“It kept him working. To the brass, Klaus was a tool... a very valuable tool perhaps, but a tool nonetheless. The guy in the chair always wants as much use of his tools as possible. If a tool breaks and isn’t available for the next guy to occupy that chair to use, ‘oh, well.’ That’s the next guy's problem. Fleet Politics 101: How to get yourself promoted and fuck everybody else.”
“My God, “said Ligurri. “If Klaus suspected they had done anything like that to him, that would have certainly give him serious motive to extract some measure of revenge against the Fleet.”
“That very thought has haunted me for years, Al,” Melendez responded. “Anyway, when Klaus blockaded himself in his lab, Security and a lot of other people began raising hell about it, until a direct order came down from Vice Admiral Clements that prevented them from blasting him out of there. After all, in his mind, there was no need. Klaus was working and that was all Admiral Clements and the powers-that-be above him cared about. They didn’t seem to care what he potentially might be doing in there. They just seemed to want to squeeze every last ounce of brilliance out of that magnificent brain of his they could get out of him before he keeled over.”
“Idiots,” mumbled Bat. “I guess now it’s up to us to clean up the mess.”
“I only hope that we can,” said Melendez softly.
“Well, I still think the whole idea is whacked,” said Capt. J.T. Turner. “Besides, even if it was all true, what the hell could we, or anyone else do about it now? Bozo came online when... ’51?”
“Yes, PIMS came up in late ’49, Melendez said. “Nobody could believe that Klaus got it built and running that quickly, but I think he’d had the whole design laid out in his head for years.”
“In his head?” asked Bat?
“Oh, I guess I forgot to mention Klaus had a holographic memory, too.”
“Yeah, okay, but like I said earlier, even if he did futz with it while he was dying in his lab, what can we possibly do about it after all this time?” asked J.T. “Bozo has been online for almost nine years now. Can anyone even begin to imagine how many systems he could have possibly corrupted in all that time? Most of which we can’t access, by the way. Where would we even start?”
“Elementary, my dear Turner,” said Bat. “That’s why I asked for all of those access codes in the first place.”
“Aw shit, don’t tell me…”
“Right.” said Masterson, breaking into a grin.
And almost simultaneously, all four of them said, “Bozo.”
“Any questions?” asked Admiral Melendez. “Everyone clear on what you’re supposed to do?” No one spoke, so after about 10 seconds of dead silence, Melendez continued. “Okay then, just let me know of anything you need that you can’t get on your own. I’ll need daily reports, because God only knows what Klaus might have done over those last eleven weeks and where it might have progressed from there.
“Fortunately for me, Admiral Clements decided that I should be the one to submit the final report on the circumstances surrounding Klaus’ death. The security director pitched such a bitch about it that Clements canned him, promoted me to captain and named me Acting-Director of Headquarters Computer Security just long enough to complete writing the file that Al was so concerned about earlier. While I had the big brass looking over my shoulder, demanding a lot of shit be deleted or sanitized where they didn’t look bad, I remember the real story. This means we know more than anyone actually getting their information from that file.
“Since J.T. really believes there’s nothing to this, I think it’s only fair I share my reasoning for pursuing it. Ever since Klaus von Hemmel died, I have suspected he might have done something ominous to Bozo during those last eleven weeks... something he wiped the lab visuals to hide. I honestly tried my best to convince Admiral Clements to initiate a thorough investigation into Bozo’s integrity, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Clements was just about to get his fourth star and take over 3rd Fleet, so it’s obvious why he didn’t want a potential scandal breaking that could potentially jeopardize his impending promotion.”
“More politics,” exclaimed Bat disgustedly. “Doesn’t anyone do what’s right, instead of what’s merely expedient for their career?”
“Politics is the grease that keeps the wheels of government turning smoothly, and Fleet is no exception. Unfortunately the grease that was used in this case is potentially corrosive enough to make the wheels fall off completely,” Melendez philosophized. “I guess that’s why I’ve always insisted on using foreign made stand-alone computers within this department. I’ve taken a lot of flak about it over the years and occasionally had to go to the wall to keep it that way. Eventually they quit hounding me about it, chalking it up to me just being eccentric. But just between us, ever since Klaus died, I’ve had this inexplicable fear of Bozo knowing too much about what we’re doing.
“I guess I’ve always known, at least subconsciously, that this day would finally come. The role that I played in helping to get the PIMS/Bozo programs off the ground has plagued me about what I may have helped to unleash if Klaus really did plant some nasty surprises inside that computer. To be truthful, I’d almost forgotten about it. Every day that went by without something terrible happening acted as a soothing balm to my conscience. But when Al came in with his anomaly this morning, all those buried fears came back with a vengeance. As our discussions revealed, the staggering magnitude of everything that could potentially be involved, I knew in my gut that I couldn’t sweep this nightmare back under the rug and just pray that it went away again. It’s time we found out for sure whether or not we’re really sitting on a time bomb. I need to know!
“I suspect this investigation will prove to be the most arduous we’ve ever undertaken,” said Rear Admiral Enrico Melendez. “We’ve got to hide everything we’re doing from Bozo for as long as we can. Naturally that won’t be possible if we can get Bat access to play around with its innards, but we need to keep Bozo in the dark as to our intentions as long as we can.
“Al, I hate to do this to you, especially so soon after getting your captaincy and taking over HQ Computer Security, but as of now, you’re working for me. You’re in too deep not to be a part of it now. I’ll have Marilyn get you set up with an office here, but I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you to take orders from Bat and possibly from LtJG Fredricks as well. This business can be damned tricky, and amateurs don’t usually survive long, but we’ll all try our best to keep you out of trouble and contributing positively to this effort. You may feel like the highest-ranking gofer in the Fleet for a while, but try to look on the bright side. At least you won’t have Commodore Coxler jumping in your shit for a while.”
“I understand, Admiral,” Capt. Al Ligurri responded. “And as this is definitely a computer security issue, I’ll try to think of it as field-work. It’s an honor to be working with you all.”
“Thank you, Al,” Melendez responded, “but you’re going to have to watch out about saying you all around here, or you’ll soon be sounding like Bat.”
“Y’all taint funny, McGee!” yelled Masterson.
“Who’s McGee? Is that some kind of code-name or something?”
When the three Ghostbusters finally quit laughing, J.T. croaked out, “Never mind, Al. Bat’s from the backwoods of Indinara and that’s what we call one of his ‘Indinaranisms.’ You’ll get used to them... eventually.”
“J.T., I’m really glad that you don’t believe in any of this. Please, for God’s sake, prove me wrong.”
“It’s virtually impossible to positively prove a negative, Admiral,” Turner replied.
“I know, but if anyone can do it, you can.
“Bat, if there really is something rotten going on inside Bozo, find me something, anything that I can use to convince the big boys that we have a problem. They’re not going to just hand over all those access codes that you need, just because I ask them sweetly. I’ve got to have something concrete to show them, or we’re dead before
we even get started.”
“Aye, aye, skipper.”
“Al, I want you to put together a complete presentation documenting everything, and I mean everything we hashed out here this morning... and I need it yesterday.”
With that, Admiral Melendez rose and Bat looked down at his coffee cup and shook his head. Melendez had his usual three pots, J.T. and Ligurri each went through a pot apiece. Bat managed to finally drink one cold cup, and half a cup of dregs.
J.T. keyed the release codes into the door console. Locking solenoids clanked and air pressure hissed as the hermetic seals released, motors hummed and a green “open” light appeared, allowing J.T. to open the vault door. They all walked through the admiral’s office to where LtJG Fredricks’ desk was situated right outside the admiral’s door. “Anything happen while we were in the vault, Marilyn?”
“Yes, Admiral, here are your messages. Vice Admiral Bradley called twice and Commodore Coxler called his customary three times.”
Coxler, yes I’m going to have to do something about him, real soon. I wonder what’s up with Brad? It’s not like him to call more than once.
“Thanks, Marilyn, get Admiral Bradley on the horn for me and stall Coxler as long as you can.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“Brad, what’s up?”
“Rico! It’s about time. You guys been holed up throwing darts in the vault again?” asked Vice Admiral Simon Bradley.
“Who started that vicious rumor anyway? Of course not. It was gin rummy this time.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Anything that I need to know about?”
“Make that a definite maybe, sir. Listen, I really need to talk to you and Doug on the QT. Can you drag him up to my cabin in the country outside of Balt next Saturday around one o’clock? I’ll put the feedbag on and you bring the vodka.”
“Feedbag? Is that one of Bat’s Indinaranisms?”
“Yeah, has something to do with the way they feed horses down on the farm. I guess I’m gonna have to fumigate around here... they’re starting to infest everybody.”
“Okay, Bat, what have you got for me?” asked Rear Admiral Melendez.
“I remembered something you mentioned in passing during our discussion yesterday, Admiral, and it gave me an off-the-wall idea. So to check it out, I went back over Al’s security logs and focused on the column listing the codes for the ID’s of incoming data requests, which is compared to a file on authorized users containing their clearance levels and need-to-know for security purposes, sets priority flags for pushing the important stuff to the head of the line and provides a routing pointer to where the return data is to be sent.” Bat popped a data cube into the admiral’s console and brought up a file.
“As you can see here,” Bat said, as he ran his finger down a particular column of alpha-numeric codes, “the first three digits on these codes seem to indicate the ID of the originator of the request. Some of it appears pretty straightforward, and with some educated guesswork we might figure out who has been requesting data from the HQ library computer. Here we see the digits ‘BUP,’ which is likely to stand for BuPers, the Bureau of Personnel and here is ‘PIM,’ which is probably State’s Policy Information Management System. Likewise ‘F04’ for 4th Fleet, and ‘NFB’ is possibly Norf Fleet Base at Ginia.
“I got to wondering what Bozo’s designator might be,” Bat continued. “You said that Klaus hated that name and unsurprisingly there are no BOZ designators in this column. Nor could I find any that might be indicative of Bozo’s official title of CLOWNEMS.”
“Okay, that sounds good,” answered Melendez. “I can buy the logic in that, but where are you going with this?”
“Al’s two anomalies are highlighted. Scroll down and take a look at the designators for the request originators immediately prior to both of FALCON’s apparent naps.”
Melendez did. Just prior to both instances, the requester ID symbol was: HAL.
“Bat,” Melendez said, “get the hell out of my office right now, before I come around this desk and kiss you right on the lips!”
Masterson ran.
“Rico! Good to hear from you. How long has it been?”
“Too long, Tom.”
“How’s Emily & the rest of the family doing?”
“Everyone’s good. Listen, can you come up to my cabin next Saturday — I’ve got something I need your input on.”
“Hmm, Saturday. Oh boy, bad day, Rico. I’ve got a golf date with the director that day… his idea.”
“Try to reschedule, will ya? I’ve got some flags coming too.”
“Important?”
“Yes.”
“About?”
“One o’clock.”
“Shit… okay Rico, but this better not be another one of your stunts.”
“I wish it was, Tom. I really wish it was.”
Chapter-14
Politics is supposed to be the second-oldest profession. I have come to realize that it bears a very close resemblance to the first.-- Ronald Reagan
The Alliance Planet Maylan, outside the City of Balt
March, 3060
In a plush chair in front of the fireplace, within Rear Admiral Enrico Melendez’ cabin within a deeply forested area outside of Balt on Maylan, sat Melendez’ immediate superior, Fleet Intelligence Director Vice Admiral Simon Bradley. Next to him sat Bradley’s immediate superior, Fleet Headquarters Operations Commander, Admiral Douglas Campbell. Sitting off to the side on the couch was ABI Special Agent in Charge of Counter-Intelligence, Thomas Nichols.
All three men sat silently with drinks in their hands as they tried to absorb everything they’d just heard. Melendez had just finished his briefing, which contained everything they knew about the possible and potential problems with Bozo and the PIMS systems. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the swinging pendulum in the grandfather clock in the corner. Melendez turned to reach for his glass of vodka and tonic, which had been sitting on the mantel throughout his presentation. The ice had all melted, but Melendez’ throat felt parched as a desert, so he chugged the watery concoction down anyway. The longer the silence continued, the more nervous Melendez became, so he walked over to the bar to begin making himself a refill.
Admiral Campbell finally broke the maddening silence, just as Melendez was finishing squeezing a lime wedge into his new drink. “It’s thin, Rico. Damned thin.”
“Yes, but the implications are absolutely staggering,” observed Nichols.
“Bat’s nose is really twitching on this one?” asked Bradley.
“Badly,” responded Melendez. “His sixth-sense is going absolutely crazy.”
“Does the mere fact that FALCON’s I/O channels appear to go dead for a few milliseconds after a Bozo query really indicate something ominous?” asked Admiral Campbell.
“Not by itself, no,” replied Bradley. “But when added to Rico’s story about the mad scientist with a big chip on his shoulder barricading himself into his lab for eleven weeks, and somehow wiping the lab visual records for the entire time, it certainly indicates he didn’t want anyone knowing what he was up to in there — and that sounds damned suspicious to me.”
“Yes,” said Nichols. “People behaving themselves don’t normally go to such great lengths to hide their activities.”
“Everyone’s antennas were in the air about it at the time,” said Melendez. “But Admiral Clements slapped them down hard and after Klaus’ death, and Admiral Tinimen buried the whole thing.”
“God DAMN those guys!” roared Campbell. “What the fuck were they thinking?”
“Well, if you’ll think back,” Bradley replied, “Admiral Tinimen retired soon after and became Secretary of Defense, and Admiral Clements eventually moved up into Tinimen’s job as Chief of Fleet Operations and then went on to become Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff... They were thinking about their careers and how a major scandal could deep-six their impending promotions.”
“Politics,
” said Nichols disgustedly. “It’s the same inside the Bureau... politics is rampant.”
“How many people know this whole story now, Rico?” asked Admiral Bradley.
“The four of us, plus Al Ligurri, J.T. and Bat.”
“Bat could be a problem,” noted Bradley. “Once that bloodhound gets the scent, he’ll run that trail until he trees something, or dies.”
“Bat’s an idealist,” said Melendez. “Hell, I’m an idealist or I wouldn’t have asked you all here to talk about this mess.”
“You just wanted someone else sharing the responsibility, Rico,” smirked Nichols. “Blame can never be totally proven whenever more than one person is involved.”
“True, but secrets can never be totally secure, whenever more than one person is involved, either.” replied Admiral Bradley.
“Touché.”
“Here’s how I see it,” said Admiral Campbell. “Right now we are all sitting in exactly the same boat that Tinimen found himself in. He found it expedient to believe nothing amiss and sweep it all under the rug. What facts did he use to justify his decision?” Campbell began counting his points off on his fingers:
“#1 - Bozo has apparently been functioning perfectly for years... three in his case and nine in ours, with no hard evidence to the contrary.
“#2 - In spite of Klaus von Hemmel’s potential reasons to deeply resent or even hate Fleet over his medical misdiagnosis, his suspicious activities in barricading himself in his lab, wiping the vids and the cryptic note he left behind, in almost thirty years of having continuous access to some of the Fleet’s most vital secrets, he never demonstrated anything less than total allegiance to the Alliance. While Klaus von Hemmel was widely considered to be a royal pain-in-the-ass, no one ever questioned his loyalty.
“#3 - A comprehensive investigation into the integrity of the Bozo and/or PIMS systems would be a virtual impossibility, as it would require acquisition of multiple security access codes, possession of more than one of which constitutes a violation of both federal law and Fleet regulations... the suspension of which would require the pre-approval of both Fleet Admiral Kalis, as the most senior officer in Fleet, and the President of the United Stellar Alliance to obtain.
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