drama.
"It would be better for the Sub-D as a whole, and, of course, I'll still be right here."
"I know there's been some tension, Ejoq, but that's the nature of the project."
I shook my head, but didn't reply, because someone came in to look for a mug. I smiled and waited until they were gone.
"Ghaz, those Offs are hungry. They don't want some civvie know-it-all messing things up for them. Contributions to the project are all coded to the individual members. I get monetary bonuses, but they get brownie points. They want move up, and all I'm doing is getting in the way."
"What you're doing," she objected, "is solving problems that, frankly, I often thought were unsolvable. Don't back off because of these kids -- they'll either step up, or they won't. If they do, they'll get the recognition they deserve. If they d
on't, they'll get the obscurity they deserve. It's how this works -- you know that."
"It's becoming a detriment. If people don't get an equal opportunity to shine, they simply won't. Despite any gains we've had so far, progress will dry up. I mean, there comes a time when the harm I'm doing to the group will outweigh any good."
"But what do you know about Neural Control Interfacing? I was going to farm that part out. It really takes an expert in the field."
"I'm not sure there are any," I replied dubiously. "I know for a fact that there aren't any commercially-available neural interface systems for civilian gunnery. That would mean pulling in Team experts, who may, but likely won't, have civvie hardware experience. They'd waste time blundering around because of ignorant choices. They'd presume things and screw it all up. I've done that myself, from the opposite end. All of you, with miltech experience, have kept me, um...honest."
If she noticed my hesitation, she didn't show it.
"So, should I put in for an NCI Spesh right now?"
"Yeah, I'd say so. But I want to look at the basics and try to get up to speed. If Team can get someone who's half-way decent here, and quickly, then all the better. If not, at least you'll be able to say to Jacob and Floy that Weaponry is working on it. I think we're the only Sub-D making any progress at all, right now, so they should be impressed."
Ghaz looked me over quietly, as two people came in, chattering, and raided the snack and coffee machines. She gave me an arched eyebrow until we were alone again, then said, with the sparest of grins, "Floy...?"
"Oh, come on! Don't. All right?"
She added nothing, but held onto that bemused smile, pouring herself some tea.
It made me feel uncomfortable, so I looked around the little alcove as if there was anything new to see. I was quite surprised to find that there was!
Risk Analysis (Draft 04 -- Reading Script) Page 29