Space Fleet Sagas Foundation Trilogy: Books One, Two, and Three in the Space Fleet Sagas

by Don Foxe

  “Of course,” the girl from Fell replied. “Do you want me to check everything in the house?”

  “Just my office,” Patterson replied.

  Patterson led the way to her home office, a converted downstairs bedroom now home to her memorabilia, awards, recognitions, medals, and computers. She used two systems. A modern holo-screen data center with incredible everything. A gift from Dr. Nathan Trent. The data center allowed her to remain in contact with those she was closest to, from her daughter, to monitoring Daniel Cooper’s progress. With a boost in power she could make contact outside the solar system. It also provided access to every non-classified document on the planet.

  Stacey started there. She took Patterson’s chair, without asking, booted the system, and opened the holo-deck.

  “I didn’t give you my password,” Patterson said. The girl looked up beneath hooded eyes, gave a small shake of her head, and continued flipping through files.

  Pam wondered if the head shake indicated her disdain for humans or just adults.

  “Everything except one program is compromised,” she told her, shutting the system down. “Your search history, notes, communications, videos. Everything.”

  “Except one?”

  “You have a streaming program with the filename ‘RUN DMC.’ The program is advanced, even by Fellen standards. The security originates from the source, and your system does not maintain data from the feed”

  The young woman waited for an explanation of the un-Earthly design. None was provided.

  “Would you check the other one?”

  Stacey moved to a smaller desk, angled next to a window, with a small, but comfortable chair. This system built on a much older platform. It even used a video monitor. She played with a trackpad for a few seconds, then asked, “Password?”

  “Really?” Patterson smothered a snicker.

  “It’s technology from before my time,” the girl responded, defensive. “I’m surprised it still exists. It’s something out of my ancient history classes on Fell.”

  “Two fingers. Spell Pam. Upper case P, lower case a, and lower case m.”

  Stacey looked at Patterson as if the older woman was the alien. To Stacy’s point of view, she was.

  Patterson let the girl do her thing. Whatever the reason, this examination took longer.

  Stacey finished, tapped a combination on the trackpad, and closed the system.

  “You must have been on the computer during one of the random scans,” she said, answering the unasked question. “Otherwise, it would be impossible to access to the older system. Everything on the system, prior to three-days six-hours ago, has been taken. Anything added since then is secure.”

  “If I were on the system now, and a scan occurred, is there a way to warn me?”

  “Yes, but the warning would be too late,” Stacey explained, “Beam-scanners are extremely fast and efficient. By the time a warning alert could indicate the presence of the beam, it would have collected the data and departed.”

  “If I wanted to copy information from that computer, and move it to another location, would the people using the scan be aware of the transfer?”

  “If you were on the system when another scan occurred, they would be aware of your actions, but they could not trace the data too find the new system, assuming you use a data stick. If you transfer system to system, then it could be traced. Do you want anything copied while we know a scan is not present?”

  “Thank you, no. I need time to think about all of this first.” She placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Thank you, Stacey. If you hadn’t been here, I would never have known about this.”

  She shrugged, unsure of how to handle the compliment.

  Dorm

  “Admiral Patterson didn’t know someone hacked her computer?” Chaspi asked.

  “Had she know, I doubt she would have been surprised,” Stacey replied.

  “Any idea what ‘RUN DMC’ monitors?”

  The cat-eyes turned away from the document on her paper-thin data-display card.

  “I did a search. The only thing I found was a musical trio founded in 1981 who performed hip hop.”

  “What’s ‘hip hop?'

  “I could not understand the translation,” Stacey admitted. “Perhaps Rosz will know. Regardless, I do not think they were the secure site Pam monitored.”

  The two girls met to discuss course offerings for the upcoming quarter. Stacey helping Chaspi select introductory-level aeronautics classes.

  “Have you ever flown?” the Fellen asked the Osperantue.

  “Just private mini-hovers,” she replied. “On vacation, or with friends who have them. I don’t think I’ve ever been in control or higher than six-feet above the surface.”

  “Pilot certification is not offered next quarter. The weather in Ontario is too unpredictable and unsafe.” Stacey read from the brochure. “Principles of Flight. Technological design for in-atmosphere and exo-atmospheric craft. Basic concepts of flight, including the three axes of flight, and the control surfaces that guide aircraft.”

  She handed the booklet up to Chaspi.

  Stacey sat on the floor. Chaspi sat cross-legged on her bed. Rosz and Billy off doing guy stuff. She read over the complete description for the class.

  “Sounds technical. Looks technical.”

  “You’re an environmental engineering student. This is an entry-level course. It should be simple. Get it completed now and you’ll be ready for flight school when the weather improves.”

  “Stacey, do you find it strange Earth might be the only planet with real people actually piloting their space craft? Every world I know about allows computer systems to control operations. Pilots on Osperantue ships basically monitor and report to the Captain.”

  “I find many things on this planet strange, but not that,” the attractive blue-skinned alien replied. “Fellen pilots can fly the ship, but only if a system is off-line or visual flight is required because of interference. The fact Earth-ship pilots are the primary controllers is why I came to join Space Fleet. I want to fly, not just ride.”

  “This planet is the newest to attain intergalactic travel,” Chaspi continued, “and they are behind in many ways, yet they are the best hope for stopping the Zenge. It all seems strange to me.”

  “They are a challenging species to understand,” Stacey agreed. “I think that may be why they continue to win the battles against the Mischene. Humans are unpredictable.”

  “You could say the same about males. I wonder what they are looking for?”

  “The boys?” Stacey asked. When Chaspi nodded, she surmised, “Rosz is probably trying to find a music store that sells - what did he call them - vinyls? I have no idea what type of music vinyl could be, but it sounds difficult to locate. Billy is likely keeping him company.”

  “The ones hacking the Admiral. What do you think they wanted?”

  “They wanted the files on her antiquated computer,” Stacey answered, retrieving a second personal pad by sliding it to her hand with her foot.

  Chaspi waited for more information. She could have waited until a fat Woolifer arrived. The Fellen female displayed no sense of drama or curiosity.

  “Stacey?”

  The blue face looked up, the golden eyes with the feline irises arresting and disturbing. Fellen were a predator species. Bosine were prey.

  “How do you know what they wanted?” Chaspi asked.

  “The last few beams were more directed. Aimed at that section of Pam’s office.”

  “Pam?”

  “She asked that I call her by her name. Human’s are informal, unless they are extremely formal. It’s difficult to know when they prefer which.”

  “They are difficult. Almost as hard to communicate with as Fellen technology wizards who don’t know how to gossip.”

  Stacey presented her new friend with a look easily translated. Part exasperation and part resignation.

  “The Admiral, Pam, dedicated the older system to
one subject,” she told the other girl. “It contains files, notes, videos, and data on Colonel Titus Andronicus Barnwell, Jr. That was the information the hackers downloaded. It also appears they intend to continue monitoring the system, hoping to capture anything Pam added.”

  “How do you know all of the files are about this one person?”

  “I have eidetic memory,” Stacey admitted. “I scanned many of the files while trying to determine if they were compromised, and whether I could institute a protection wall against future intrusions.”

  “Photographic memory. That is so rare,” Chaspi said. “Well, rare for species from Osperantue, and rare for humans. Is it rare on Fell?”

  “Eidetic memory is more invasive than photographic memory,” the girl on the floor replied. Her blue skin coloring beginning to darken. The subject regarding her gift caused an increase in her blood pressure. “From what I have read, two to three percent of human children have it, and fewer adults. It tends to lessen as they grow older. Less than ten-percent of one-percent of the people of Fell possess eidetic memory. It’s freaky.”

  “Freaky? Stacey, it’s phenomenal. To be able to see something and recall it perfectly. Taking exams must be easy for you.”

  “Yes. But when I recall something, it fills my brain space. It’s difficult to do other things at the same time. When I actively recall something, I become catatonic for a couple of seconds.”

  “Okay, I see where that could be scary, but not freaky.”

  “Ten-percent of one-percent equals freak,” Stacey responded. “If anyone found out, I would be placed in a tech center as a resource. Imagine engineers able to ask me to spout out equations or results of an experiment immediately, without time wasted to access a computer and search for the correct data. That would become my job. Not flying.”

  “Wow, they would do that?”

  “Maybe. They’ve done it to others, in the past. When I realized I could remember anything, perfectly, and immediately, I looked into it.”

  “Who knows about your gift?”

  “My family, Daniel Cooper, and you.”

  “Me? Those people and me? Wow. I can’t believe you trust me that much,” and she uncrossed her legs.

  “DO NOT COME DOWN HERE AND HUG ME,” Stacey warned. Chaspi was a hugger, and Stacey so not.

  The Bosine girl who escaped an invasion and experienced life as a refugee, including living displaced on a distant planet, hugged as a way of confirming her existence.

  Stacey, taken captive with her younger sister by the Zenge after they invaded her planet, preferred her personal space stay unencumbered.

  Changing the subject, and taking advantage of the normally reticent Fell’s openness, Chaspi asked, “Who is Titus Andronicus Barnwell, Junior?”

  “Was,” Stacey corrected. “He was one of the twelve Space Ranger survivors. He committed suicide.”

  “NO WAY!” Chaspi exclaimed. “An elite soldier, a man who could live forever, a Ranger like Coop and Elena Casalobos, committed suicide. That just does not sound right.”

  Stacey, who knew more of the Space Rangers than Chaspi, agreed. “Pam thinks it odd, as well,” she said. “Her files included her personal investigation notes into his death. From what I read, I don’t think she believes he committed suicide.”

  “She’s investigating his death? Can she do that? Retired.”

  “Before she transferred to Space Fleet, she worked for UEC Naval Intelligence. She is capable of investigating. Her resignation provided the additional time to pursue the inquiry. That she kept all of her notes and data on a non-connected ancient system indicates she does not have the authority to investigate. Being retired.”

  “Now someone knows she’s doing it,” Chaspi said.

  “Yes. But without knowing who that may be, there is no way to decide if it represents a possible arrest.”

  “Arrest! You think she could be arrested for investigating a suicide?”

  “No. I think she could be arrested for having classified government documents on a private system.”

  “Then she needs to get them off. She needs to hide them.” She stood, ready to act. “We need to tell her.”

  “Chaspi, Pam knows everything I have told you, except the knowledge I am aware of the contents of her system. I believe her experience as an intelligence officer, and the Fleet Admiral for Space Fleet is sufficient for her to understand the potential dangers. We do not need to inform her.”

  The Bosine sat back down. “You’re right. She’ll know to hide them. Stacey?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think we should help her with the investigation?”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is obviously important to her, and she can’t continue with someone trying to hack her system. And you have all of the files in your memory. And we all owe her.”

  “Maybe,” Stacey replied. “Maybe.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Toronto. Downtown.

  The former Communications Security Establishment Canada (CSEC) was an electronic eavesdropping agency that gathered intelligence from abroad. The agency maintained offices in the Canadian capital of Ottawa. Following unification with the former United States of America, the CSEC joined with the US National Security Agency. Later, the joint operation became the United Earth Council’s electronic intelligence agency, the UESE. They maintain a secure operational center in Toronto, near UEC and Space Fleet campuses.

  Patterson exited her transport in the agency’s below-ground parking. She made her way to the elevator, her purposeful stride shackled by the suitcase wheeled behind her. The lift rose to the highest floor allowed. The doors opened onto a security desk, complete with scanners, x-rays, and two formidable guards dressed in matching blue business suits.

  She was reaching for her credentials when a tall, older gentleman in a tailored grey suit and hand sewn shoes emerged from the doors behind the security station to intercede.

  “Pam,” he called.

  “Paris,” she replied in acknowledgment. She confirmed his presence on site before making the trip from her home, but did not call to warn him of her visit. Security would have picked her up the moment she came within four blocks of the center. Her Space Fleet ID had gotten her this far, but Paris’ intervention likely smoothed the way as well.

  “Come around to the private gate,” he instructed, moving to his left while directing her to her right. She did not see him push, press, or request any action, but a section of the security wall opened inward, allowing her to enter the secure facility without needing to pass through the detection devices.

  Paris Cassel, Director of the United Earth Security Establishment (UESE), North American Division, could allow access to anyone he wished. Cassel and Patterson did not speak again. He led her through the door and into spy central. She followed, entering a room when he stopped and held the door open for her.

  The door closed behind them and she asked, “Secure?”

  “Totally,” he assured her. “It may look like other conference rooms, but every possible scan, x-ray, intrusion beam, or person with good ears standing at the door can’t hear or see anything inside. What’s important enough to require an unannounced visit?”

  “Unannounced? You knew I would be coming from the moment I called to confirm you were on site.”

  “I have been keeping an eye on the security feeds,” he admitted. “We’ve known each other since you joined Naval Intelligence, and I was a lowly field agent for the UESE. For you to send a ‘heads-up’ and then show up, luggage in hand, means trouble. Question is, trouble for whom?”

  “First, you have never been a lowly field agent. You were Canada’s top spy, even back then. Second, trouble for me. This is a personal request, Paris. If you have to turn me away, I will understand.”

  Cassel pulled a seat out, made sure his guest was comfortable, before walking around and taking a chair facing her. “Pam, you have been an ally and a friend for thirty years. If you are in trouble, and did not co
me to me, I would be devastated. Whatever you need, you have.”

  “You haven’t heard the details yet.”

  “Tell me the details, but they won’t matter.”

  “The suitcase contains my old personal computer. I have the files, public and classified, concerning the death of Titus Barnwell. I have my notes, personal investigation journal, and concerns that his death was perpetrated by a faction within the United Earth Council, and possibly the Board of Governors. Do you still want to help me?”

  “More than ever,” he admitted. “What do you need?”

  “My house is randomly scanned. This computer is already compromised. I need a secure location to store it and still have access so I can continue my investigation.”

  Cassel rose, went to the wall on his right. He stared at the facade. A seam appeared and a section eight-feet high and four-feet wide slide forward, soundlessly.

  “You can place your equipment inside,” he told her. Pam wheeled the bag and contents over, then into the exposed storage unit.

  “I have it set to accept your scan, please stand where I am,“ he moved aside, “and stare at the wall like an idiot.”

  Smiling, she took his place. The section reinserted into the wall. She continued to stare, but could not see a seam. “Impressive.”

  “Only you and I can open it,” he informed her. “This room will be designated for your use, and only your use, until you tell me otherwise.”

  “Thank you, Paris.”

  “Perhaps you should hold your thanks. I am in charge of electronic security and external threats to the UEC. While it is not my position to investigate internal threats, I cannot ignore your concern, Pam. If there is intrigue within the Council, and people are willing to kill an asset as important as a Space Ranger, you need to bring me up to speed.”

  “I’m following up on feelings, Paris,” she explained, returning to her seat. She appeared relieved and worried. Relieved her work was secure, and she had a potential ally. Worried about bringing a friend into a dangerous hobby.

  “I never felt right about Tab’s death ruled as a suicide. I saw the reports, and read his note. I simply could not believe it. When I retired, knowing I would have time on my hands, I decided to look more closely. I’m not far enough along to say more than, if his death wasn’t a suicide, then someone in the UEC was involved.”