The Passage

by David Poyer

  “This is a block diagram of the subordinate modules of the Automated Combat Decision and Direction System, Block One, Version Three-Point-One,” Shrobo muttered. “I drew it out when I was explaining things to Lieutenant Lenson today. The first thing I need to tell you is that I think I know now what we have in our system. There’s a short name for what we’ve got.”

  “What’s that?” Leighty asked.

  “A virus.”

  “A virus?”

  “A computer virus. That’s what they’re called.”

  Leighty said mildly, “I’m drawing a blank on that, Doc. How can a machine get a virus?”

  “Not a biological virus. These germs are actually little programs. They ride in on a tape or a disc and burrow into memory. Then they multiply—erase the original programming and write themselves over it, or lock up the keyboard, or display a message—whatever the programmer who wrote them wants them to do.” Shrobo glanced at Leighty. “It’s something that’s started around the fringes, since they started making personal computers. We’ve never seen one in the Navy before, but I think that’s what we’ve got.”

  Leighty said, “Some kind of rogue program that goes around eating memory … sounds like science fiction, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, they’re real all right,” said Shrobo.

  “I see. Well, how do we know if we’ve got one? And if we do, how do we get rid of it? And are we talking just the fire-control system, or—”

  Dan said, “It’ll depend on what we find, sir.”

  “What do you mean? What could we find?”

  He took a deep breath. It was always better to let your seniors know the worst that could happen up front. And now that Shrobo had explained how the thing worked, it was easy to visualize how badly it could damage a ship that depended on computers for almost everything it did. “Well, sir, it depends on how long it’s been in there replicating itself. From what Hank says, it may have infected everything the computers handle—the message-processing system, pay records, personnel, admin, sonar programs, navigational programs. And of course the fire control and combat direction systems.”

  “This may be serious, then,” said Leighty.

  Shrobo said, “It’s like the lieutenant says, depends on how long it’s been in there. Thing is, like for the message processing, you’ve got tapes with all the back messages on them. The virus could be on those tapes, too. You’ve either got to eyeball every piece of data you own or else try to put some kind of routine together to search for it and tell you where it is.”

  “Can we do that? Eyeball it, I mean?”

  “I don’t believe it’s possible to sanitize everything manually. There are a quarter of a million lines of code in the operating programs, but there are millions more in the memory units and data tapes for radio messages and the other records. All we have to do is miss one iteration and the virus will regenerate and crash the system again.”

  Everyone looked grave. Finally, Vysotsky said, “Then how about the search routine? Dan? Is that within our capabilities?”

  “I don’t know yet, sir,” said Dan. “We really need to get deeper into how it’s done. Dr. DOS is going to have to lead us.”

  “But how did we get this?” Vysotsky asked him. “Where’d it come from?”

  “We don’t know that, sir,” Dan told him. “But we’ll try to find out.”

  Shrobo said, “I need to emphasize one thing. I wouldn’t waste any time. Every hour you run your system, you lose more data. The thing’s growing in there right now. I’ve been trying to isolate what I’ve tentatively named the ‘Barrett Virus’—”

  “I don’t like that name,” said Leighty.

  “Well, some of the sailors call it the ‘Creeping Crud.’”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Doc,” said Leighty. “No disrespect to you, Jay, and Chief Dawson and the rest of the DSs, but it sounds like this is beyond them technically. Okay, go on. You were talking about counteracting it. How?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” Shrobo took a turn back and forth, hands behind his back, looking more like a stalking heron than ever. “First, I have to isolate it. Break it, read it, and understand how it works. Then maybe I can write a program that operates within the computer to protect it.”

  “Have you done that before?” the XO asked him.

  “No one’s ever done it before. You have to understand, this is a new field. Of course, you can trace it back to Von Neumann and Turing’s work on automata and Shannon’s work on information theory—”

  “That’s all very interesting,” said Vysotsky, “but how long will it take you to fix the computers?”

  Shrobo said, in the tone used to placate a child, “How long it takes is not important. Understanding what’s happening—that’s important. I don’t want to wipe out this virus. I want to capture it alive.” Vysotsky looked incredulous, started to say something else, but Shrobo went on. “To address your immediate problem, I propose a short-term fix. It may be possible to erect an electronic fire wall or placenta between weapons control and the rest of ACDADS. The interface to designation and identification functions will be manual. But it should control the guns and missiles well enough to permit engaging one or perhaps two targets simultaneously.”

  Woollie spoke up then. “Sir, I don’t think we can go along with that.”

  Leighty looked at him. “Why not, Lieutenant?”

  “Sir, it’s not that we don’t want to cooperate. It’s more of a point of philosophy. You’re the first ACDADS ship to go through refresher training here.”

  “That’s right, so?”

  “So … Sir, we have no objection to your doing the preparatory exercises any way you want to. The question is how you do the battle problem. Our philosophy is, you train the way you’d fight. Normally, you’d fight in full auto mode, right? That’s why this juryrig mode the man here is suggesting—I don’t think we can go along with that. If things are really that bad, maybe you should be back in the yard, not here getting ready for deployment. I’d be glad to set you up with the commodore, though, let you argue your position.”

  Leighty placed two index fingers to his lips. Then his eye caught Dan’s. “Mr. Lenson, you’re the combat systems officer. What’s your recommendation?”

  “Sir, I did a practice run-through today in CIC. Plotting by hand.”

  “And?”

  “Sir, I recommend we start training everyone that way. Full manual, plotting and everything, right now.”

  “Tell me why.”

  He sat for a second marshaling his thoughts, then leaned forward. “First, if they want us to do the battle problem in a standard mode, manual makes the most sense. We’d have to fight that way if we had battle damage. The battle problem’s three weeks away. That gives us time to train the talkers and evaluators. By then, we should be able to isolate and run the weapons control systems independently. And, best case—Shrobo gets everything up and running again—we switch to auto, but we’re still well trained on the backup mode.”

  “Then what’s the point in having this class of ship?” Vysotsky said. “Without the computers—we’ve already proved we can’t detect a sub even with his nose up the crack of our ass. We’d never be able to operate as part of a carrier battle group.”

  “But we can’t depend on the computers in automatic,” Quintanilla said. “Last time we shot at a drone, it hit the ship.”

  Dan glared at him across the table. Thanks, you son of a bitch, he thought.

  They discussed it back and forth for a while. Finally, Leighty held up his hand. “Okay, here’s my decision. I believe Commander Vysotsky is right. Your recommendation is noteworthy, Mr. Lenson, but I’m not going to step back in time.”

  “I don’t think it’s—”

  “Let me finish,” said Leighty mildly, and Dan bit his tongue. “The Japanese lost at Midway, maybe lost the whole war, because one squadron of dive-bombers got through unnoticed. In a general war at sea, we’ll have upward of a hundred Backfires, Badger
s, and Blinders in a strike, all firing air-to-surface missiles, and more cruise missiles from their Echoes and Charlies. The results of the Velvet Hawk series of fleet exercises are pretty consistent. Screen units—like Barrett—can expect to engage up to twenty incoming missiles at once in a major strike.”

  Leighty paused, then went on. “This ship is the future, and we’ve got to make it work. If we can’t, if the computers have become a liability instead of an advantage, maybe it’s best we get that on the record by failing the battle problem.”

  Vysotsky looked stunned. Dan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Leighty didn’t seem to register that failing refresher training could mean both he and the XO would be relieved. The captain continued, “We have three weeks. Mr. Lenson, I want you to pass off as many of your duties as you can to Mr. Shuffert, then supervise the effort to get ACDADS back up.”

  “Uh … aye aye, sir.”

  “It’s in your hands. Maybe Gitmo can help, though I don’t know how much smarts they have on software. But bottom line is that we’ll do the final battle problem in full auto. The system will work by then in mode three, or we will accept a failing grade.”

  Harper looked grave. Shrobo shook his head slowly, gaining him a virulent look from Vysotsky.

  Woollie broke the pause. “That’s a risky course of action, Captain. Really, if this new software’s the problem and a senior software engineer says it’s not working right, maybe I can persuade the commodore to grant you some kind of waiver on the—”

  “I see what you mean, but I don’t think that’s the issue.” Leighty tapped his lips with a pencil. “These ships are going to have to fight someday—without software engineers aboard. You can’t ask for a waiver in the middle of a battle. Thank you for the offer, but I believe I’ll stay with what I just said.”

  “All right, sir, I’ll notify the commodore of your intention. Otherwise … today’s exercises were unsatisfactory.”

  “Thank you,” said Leighty. He stood up, and glancing at one another, the officers and chiefs got up, too, and filed out.

  DAN was sitting glumly in his office, contemplating the fact that the captain had just bet his career and the possible future of a whole ship class on him and his team, when someone tapped on the door. “Yeah,” he called.

  It was Diehl, the NIS guy. “Lieutenant. You said if I had any questions …”

  “Yeah. Come on in.” He tried to force a casual tone as he cleared off a chair beside his desk.

  “This a good time? You look busy.”

  “I’ll probably be here all night. So you might as well ask whatever it is you want to ask me now.” He forced a smile. “Cephas, how about getting Mr. Diehl some coffee. Me, too. Sugar? Cream?”

  Diehl said black, and the yeoman left. He and Dan were alone, with the upper half of the Dutch door open. Diehl reached over and closed it. “Keep it private,” he said.

  “How’s the investigation going?”

  “It’s an interesting situation. Did you know Sanderling was a fruit?”

  “You mean did I know before we went through his belongings, or—”

  “Before.”

  “No.”

  “No hints to that effect? No suspicions?”

  “I’d hear the guys make jokes occasionally. He was kind of the runt of the litter in the division. But they talk that way all the time.”

  “Sailors, you mean? Enlisted?”

  “Not just enlisted.”

  “The kind of ‘suck my dick,’ ‘whip it out’ kind of stuff?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Uh-huh.” Diehl sat slumped, looking vaguely around the office. His eye lingered on Dan’s desk. “That your daughter?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No picture of your wife?”

  “We’re divorced.”

  “Uh-huh. Tell me, did he have any special friends he hung out with, went ashore with?”

  “Not that I know of. The leading chief, Dawson, or Petty Officer Williams, they might know.”

  “Uh-huh. I sure wish we had a body, or a note. You know, eighty percent of suicides leave notes. The stuff the signalmen are telling me, just that they saw something white, that it was moving, then it sank—that he jumped overboard, then finished himself off when the ship was making up on him—that’s like only one way of looking at it.”

  “What do you mean? They saw him go down.”

  “They saw someone struggling in the water, then sinking. How about this: Somebody knocks him on the head and throws him over. He comes to, tries to swim. Maybe he’s hurt. He almost makes it, but he goes down just as the ship’s getting ready to pick him up. It would look exactly the same.”

  “Now taps, taps. Lights out,” announced the 1MC. Diehl waited till it was silent again. “You sure this is a good time for you? Now, you were on the effects board for his stuff. Who was there? You, that chief warrant—”

  “Harper. It was me, Harper, Oakes, Dawson, and Cephas, the recorder.”

  “Uh-huh. Cephas says you told him to bag and dump all the boy mags.”

  “Right.”

  “Why’d you keep the diary, Lieutenant?”

  Dan blinked, suddenly angry. They couldn’t keep quiet, like he’d asked them to. The question was whether they’d also told Diehl that Sanderling had mentioned the captain. He was starting to answer when the door banged open suddenly, as if kicked from outside. “What is it?” he said sharply.

  “Sorry, sir.” The yeoman stopped halfway in. “You asked for coffee … . Should I come back later, sir?”

  “No, leave it here. Thanks,” Dan said. Then, to Diehl: “You already talked to the yeoman here?”

  “Yeah, hi,” Diehl said. “You want to give us a couple more minutes? Thanks. Close it … . Man, this is shitty coffee. Okay, why’d you keep it?”

  “I couldn’t decide if it was better to throw it away or forward it to his family. So I decided to look through it.”

  “Why didn’t you look through it there?”

  “I thought I’d do it later.”

  “Uh-huh. Where is it?”

  “I finally destroyed it.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s what you were doing back on the fantail this morning?”

  “Yes. I wrapped it in—”

  “Five feet of copper wire and threw it overboard.”

  “That’s right.” The guy had done his homework, Dan thought.

  “Let’s see, you were court-martialed once, weren’t you?” Diehl asked him, offhand, sipping coffee as he waited for an answer.

  “Not a court-martial. Court of inquiry.”

  “Letter of caution, not good. And according to your service record, you had to respond to some of the fitness reports you got as a jaygee.”

  “I didn’t know you were allowed to go into our service records.”

  “Sure I am. Anybody I think might be subject to charges.”

  “So I’m a suspect?”

  “You got to admit, it looks suspicious. The kid’s queer, he dies and you steal his diary and throw it away. Makes me wonder what it said.”

  “I took charge of the diary as the ranking member of the effects board. I didn’t ‘steal’ it.”

  “This could just be a murder investigation, Lieutenant. Why don’t you can the coy act and tell me what the book said. It could save us both a lot of trouble.”

  “It was a record of his feelings. Part of it, he wrote about his sex life. Like anybody does in a diary.”

  “He’s open about being a faggot? In the diary?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mention partners?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Anybody on the ship?”

  “It mentioned some contacts on the ship.”

  “This ship. Barrett.”

  “Yes.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Names?”

  Dan said carefully, “It gave no proper names.”

  “That’s hard to believe. Are you in there?”

  “No.”

&nb
sp; “No reference to you at all?”

  “Only that I kept turning down his special-request chits.”

  “Come off it, Lieutenant. Where did you fuckee-suckee this kid? Your stateroom? The office here? You didn’t do it down in the bunkroom with the enlisted.”

  Dan controlled himself. This was the guy’s interrogation technique, that was all. “I told you, I didn’t have relations with him,” he said.

  “You got a girlfriend, Lieutenant?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “Show me a letter.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you really asking me to prove I’m heterosexual by showing you a letter from my girlfriend?”

  “Maybe. How about it?”

  “I don’t have any letters from her. She’s in Charleston; we only left last week. And I don’t think she’ll write, anyway. We had an argument before we got under way. Anyway, does that mean a guy’s not gay, if he’s got a girlfriend? How about a wife and daughter?”

  “You’d be surprised, Lieutenant. I personally think there’s a hell of a lot more guys out there go both ways than anybody thinks. Anyway, you ain’t got a wife; you said you were divorced. How about if I call the ex–Mrs. Lenson, find out why?”

  “Why we broke up is our business. I’m not giving you her number.”

  “Not cooperating, that’s not the way to clear things up, Lieutenant.”

  “That’s outside the scope of this investigation.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said Diehl. “You sure you never snuggled up with this Sanderling kid? When your shoreside pussy wasn’t available?”

  “No.”

  “Who are you protecting, Lieutenant?”

  “I’m not protecting anyone.”

  “You don’t lie good, Mr. Lenson. Fact, you lie real bad.”

  “I’ve told you the truth. I read the diary; it couldn’t be returned to the next of kin; it had no remarks indicating an intention to commit suicide; it gave no names of partners aboard ship.”