Shaking her head, Harper replied, "Is this some of that reverse psychology bullshit? Dad tried that on me. Never worked."
"Fine. We'll cut the crap. I spent my teenage years flying ships, smuggling, and aiding and abetting Mum's heists. What'd you do?"
That caught her by surprise, "What are you doing here?"
"The skipper decided that I could make myself useful here. And a brave man died not that long ago to convince me of it. Now answer my question."
"I'm a hacker. Damn computers educated me anyway, parents couldn't be bothered. This is Dad's idea of teaching me discipline," she spat out each syllable, "and I know it."
"So you decided to hang around with a seedy crowd, according to the news-net have spent half your life on one narcotic or another, going from one pointless night to the next, one doomed relationship after another. Right?"
"My life."
"Not any more." She scanned the datapad on her desk, "I get that your father arranged this, but the judge gave you to us for a year. Presumably Alamo was his idea to put you out of the way."
"He's up for re-election this year. I'm embarrassing." She leaned forward on the desk. "We can get through this easily."
Shaking her head, Orlova replied, "Only if I give up on you. The Captain wouldn't like that. I don't plan on doing it."
"I'm a pain in the ass. I know that, too."
"I have my bad days too. Look, if you play the game you'll get to hack for us. That's what we do – hack enemy systems and protect our own." She gestured through the partition, "Those people out there have spent a couple of years sitting in a classroom learning theory, pitting themselves against simulated test shots. All except the Chief, and she's just scary."
"So?"
Orlova sighed, "Look, you can spend six months in hell, or six months playing with the computers. Your call. If you want to try hacking for an actual living, then this'll get you the credentials to do it. If all you want to do is sit in a corner and 'rebel', then go ahead and do it. I don't care which you pick – except I could use a good hacker, and you look like you might be one if you grow up. Dismissed." She paused, then said, "Which means go outside and get some work done. I'm sure the chief could come up with something for you to do."
Harper sat staring at the young officer, then stood up and left the room. A few seconds later, Washington squeezed into the office, perching herself opposite her, shaking her head. Through the partition, they could see Harper poking at a workstation while the others continued unloading, casting her the odd resentful glance. Orlova shook her head, then began to chuckle.
"What is it, Sub?"
"I think I just gave her a slightly rearranged version of the lecture the Captain gave me when I first reported on board. I was never that bad, though."
"I hope not. From what I heard, you've done a reasonable job."
"She's going to need watching like a hawk."
It was the Chief's turn to chuckle, "Wouldn't be the first time. You want me to give her full access?"
"Yes, and I think I know who is going to be sharing your watch with you."
"You should read the shuttle pilot's report. She really managed to mangle his navicomputer."
"And yet they weren't in any danger. Inconvenienced, not put at risk."
"I noticed that too."
"We're supposed to turn her into a decent crewman. That's going to need some work. I'm going to bet she'll run rings around the rest of the gang, though."
"You might be right about that. Look, how far do you want to go with this, Sub? I can probably bury her in grunt work for the next six months and keep her away from anything important."
"She'd notice, and just get worse."
The Chief sighed, nodding, "You want her tied in to everything. Full package of duties. I'll push her, Sub. I can drown her in pointless programming or I can drown her in responsibility. One of those usually works, but the second option's risky in this case."
"Go ahead and throw her in at the deep end, Chief. We'll both have to keep an eye on her. If it's ever actually critical to the ship, someone else has to sit next to her while she's working. Still, it's her ass on the line as well, and she's got to know that."
"Yeah." Washington stood up, stooping slightly under the curving ceiling, then paused before leaving, "I think I might actually have been given a half-decent officer for once, Sub. Don't tell anyone I said so. I'd lose my reputation."
"Thanks, Chief. I won't tell a soul."
Orlova watched Washington walk out of the office, heading over to the sullen Harper; she actually felt sorry for her for a brief second. Lip reading hadn't been a skill she'd ever thought to acquire, something she now regretted; the Chief would likely have taught her a few new words if she'd been able to listen. Shaking her head, she went back to her desk, wondering when exactly she had managed to grow up. Pulling out the first set of equipment requisition reports, she began to regret that decision, at least a little, then took another look through the one-way partition, and decided she was probably better off wading through the paperwork.
Chapter 5
Alone in his office, Marshall looked out across the datapads spread out in front of him, sifting through the volume of Hercules data that Matsumoto had gathered for him. He was determined to do this one himself; after all, if anyone on this ship was an expert, he was, but somehow he hadn't realized that it would be this difficult. He glanced up at the picture of his father on the wall.
"Damn it, Dad, how the hell did you generate this much paperwork. I've only got a week to get through this rubbish."
He picked up a datapad at random, browsing through a set of fuel consumption reports. All they confirmed was what he already knew; the last reported contact with Hercules was from the fleet support ship Cernan, which topped the battlecruiser up with fuel in the outskirts of Procyon, before wishing them good luck. A year later, they were officially listed as overdue. He tossed the datapad aside, and picked up another one; this contained downloads from the personal logs of the crew, at least those that their families had released. The screen was displaying the last entry of the ship's medical officer, Haskins; a picture of the command staff clowning around outside a bar on Phobos Station. Naturally enough, his father was in the heart of things.
The door rescued him from his memories; Caine walked through, taking a seat opposite him without waiting to be asked, a furious expression on her face that faded to understanding when she saw what he was doing. Reaching across, she took the datapad from his hand and looked down at him, smiling.
"Your father looks like quite a character, Danny. Isn't that Orlova's father there in the corner," she said, pointing.
"I think so. Strange that I'd never connected the names before."
She folded her fingers on the desk, "Danny, maybe you should get someone else to do this. Matsumoto, maybe. Or Cunningham."
"No, this one's my job. I spent long enough with this data before, during the hearing." He tapped a couple of buttons on his desk, and another file appeared on a datapad, "Look at this. Last recorded analysis of the Hercules data, as recorded by one First Lieutenant Marshall. Nine years ago. Feels like a lifetime."
"Nothing's changed. No new data to report."
"That's interesting by itself, Deadeye. How many times have people reported finding Discovery, Leonov, or Slayton out there? All those lost ships of the early expansion. Yet not even any obviously false sightings or reports."
Frowning, Caine replied, "You aren't suggesting some sort of cover-up, I hope."
"No, not at all. Just that no-one much seems to have come out this way. Ragnarok never had the capability."
"Danny, you've been sitting in here for two days. I know Dietz was surprised when you didn't come out for the hendecaspace transit."
"Too busy."
"You're the Captain. People need to see you out and about a bit, not stuck in your office or your quarters. Keeps everyone reassured if they see a confident commander."
He looked up at her,
shaking his head, "Remind me again why you never went after promotion?"
"Because I'm happier being the power behind the throne. Come on, let's go and walk the decks. Maybe we could go down to the mess and get a bite to eat."
"Fine, mother. You win." He pushed some of the clutter on the desk away, and stood up, knocking some of them to the ground. A look from Caine suggested that he could retrieve them later; the two of them made their way onto the bridge. Kibaki was on duty; he nodded at the Captain as he emerged. Steele, at flight control, saluted as he walked out. A puzzled frown on his face, he returned the salute, then looked at Caine, who shook her head as they stepped into the elevator.
"Your kids certainly seem keen enough, anyway."
"Why did I get saddled with that job?"
"Cunningham would probably have tried to chat them up."
Her eyes widened, "Don't tell me he's getting back to his old habits again?"
Marshall chuckled, "Esposito tipped me off. Apparently Lance-Corporal Riley has been spotted sneaking to his quarters after hours. She quietly told her to be a little more discreet."
"I'll be damned," she said, shaking her head. "I suppose it's a good sign, right?"
"Hell, as long as discipline isn't affected, I don't mind. The Espatiers are outside his chain of command, anyway."
"Where did you punch for?"
"Hangar deck. That, er, Zubik gave a fair briefing. How much coaching did you give her?"
"Zabek. A bit. Nervous as hell, that one. Steele just has a superiority complex that we need to deal with, and Varlamov is Dietz's nephew."
"You're joking."
"Like uncle, like nephew. He actually volunteered for logistic work."
The door opened onto a near-empty flight deck. It was the middle of the night watch, and with the ship transiting hendecaspace, there wasn't much need for a full staff on duty. The five fighters hung up in the overhead racks, silently gleaming from carefully positioned spot-lamps, and the six shuttles lay astride the elevator airlocks, ready for launch. Three large, three small. As Marshall was watching, he felt something fall past his ear, dropping with a clang; he looked up and saw a red-faced Quinn on top of one of the fighters, a toolkit open, his hand empty.
"Sorry, skipper! I must have let one go!"
"What are you doing up there in the middle of the night?"
Stepping onto the gantry, the embarrassed engineer climbed down the access ladder to the main deck, replying, "Tab, ah, Lieutenant Dixon was complaining about some of the topside thrusters during a simulation run. I thought I'd come down and see if I could do anything about it."
"Don't you have technicians for that? This is your sleep period, isn't it?"
"Is it? I must have lost track."
Caine looked at Marshall, smiling, then both of them looked back up at the unkempt engineer, "Carry on, Quinn. Just make sure you're fit for duty in the morning."
"Aye, sir!" He retrieved his wayward tool, then clambered back up the ladder to the maintenance gantry. The two of them walked through the hangar deck to the far end; as they reached it, the main door flew open to reveal a platoon of espatiers at full sprint- and full volume – rushing down the corridors. Three of them – the three at the front – were holding small pieces of cloth; Esposito and Sergeant Kozu were racing after them, obviously measuring their pace to stay at the rear and urge on those lagging behind. As he watched, one of the espatiers ran forward, snatched the cloth, and took the lead; he almost knocked Marshall to the deck with a wayward elbow.
"Sorry, skipper," the trooper replied. Marshall reached in and grabbed Esposito by the elbow, dragging her to a stop.
"Ensign, what the hell are you doing? It's the middle of the night."
"Training exercise, sir. Thought we'd have a little fun while we're doing it."
"Capture the flag, Ensign?" Caine asked.
"Squad relay, Lieutenant. Which ever squad gets their flag back to the barracks deck first wins." She looked after her departing men, panting; the last of them was about through the door. "By your leave, sir?"
"Oh, feel free, Ensign. Have fun."
She smiled, saluted and sprinted down the corridor, just scraping through the door before it closed. Silence once more descended on the hangar deck. Shaking his head, Marshall turned to Caine.
"Is it always like this down here in the middle of the night? I'm surprised the shuttle pilots aren't holding gladiatorial games in the maintenance pits."
"Oh, Alamo has a seedy underbelly all of its own, sir," Caine replied, chuckling. "Remember some of the stuff we used to get up to in our off-hours?""
Sighing, Marshall replied, "Makes you long for the days of Duncan's Musical Theater Company."
"You going to do something about it?"
"Not in the slightest. But I do think that something a little quieter might not be a bad idea. Shall we see what the mess deck is offering as a midnight snack?"
"Sounds like a plan, Danny," Caine replied, making her way over to the elevator. It sped through the decks before abruptly stopping at the security level, the doors opening. Marshall tapped the button, twice, but got no reply. Shaking his head, he tapped the emergency operator button.
"Captain to maintenance section."
"Maintenance. Elevator problem, sir?"
"Security section. Seems to be jammed."
"Every elevator in the ship just locked off at a deck, Captain. Looks like a computer fault; we're working on it now."
"Let me know when it's working again. And find out what happened – this is a priority system."
"Yes, sir."
Caine walked down the corridor, turning her head, "Mess hall's just a couple of decks up from here, Danny. I don't mind using the ladders this once."
"If I thought the meal at the end would be worth it..."
As they passed the security office, they heard shouting coming from inside; Marshall recognized it as Chief Petty Officer Washington, but the other voice was unfamiliar. He opened the door to see the Chief shouting at a green-haired crewman sitting at a workstation; she seemed to be committing the cardinal sin of talking back to a senior enlisted.
"It's a gaping hole in security! I can fix it now I've found it."
"You need to report holes, not expose them to show off," the chief replied, still unaware of Marshall. Caine coughed, and the two of them looked up. The Chief stood to attention, saluting; Marshall returned the salute.
"Dare I ask, Chief?" Marshall said.
"Spaceman Harper decided to report a hole in the elevator security systems by exploiting it."
"I didn't, damn it!" Harper said.
Raising his hand to prevent another outburst by the Chief, Marshall asked, "What exactly did you, do, Spaceman?"
Crossing her hands, she replied, "I phreaked the network. All the systems talk to each other, and there are usually some holes. I spliced together something to find and exploit them at once. I figured better to find out now, rather than later."
"You hacked the system."
"Yeah. Not that many holes, either. Just knocked out the elevators, missile guidance, food printers and some of the indexing programs."
Caine did a double-take, "Missile guidance was compromised. Missile guidance."
She nodded, "Yeah. Don't worry, I set it to flag any systems that the computer rated as essential. You know, life support, dimensional compensators, that sort of thing."
"That sort of thing," Marshall said.
"Sir, I give you my word that this will not happen again," Washington said, looking daggers at the surly subordinate.
"Well, I suppose I'd rather find out that our missile guidance is compromised now than in the middle of a battle. We have procedures for reporting holes in system defense, Spaceman. I expect them to be followed in future."
She slammed a hand down on the desk, "I've already fixed them. It doesn't work that way; I couldn't find out about some of the deep holes without exploiting them."
The Chief looked down, "You've
fixed them?"
"All one program. Randomized the relevant passwords, installed some new screening of mine, did it all in one."
Marshall turned to Washington, "Mind if I do the discipline this time, Chief?"
She grinned in response, "Take your best shot, sir."
He looked down at Harper, "First of all, I want you to incorporate your program into the standard screening protocols. I'd like it ready to be used on other ships as soon as possible. With all required documentation, of course. How long?"
Harper looked up at Washington, smugly, then back at Marshall, "If I can work uninterrupted, a week."
"Forty-eight hours."
Her face dropped. "What?"
"What, sir," Washington prompted.
"I'd have to work non-stop."
"Fine. Chief, see that she has access to a workstation until she's finished. If she isn't done in the time, then I'll leave her to your tender mercies. Feel free to come up with something interesting. Mr. Quinn is always looking for volunteers to clean out the lower levels, as I recall."
"I'm sure I can come up with something good, sir."
"And Harper?"
"Yes?"
"I'd learn the word 'sir'. Every time you forget from now on, you get an extra watch. See to it, Chief."
"With pleasure, Captain."
Caine and Marshall walked out of the room; she was shaking her head, looking back at the door as she left.
"That kid managed to find a hole our best software engineers couldn't get at."
"Would they have tried an exploit that would knock out our systems? I doubt it. She's got the right idea looking at it from that perspective."
"Come on, Danny, she was just showing off."
"I seem to remember doing unauthorized acrobatics more than once during my flight training."
"That was different."
"No it wasn't. She's either going to end up being Orlova's dream come true or her worst nightmare."
"Probably both."
Smiling, Marshall started to walk down the corridor, leaving Caine standing by the door, saying, "I'm going to skip the mess; I think I've got some rations in my cabin. Right now I'm tempted to hide under the covers and hope nothing jumps out from under the bed."
Victory or Death Page 4