Ephialtes (Ephialtes Trilogy Book 1)

by Parker, Gavin E

  Kostovich was pleased when he found an in. It had taken many months to develop and was so complex that it was beyond even him to fully understand it. He had had the basic idea, but rather than develop it himself he set about creating very advanced AIs that could do the development for him.

  The scheme needed to be robust. It had to have full access to all of the USAN network, and it had to be undetectable. It had to adapt with the ever-changing security protocols of the network and be able to negotiate its shortcomings. It had to be alive to the fact that not all of the network would be up to date at any one time. There would be parts of it that due to money, incompetence or necessary legacy compatibility would be using older protocols. The parasitical AI had to be aware of all of this and act accordingly.

  Kostovich had injected his AI into the USAN system six months earlier. The system was so complex and vast that for the first few months all the AI could do was sit, watch and learn. Above all it had to remain undetected. For those months Kostovich left it to it. It was incommunicado.

  It was a tense time. If anything had gone wrong he would have had no way of knowing. It was almost like old-school spying from the Middle Ages or the twentieth century. The agent would go off and ingratiate itself with the enemy, building false alliances and gaining favour until the moment it had achieved enough trust that it was in a position to betray it.

  Just over four months in the AI had called home. It was in and undetected and it was hammering through the USAN security networks, starting from the edges but working its way inexorably toward the centre.

  The first thing to go was low-level coms. Administrators, service personnel and some low-ranking military coms were opened up to Kostovich’s scrutiny. There was nothing much of interest, but it showed the AI was working. Even the so-called ‘low-level’ security protocols applied to those on the bottom rung of the administration were extremely sophisticated. Kostovich’s AI, once in a position to act, had eaten through them in days.

  As the weeks went on the AI drilled further and further toward the centre of government and military communications. The secret world of the USAN’s inner-core was opening up to Kostovich like a flower in the light of dawn.

  The vast amount of information being pulled back to Mars could be seen, in some ways, as one more layer of security in and of itself; there was just so much of it. Here Kostovich employed several other AIs to plough through the mountain of information and zero in on that which was pertinent. That included such things as military R&D, procurement, finances, intelligence and such. The AIs would sort the information into clear and readable reports. Each concise report was sat atop of a pyramid of more and more detailed reports, going down as far as the reader wanted to go. And the reports could be dynamically reconfigured. The AI could be told, ‘Give me the same report but with more detail about the dates and less about the finance,’ or ‘Merge this report with the other two and make the final one sixty percent shorter.’

  There had been one final level to breach. The holy of holies; the top ‘beyond top secret’ level of the cabinet office and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. That had really been a tough one to crack, sitting as it did on its own network-within-a network with its own ever-changing, ever self-probing security mechanisms. Kostovich’s AI had finally managed to break through two months after the original foothills of the basic administration levels had succumbed. Finally, he stood at the peak.

  Kostovich thought he could reasonably be considered as the greatest spy in history. Not only had he availed himself of all the operating information of a state’s political and military machinery, he had done it at up to a hundred and forty million miles distance.

  There had been plenty of interest to read amongst all of the data collated, but what had really caught Kostovich’s eye was the fact that Mars was being talked about in the uppermost circles of the USAN government. Defence and the foreign office were falling over themselves to file reports on ‘The Martian Situation’ and to suggest possible remedies for it. It had even made its way to the very top. Cortes himself was giving time to the issue.

  Kostovich would have found this laughable - a classic case of an organisation misprioritising or chasing at phantoms - but for one thing. As recently as that very morning President Cortes had signed an executive order allowing funds be released to pay Helios Matériel Corporation an eye-watering amount of money to refit the Aloadae, the two massive dropship-carrying spacecraft currently orbiting the Earth with not much to do.

  Cortes had acted in response to intelligence gathered by his foreign and defence ministries. They had the inside track that Charles Venkdt was going to announce some type of election, polling the people of Mars on Martian independence. Kostovich had known they were in the Martian systems, but he had trapped and isolated their AI and was letting it gather enough information that it seemed to be working, while holding back what he considered to be top-level strategic information. All of his own work was locked up watertight. Anything they could get to of his was fake, or rather an amalgam of real stuff that was unimportant, about ninety percent, and ten percent of what seemed like interesting and important work but which was bogus and heavily encrypted. He’d let them get to most of Venkdt’s other information, which he’d considered of relatively low import. He’d noticed himself that Venkdt had been talking about a plebiscite, but he’d considered it inconsequential. The old man was getting a little crazy in his old age and Martian independence would surely mean little in practice. Nothing would change apart from notions of what was owned by whom. That was nothing to get excited about, was it? Cortes and the USAN certainly seemed to differ. To them it seemed to matter enough that they would send two huge men-of-war hundreds of millions of miles across the solar system to make a point.

  Kostovich, who, until that point, thought that who owned what territory on which map was a matter for imbeciles and the feeble minded, suddenly felt affronted that a person or persons, many, many miles away, was sending warships toward him. For the first time in his life he felt the faintest stirring of patriotism.

  “Prepare a report on the latest anti-aircraft, anti-spacecraft and anti-missile missile technologies for me, please,” he said to his terminal. “The data set is the USAN military development dump. Keep the report fairly technical and I want to know how easily and quickly we could fabricate any of the systems in question here on Mars.”

  “Preparing report,” the terminal replied.

  Kostovich wasn’t sure whether to go to Venkdt now with the information about the Aloadae or to wait for the report about missile technology. In his mind there was already an arms race developing. If the Earth was going to place a tank on his front lawn, as it were, he felt justified in stealing the Earth’s plans for anti-tank missiles and building some in time for the tank’s arrival.

  Maybe he’d hold back on that plan, for now. The priority, it appeared, was to get this information to Venkdt. It seemed Earth was in a major strop with Venkdt before he had even announced that he was going to do anything. And what was he going to do, anyway? Hold an election? They were going to be held under the gun for holding an election? What kind of topsy-turvy world was this becoming? That was the sort of thing you read about in the Asian Bloc. He’d seen pictures on the bulletins; protesters with daisy chains and friendship bands, crushed under the wheels of tanks, pushed back with water cannon. Kostovich had never felt like a radical or an activist before but right now he felt annoyed. He felt like he was being pushed around, and he didn’t want to be pushed around.

  “Get me an appointment with Venkdt,” said Kostovich.

  “Christina Venkdt?” the AI replied.

  “Can you stop with that? Whenever I say ‘Venkdt’ I mean Charles Venkdt, okay?” said Kostovich, struggling to keep the exasperation out of his tone. He knew the AI was a machine - he had programmed it, after all - but it was hard not to feel like it was mocking him.

  “Mr Venkdt doesn’t have any openings until next week. Would you like to proceed with booking th
e appointment?”

  “No, don’t bother. I’ll sort it out myself.”

  For the most part Kostovich kept a low profile at Venkdt. Much of the time he’d stay in his office at the R&D Department, occasionally venturing out to the labs. That was on the days he came in. He often just worked from home. When he did come in he didn’t keep to regular hours, oftentimes turning up late in the evening and disappearing again before the morning shift came in. As head of R&D he knew the security systems intimately and, of course, had a backdoor into everything. On the rare occasions when he was out and about he quite enjoyed being mistaken for a suspicious character. He’d show his security credentials on his comdev to whoever had stopped or challenged him and enjoy their confusion that such a young, dishevelled character was the head of a major department. Sometimes they would apologise profusely, other times grudgingly or suspiciously, like he couldn’t possibly be who his ID said he was. He’d often check what the security guards or receptionists looked up immediately after they had left him, and frequently they would be interrogating personnel records, looking for a photo ID of Dr Daniel Kostovich, Head of R&D, Venkdt Mars Corp. It made Kostovich chuckle. As smart as he was, he still took enjoyment from being smarter than dumb people.

  That particular morning Kostovich had only been stopped twice on his way to Charles Venkdt’s office. It hadn’t been so much fun as usual because he’d been in a rush. Arriving at the office he approached the desk of Venkdt’s PA. “Hey, sweetness,” he said, “is the big guy in?”

  The PA didn’t glance up from her terminal. “He is in, he’s busy right now, and don’t call me sweetness,” she said.

  “I have something really important I need to discuss with him,” said Kostovich. “If I don’t get in there right away I’ll have to stay out here and chat with you.”

  The PA gave him a look of mock disapproval. “Threatening me won’t help,” she said, “he’s busy.”

  Kostovich slumped into a leather sofa set across the way from the assistant’s desk. “Just have to wait him out then, I guess,” he said.

  “Looks that way,” said the PA. “How come you didn’t make an appointment?”

  Kostovich shrugged. “This only came up this morning and it’s fairly important. I thought he’d want to know right away.”

  The PA thawed a little. “It might be quite a while. He asked not to be disturbed. Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m fine,” said Kostovich. “I might catch a few zees if that’s okay with you?”

  “Go right ahead,” said the PA, “just don’t make the place look untidy.”

  Kostovich had quickly fallen asleep on the luxurious sofa. He was woken by a scrunched up ball of paper hitting his forehead. He was just about awake in time to bat away a second paper ball before it landed. “He’s free now,” the PA said, grinning. “Do you need a little time to come round?”

  Kostovich dragged himself to his feet. “I’m fine,” he said, lumbering towards the office.

  Venkdt was seated at his desk. He was in his early seventies, a little overweight and balding. He wore small round spectacles and had an air of jollity about him, like he was about to spring a surprise or was trying to keep an exciting secret. “Dr Kostovich!” he said, glancing up from his terminal. “What have you got for me today!” Perennially positive, Venkdt was probably hoping that Kostovich had made some exciting new breakthrough in product development, or had found a way to slash production costs. He’d come up good for the company so many times in the past, and he rarely if ever dropped by unannounced. “Take a seat, dear boy, take a seat!” Venkdt gestured to one of the two seats in front of his desk. Kostovich sat down.

  “I’ve come across some information you might find interesting, Mr Venkdt,” he said.

  “Oh you have?” said Venkdt. “Do go on, please.”

  “Well,” said Kostovich, settling into his chair, “as you know, I’ve been looking into the USAN’s information systems. I’ve been in their system for the past few weeks, looking around, sifting through things.”

  Venkdt was glued to his seat, like this was story-time.

  “I came upon some information this week that I think will be of great interest to you.”

  “Go on, go on,” said Venkdt.

  “It’s like this,” said Kostovich. “The USAN have been poking about in our information systems, too, and -”

  “Ha! A quid pro quo there then!” Venkdt cut in.

  “- and they seem to have picked up some chatter from you suggesting that you want to run an election -”

  “It’s a plebiscite, but do go on.”

  “Right, a plebiscite to see if Martians would like to be independent from Earth.”

  “That’s not quite it,” said Venkdt, “but I suppose that’s broadly right.”

  Kostovich nodded. “Anyway, they’re quite ruffled by the idea.”

  “Well,” mused Venkdt, “I suppose they would be. But if it pans out, in the long run, not that much changes really. Jurisdictions, taxes and the like, but pretty much everything would carry on as before.”

  “I don’t think they see it quite that way,” said Kostovich.

  “They don’t?” said Venkdt. “What makes you think that?”

  Kostovich took a breath. “Well,” he said, “they’re going to send two enormous carriers towards us.”

  Venkdt blinked. “Two what?” he said.

  “You’ve heard of the Aloadae?” said Kostovich.

  “The dropship carriers? Of course.”

  “Well, they’re going to send them here.”

  Venkdt was silent. “Here? How?”

  “They have some new engine technology. They’re going to retrofit the engines and send those two ships over here to stare you down.”

  For once Venkdt’s demeanour didn’t seem so jolly. He was shocked and saddened.

  “They’d do that?” he said, mostly to himself. “But . . .”

  Kostovich wanted to say something to comfort the old man. “They haven’t even started the refits, yet,” he said. “It will take them months before they’re ready.”

  Venkdt was thinking. “It’s so unnecessary,” he said, and fell silent.

  “I’ve looked into countermeasures,” Kostovich offered.

  Venkdt looked up.

  “Defence systems,” said Kostovich, clarifying.

  Venkdt shook his head. “Oh, we don’t want to be getting into that, the escalation game.”

  “They would be purely defensive systems,” Kostovich said, “based on the USAN’s own technology. I have all the details. We could fabricate that stuff in a matter of months.”

  “No, no,” said Venkdt, “it’s too aggressive.”

  “It’s not aggressive,” said Kostovich. “It’s defensive. These would be defence systems only. Sending carriers is aggressive.”

  Venkdt sat in silence, his brow furrowed, deep in thought. “Purely defensive?” he said.

  “Purely defensive,” echoed Kostovich.

  Venkdt stared over Kostovich’s shoulder and out of the skylight. “Could you build these systems discreetly, so we have them in our back pocket, but we’re not flaunting them in anyone’s faces?”

  Kostovich nodded. “Of course.”

  “When are these ships coming?”

  “They estimate they will be able to have them in Martian orbit within the next six months. Personally, I think they’re overestimating but it looks to me, on paper at least, like they could have them here within a year.”

  “And what about your defence system?”

  “What I have are all the details for the USAN’s missile defence systems. I can customise them, rewrite the software and go into production in days. We could probably have something on the ground in a month or two. An orbiting defence platform may take a little longer but I think we could have one in place ready to meet the carriers when they arrive.”

  Venkdt placed an elbow on his desk and rested his chin in his hand, thinking.

  “Listen
, Kostovich,” he said, “go ahead now and start developing these systems. Speed is of the essence, I suppose, but I’m going to continue thinking about this and I may well cancel this project when I’ve given it some deeper thought.”

  “Yes, Mr Venkdt,” said Kostovich. “I’ll get onto it right away.”

  “You do that,” said Venkdt.

  Kostovich got up to leave.

  “Thanks for bringing this to me,” said Venkdt. “Not the best news I could have had on a Tuesday morning, but thank you anyway. You’re a good kid.”

  Kostovich smiled at Venkdt. “I’ll get back to you soon with a progress report.”

  “Okay.”

  Kostovich hesitated a little. “When are you going to make the announcement? About the election, I mean?”

  “It’s a plebiscite. Probably in the next day or two.”

  “I hope it all goes well for you,” Kostovich said over his shoulder as he walked towards the door.

  “I’m sure it will,” said Venkdt. “What could possibly go wrong?”

  Kostovich had a call back from Venkdt just a few hours after he had left. Venkdt wanted to meet him and various other department heads and big cheeses that afternoon. Kostovich guessed that after giving it some thought he had decided not to cancel the missile plan. That was good. Bringing in more people, with more views, angles and axes to grind? Maybe not so good.

  He had time to set a few things in motion before he returned to the executive level of Venkdt Mars Corp HQ early that afternoon. He set his AIs to merging advanced heuristic tracking algorithms into the guidance and monitoring software of the missiles system he had decided he was going to use as the basis for his defensive program. He had some ideas too about improving missile performance and alternative payloads. He inputted very precise parameters and set his AIs to work developing a much improved and, in some ways, scaled down version of a prototype missile system he had filched from the USAN’s archives. The original design had been developed by Helios and tested and refined to a high standard. It looked now like it would not make it to production - well, not by Helios, anyway - since the war had ended and military priorities had changed. Kostovich thought it would have been a shame to let such thorough work fall to waste - particularly since, with a bit of tinkering here and there, it could be a good system.