"If they're any good at all, as Frances has explained they could triangulate the sources of SLIP messages and figure out which are ships or headquarters or whatever based on analysis of the transmission patterns, even if they can't read them." Ron paused a second to think. "Traffic analysis has been used very effectively since before the Second World War. Plus, our encryption may not be as absolute as we think. The Poles and Brits cracked the Enigma when the Germans were sure it was impossible. It wasn't."
"And if they are any good and they do have SLIP, seems distinctly possible they already know about us," Frances added. "That's very bad news."
Roger picked the discussion back up.
"Randy, if the enemy were using SLIP, would we know it? Are there multiple, uh, channels, or, frequencies, that they could be using that we would not normally see?"
Randy picked his tablet back up and began searching through it. "I think that is possible. I would need some time to consider it."
"If they do, could we intercept those communications?" Roger continued.
"I am not positive, but if there are other channels, as you call them, then we would likely be able to receive them."
"In SLIP, is the sender aware of the receiver in any way?"
"No."
"How much time would you need, Randy, to see if there are other channels in SLIP?" Ron asked.
Randy thought for a few moments. "A week, at least. I will need to assemble a team at FPI to look at it. But now I have a question."
"Please, go ahead."
"If SLIP is as potentially dangerous as you say, surely we should be making changes to the transmission methods and encryption to try to obfuscate the messages. We must do something."
Harris smiled. "No. Randy, even if everything is just as the worst case we've described, we do nothing."
"Again, I don't understand. If they could be reading our mail, we need to act!" Forstmann insisted.
Frances leaned forward, turning her head to looking directly at Forstmann. "No, sir, we don't. If we make an obvious change the enemy will know that we know our communications are vulnerable, and that we know they are on SLIP."
"Which will tell them their own communications are at risk," Roger continued. "And if it really does turn out they are onto our SLIP technology, we can use that to tell them what we want them to know."
"And then use some alternate method, maybe another channel, for our real communications," Ann said.
"But for now, nothing but nothing changes." Ron finished.
"Ron, may I never play poker, or chess, with this crew. Amazing."
The meeting seemed to have completed, but Forstmann didn't move. The staff had started to gather themselves to leave but settled back into their chairs. Ron looked across at Randy.
"Randy, was there something more?"
"Ron, I have the finest technical minds that money can buy, and as everyone knows for me, that's saying something. What I don't have is nasty, sneaky, wonderful minds like these." He pointed around the room, then waited, as if still thinking about what he wanted to say.
"Yes?"
"I would like to borrow two of your most annoying staff to come to FPI as my guests. I need their viewpoints on this. I will pay for everything. They can come back to Jackson Hole with me on my shuttle, I will put them up on our dime. I would want them for, say, two weeks?"
"Did you have someone specific in mind?"
Randy smiled. "Well, Frances would be wonderful company for my wife and I, but I think Ann and Roger are what I need." They both gasped. "They have young, sharp minds and are not afraid to tell the old buzzard the truth."
"I see. Well, what of it?" Ron asked.
"I will need 24 hours, sir. I have to make arrangements for my family." Ann said.
"You have a family, children?" Randy asked.
"Yes, a husband and a two-month-old baby boy."
Randy smiled. "Bring them," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Excuse me?" she asked, incredulous.
"Bring them. There is plenty of room on the shuttle, plenty of room in the residence I have in mind. I can get you whatever help you need, nanny or whatever. This is one time, Ann, where finances are no object."
"I still need a day to get us ready. Stan will need to work it out with his job, too."
"Agreed." Randy turned his head to the other side of the table. "Roger, can you join us?"
"I am just a junior officer, single, living here on base. I think I can make it. But since you have to come back for Ann anyhow, I would like a day to let the family know I will be out of touch for a while."
"Which raises another point - your destination is classified. Ann, you'll have to tell Stan, but he will have to keep it to himself."
"Yes, I understand. He'll be fine."
"I am sure he will." Harris looked across at Randy. "That cover it?"
"It does. Thank you, Ron, for allowing me to borrow them."
"Well, that's not so hard. I agree with you that their viewpoints will be useful to your team. Plus, since it doesn't cost me anything I don't have to fight with the budget people for approval."
Again, the meeting seemed to be over. Warrant Officer Kelly Peterson had been mostly quiet throughout the interview, taking copious notes, but now leaned forward. She was also a young mother who had joined the Fleet partly to get away from her dysfunctional family, partly to serve, partly for the adventure. She found a soul-mate in her basic intelligence analysis class and now, just into their second five-year service commitment, they'd had their first child about six months ago.
"Randy, might I ask a question of a more personal nature?"
Randy looked over at her. "No tabloid scoops, Kelly," he said, waving an index finger in mock seriousness.
"No, of course. But Randy, you are a man wealthy beyond comprehension, your name and your accomplishments are known by everyone on the planet, and always will be."
She stopped as he was waving off her comments.
"Oh, do stop all that nonsense, but please go ahead and ask what's on your mind, Kelly. I'd like to hear your question."
"Everything I said is true, but, here you are comfortably seated with us motley Fleet people, modest in your person, kind and patient and inclusive in your conversation, open and generous with your knowledge and resources. How is it that you have remained, so, well, normal?"
Randy leaned back, smiling in a shy, thoughtful way. "Dear Kelly, you have paid me a great compliment. My wife hasn't referred to me as normal in some time!"
He let the laughter die down.
"But, my friends, the answer is that true wealth is not to be found in possessions or monetary success. If it were, none of you would be here, but you are here. So, real wealth is something more, is it not?"
The room became quiet again, all eyes on Randy.
"I will tell you what my grandfather told me. He was a man of modest accomplishments, comfortable enough in his retirement, but not rich. He was a bright fellow who always claimed his father was the better intellect. I don't really know, but I have my doubts about that. "
He paused and looked again directly at Kelly.
"But Kelly what my grandfather said is really very simple, and he would be glad that I shared it with you. He said: Tell my grandchildren, to tell their grandchildren, to bring light, not darkness; to give to life, not take from it; to leave every thing, every place, every person, every moment, better for their presence. I will not be there to be proud of them, he said, but they will live lives they can be proud of themselves. And that, dear Kelly, is real wealth."
Ron waited a moment, not wishing to rush him out.
"Thank you, Randy. You have been everything Ms. Peterson described. For my money, your grandfather would be very proud."
Randy nodded. "Today, perhaps. Yesterday, not so much. Tomorrow, well, we will just have to see."
Now, the meeting really was over. They stood, Randy took his leave with handshakes or embraces as necessary and left the room.
<
br /> February 2078
ISC Fleet HQ Intel Section
Ft. Eustis, VA
Friday, February 4, 2078, 0900 EST
Ron Harris gathered his crew around The Table to hear what Lieutenant Ann Cooper and Ensign Roger Cox had learned at FPI. To keep security tight, he had told them not to report while they were there unless it was really a matter of life and death. He did have them check in daily to confirm that they were well and that work was progressing. The usual casual talk and chattering across the table died down as Harris closed the door and took his seat.
"Welcome home, Roger and Ann. We've been anxious to hear what you've learned. So, Ann, what's new?"
"Well, sir, my assignment was to look at the FTL drive and see if there was a way to detect FTL ships. My written report is about twenty pages, showing what has been investigated and various theories about it."
She looked down at her tablet, then back at Harris.
"The short answer is that FPI does not believe a Forstmann Drive ship can be directly tracked. The other issue, alternative FTL drive technologies, FPI's engineers and physicists agree with Randy that there isn't an alternative to the graviton/anti-graviton drive for FTL travel. That said, however, I did get them to admit to the possibility that the Forstmann Drive is not the only way to do it. They don't know of any other way, but they were not willing to absolutely rule it out."
"How confident do you feel about these conclusions?"
"Well, sir, I remain skeptical, and I am not at all sure how helpful this report is. They are very smart out there, and they were working hard to be open-minded, but since we're dealing with an alien culture of unknown capabilities, I have to say I am not convinced that we have a final, exhaustive answer."
She finished with more than a little disappointment in her voice.
"I agree. Roger?"
"Sir, regarding SLIP, we had two questions: do there exist multiple channels and can we tell if the enemy is using it. The news here is somewhat better. Turns out we can change the modulation frequency to create individual channels. It's rather amazing to me how much this technology acts like radio waves."
"What about the enemy?"
"While we were there we, I should say they, built a generic SLIP receiver, something analogous to a network sniffer. We were able to copy all the fleet SLIP traffic for a day. Scary, really. But, that was only possible because the modulation frequency was known."
"If it's like radio, then there would be bandwidth requirements? Are there constraints on the possible modulation frequencies?" Tim Jackson asked.
Roger nodded. "There are. They chose the current frequency for maximum distance, and it seems they picked one in the middle of the practical range of frequencies. Considering bandwidth, and the limits of range, they figure there is something like a thousand available channels."
Ex-NSA analyst Frances Wilson spoke up. "So, if we had a thousand SLIP receivers..."
"Or a fast SLIP scanner," Kelly Peterson interjected.
"...we could monitor the entire usable SLIP communications system?" Frances finished.
Roger shook his head, amazed. "That is what they are saying, yes. And, they've already started designing a channel-selectable generic receiver and, as Kelly anticipated, an automated scanner."
Harris sat back in his seat, then looked over at Frances.
"This is starting to sound like an NSA COMINT project, Frances. Do you have any friends over there that might like to join the Fleet?"
"I've been here for a long time now, Captain, but I can make a couple calls, have a cup of coffee or two."
"Good. Please do."
Harris looked again at the closed door, then squirmed uneasily in his chair.
"There's more. We now have two significant projects - SLIP and FTL technology. But there are more on the way."
"What else?" Ann asked.
"I can't say at this point. The next is at least week or two away, anyhow." He paused. "There are some other matters."
"Whatever it is, sir, just tell us." Senior Lieutenant Charles Anderson was getting nervous seeing his steady, reliable boss look uncertain.
"CINC is sending us help, and I have to admit we're going to need it. We're getting Rich Evans from Liberty when they get back." He turned to the tall, handsome New Mexico native officer at his right. "Elias, you've been the deputy here, in practice if not in title. We're going to make that formal. Rich is getting promoted, but he will be junior to you."
"Really, Captain, if you'd rather saddle Evans with being your bagman, be my guest," Peña said, laughing.
"Not a chance. We're about to double or triple in size, so I need someone I don't have to teach how we work. You've got it, like it or not. There will have to be divisions of projects, but we are not going to lose the integrated, small-group approach we have had up to now."
"What is it that you need from us?" Scott Morgan asked.
"Nothing that you haven't given me before. The leaders of all these so-called special projects are in this room. We will have to add Evans, but, you know, he's earned it. You are all cleared for everything we know, so in here there will be no holding back, right?" They all agreed.
They left the room with a mixed mindset, they had plenty of work to do at the moment but felt disconcerted at what might be just over the horizon.
Fleet HQ Shuttle Landing Area
Ft. Eustis, VA
Friday, February 11, 2078, 1100 EST
The large transport shuttle carrying the Liberty survivors down from Dunkirk set down on the mark directly in front of the temporary stands put up for the media. It had been a long trip back from Inor and they were all relieved to be home again. Circus would not be too strong a word for what they saw outside when they arrived, nor would chaos. Once the shuttle was down, the hatch opened and the Liberty survivors filed out. Teresa Michael came first, with Len Davis, Rich Evans, and Carol Hansen right behind. The other 22 survivors gathered behind this foursome as they approached the line of brass assembled to greet them. Admiral Davenport was first, delivering a crisp salute to Terri Michaels and receiving likewise in return. He then extended his hand grasping her right hand with both of his, taking his time so the media was able to get plenty of good footage.
"Commander Michael, welcome home! We are all very proud of you."
The roar from the crowd made it hard to hear. Terri was almost shouting in response.
"Admiral, as the Inori would say, we are welcomed. We just did our jobs, sir. We're very happy to be back. I know you wanted a statement."
"Yes Commander, just step over to that mark. They can hear you from there." Terri walked over to the mark on the pavement across from the massed media, clearly reluctant, and as she did so the cheering and whistles from the crowd died down. Her crew silently assembled behind her just as they had come off the shuttles, her three deputies immediately at her back. She looked around for a moment, grateful for their presence. Terri Michael was still a young woman, but the stress of the time on Inor was plain on her face. There were lines at her eyes that no one would have seen before, now evident as she squinted in the sunshine. She had lost perhaps ten pounds off her already-trim frame. Her short, very dark hair was ruffled a little by the breeze, and a few new flecks of gray shined through here and there.
Fleet had sent them fresh uniforms up on the shuttle. She wore the slate gray Fleet daily work uniform, name in white over the right pocket, new gold oak leaves shining on her collar. Her command wings in silver, blue, and white over the 'ISC FLEET' in white above her left breast pocket, the stars and stripes at the top of her left sleeve, the Liberty Bell ship's crest at the top of her right. It was a simple, functional design evolved from what armies and navies and air forces had worn since the mid-twentieth century. It fit perfectly, but it was almost too new. It itched a little at the collar. She looked out at the mass of people and cameras, twenty or more red lights shining back at her. Oh, Abuelita, are you watching? she asked her late grandmother silently. Can you eve
n believe it? She looked around for a moment, giving herself a second to prepare. Of course I can believe it. I told you they were lucky to have you and I was right! Terri smiled again, her inner Grandma, so confident in her, then she took a deep breath and began
"Good morning. I am Lieutenant Commander Teresa Michael, and it is my privilege to command the survivors of the Liberty." There, got that out. Just keep going. "We are delighted to be home, but our happiness is tempered with the memory of those who could not return with us." She took a breath before continuing. "Captain Carpenter was an excellent officer, a respected mentor for me and others. Lieutenant Commander Roskov was a reliable, knowledgeable, incredibly funny associate and I miss him every day." She smiled slightly as she recalled Roskov’s kindnesses to her. "Chief Scranton was a daily example of the ideal shipmate; his dedication, integrity, and work ethic won the admiration of all aboard. I am a better officer, a better person, for having flown with people such as these."
She paused a moment, still working to control the emotions she felt as she recalled these friends she had lost.
"There are too many for me to name individually, eighty-four crew members lost either on board or on the surface. But you must also understand that some thirty-five thousand Inori died that day. This kind, courteous, welcoming culture has suffered an incredible loss. Even so, they cared for us, fed us, helped us in every way they could. We are most grateful to them."
She paused again to catch her breath. This part would be the hardest.
"I was fortunate to have with me a marvelous group of officers and crew who met every challenge, overcame every obstacle, managed every fear. Lieutenant Commander Davis led the difficult victim recovery operation with grace, respect, and care that was inspiring to watch. Senior Lieutenant Evans restored our communications, which permitted us to locate and organize ourselves, and gave me his honest assessments of our situation throughout, especially when they were not what I wanted to hear. Ensign, now Lieutenant, Hansen displayed maturity, courage, and command awareness well beyond her time in service and I dread what this would have been like without her at my side. The rest of the survivors followed our lead in every way imaginable, working difficult hours in terrible conditions, without hesitation or complaint. I am completely in their debt."
Silver Enigma Page 10