by George Deeb
The timing couldn't have been better. School was out for the summer, and there were no demands on anyone's time. Erika was nineteen now, and no longer a child. Her college years would go by fast, and then she would be a young women who would be making her own way in life, with less time for her uncle. Travellor knew he had better take advantage of being with her as much as possible. All of his built up PTO would get used up with every opportunity to visit her.
“Hello Anthony.” came the voice of Phillip Aimsler, Erika's uncle on her father's side.
Travellor and Aimsler had always gotten along. He respected the man for many reasons, and appreciated that Erika had been welcomed into their family as a daughter. He relaxed his right arm and extended it to shake Aimsler's hand.
“Hello Phil. Thanks for letting me stay with you. Hi Jen. How are you?”
Jennifer Aimsler stood next to her husband, with a welcoming smile on her face.
“Erika!” she said, “A young women doesn't go around jumping on people. Unwrap yourself from your uncle.” she said, laughing.
Travellor had watched the relationship between Erika and the Aimslers since she came to live with them after her parents deaths. They saw her as the daughter they never had.
“NO, NO, NO ! He's mine, and I'm not letting go.” Erika replied, and she kissed Travellor on the cheek and slowly unwound herself from him, and then held onto his hand.
'Where are the boys?” asked Travellor.
“Helping our neighbor cut up a fallen tree.” said Jen. “They'll be back in a few hours.”
“Let's go inside.” said Aimsler. “Bags in the car?”
“Yes.”
“I can help.” said Erika.
Travellor handed one of his bags to her, and he and Aimsler picked up the rest.
8
Antonio Vargas inspected the repaired fabrication area closely. It had taken over four days to replace sections of the outside wall and fit a new access door. The section had passed the pressurization testing, and was now safe for personnel to occupy without spacesuits. The 361 electronics geniuses had fabricated a sensor tree that was now standing in the middle of the room, going from floor to ceiling. Vargas considered the tree to be an excellent device. The geniuses that built it thought it was a very simple exercise more suited to the talents of a thirteen year old – they felt their skills were being under-used. Vargas didn't care what they thought. He recognized a useful piece of equipment that could save lives when he saw one, and the tree was such a device.
Relatively speaking the tree was a simple device. It was an array of temperature, pressure, and gas sensors that would alert people around it to any dangerous condition it detected. Vargas liked that idea, and as acting base commander he issued a directive that no area under maintenance would be without one. Of course, his directive would only be valid until Commander Travellor returned, but he knew Travellor well enough to believe he would keep it as a permanent edict. He turned to Chief Astronautics engineer William Good, and nodded his approval.
“Good.” said Good. “Now we can get to work.”
“How long before the room is completely wired and set up with work stations?” asked Vargas.
“Two days at most. That leaves us about two weeks to get the shuttle modifications done before Commander Travellor gets back.”
“Which shuttle are you modifying?”
“Both of them.”
“BOTH !” said Vargas in surprise. “That leaves us without any working shuttle.”
“Grilik Munen is aware of this. He said his shuttles can handle the extra work load, if needed. Damn good people, those Ganaphe'. They work hard, and they're there when you need them.”
“Yes, they are. What are we doing to them?”
“One gets fitted with a new engine designed by Eckelberry Cove. He has a new theory on using resonant energy flow as a propulsion stream. That boy's a genius. Wouldn't surprise me if he's the one who gets us to the outer planets some day. The other one gets new armament.”
Vargas had seen the name Eckelberry Cove on some of the engine design schematics. Even heard the name talked about among the engineering staff. Some were awed by his theories, and so far he had proven every one of them. Some scientists were theorists, and some were experimenters who applied another person's theories. Cove was reputed to do both, not being happy until his theories became tangible. He not only designed propulsion systems, he also designed the ships that would use them. Vargas would have to read up on him when he got back to the office. It was 361's policy that all technical papers be accompanied by the same information written in 'plain English' to help non-technical personnel understand at least the basics of what was going on. Vargas' technical expertise was in the practical realm. When it came to theoretical physics he was completely lost. It was the plain English translations that helped him stay current on scientific developments – and in 361 there were a lot of scientific developments – daily. Sometimes it seemed hourly.
“What new armament?” asked Vargas.
“The guns have an improved temperature control system, and they fire a new type of munition. The problem with metal bullets in space is that if they don't hit anything they just keep going until they do. You could end up shooting yourself under the right circumstances. The new ones are ceramic. They still hit hard, but they also have a small explosive charge inside and a timer. If they don't hit a target in seven seconds, the timer triggers the charge and blows the bullet into dust. ”
“Still...,” commented Vargas with a disappointed look on his face, “not as high tech as the Ganaphe' weapons.”
“Nope. Not even in the same ballpark.”
“And it's going to take you two weeks to modify them?”
“A few days for the new gun. That's mostly just a system swap out. The new engine installation is a lot more complicated. Has a lot of sub-systems and testing involved. I'll be very happy if we get it done in two weeks.”
“I'll get out of your way then. Happy modifying. Let me know if you need any help.” said Vargas, as he walked out of the fabrication bay.
9
“We're going deer hunting – really?” asked Ernst Aimsler.
“Yep. We'll be camping for five days. Bring your warm clothes.” answered Travellor. “Your parents deserve a few days to themselves.”
“Excellent!” said Robert Aimsler. “I've been wanting to try my new broadhead arrows.”
“Where are you going to be while we're camping?” asked Ernst, looking at his parents.
“We... “ said Phillip Aimsler, taking hold of his wife's hand, “will be enjoying the clear blue waters and warm beaches of the Caribbean. Maybe do a little lobster diving. And if we're having a really good time, we might stay longer. You can keep your uncle entertained until we get back.”
“There are some new movies I want to see, and I haven't been to the gun range in a while. OH! - and there's the new ice cream store that opened up. We haven't checked that out yet.” said Erika.
They all talked excitedly about the days to come, as dinner was brought in by the servants. The Aimslers were wealthy people, but as Travellor studied the three younger people at the table he could see no sign of them being spoiled. They had no sense of entitlement. Travellor drifted away in his own thoughts. There was no doubt they would be financially well off as they made their way in life, but both Phillip and Jennifer Aimsler expected their sons and their niece to do just that – make their own way in life. That was one of the reasons Travellor thought so highly of these people. Why he trusted them to take care of the one person he loved most. Yes, they were all lucky kids, growing up without having to worry about food, clothing or shelter. Still, Travellor could see it in the face of the youngest, Ernst, that he knew his parents expected him to become and independent individual. There would be no mamma's boys in this family. Jennifer Aimsler's voice brought him back from his thoughts.
“If you happen to lose one of the boys on your camping trip, just notify the authoriti
es and they will search for him. That's why I had two, so I'd have a spare.”
Everyone broke into laughter at her joke.
“But don't you dare come back without my girl!” she continued, reaching over and hugging Erika. “I'm giving her to you in perfect condition, and that's the way I want her back.”
As the laughter continued, the boys demanded that their father stand up for them. He made a minor attempt at it, indicating that he had no authority to overrule his wife. The boys proclaimed the unfairness of it all, and the laughter and conversation continued throughout the evening.
10
June 2009
Launch Complex 41
Farber-Chatwell watched from the observation area, as the Atlas V rocket burned its way through the sky. On top of it was the LRO – the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter, on its way to map and measure the moon's surface with high resolution color imaging, UV and other instruments. The project had been conceived and executed by a team that did not include a 361 associate. The general project guidelines were known, and these had him worried.
Grilik Munen had assured him that their camouflage technology would be able to hide the location of the base from the satellite, but Farber-Chatwell would have been less worried if they had been able to put some safeguards into the satellites operating software. The ingenuity of space explorers, be they hardware or software oriented, was not to be underestimated. They were a dedicated group of people always coming up with new ways to do things – find things – see things. The only thing they could do now was refrain from any flight activity during the period the satellite was overhead, and then intercept the data stream to find out if the base had been detected. He knew he had some sleepless nights coming in the near future. He really hated not being in control of the situation.
Making the problem even worse was the fact that this would be a long term satellite mission – years long, which meant that from the time it arrived at the moon the satellite would have to be tracked continuously so that flight activity could be curtailed when it posed a danger of exposure. The only other option was to disable or destroy it, but Farber-Chatwell was not the type to interfere with the achievements of others. 361 and the Ganaphe' would just have to live with the inconvenience.
That wasn't the only thing that worried him. He knew there would be more satellites, and more exploration in the future. A dedicated tracking center might have to be set up on moon base.
Chapter 12
GRAIL
1
December 2011
Ransen Ramsdel glanced over at the printer that resided by the window of his office. It had come out of stand-by mode, and was warming up. He hadn't tried to print anything. Since he was the only person in the suite who used this printer it could only mean one thing – a communication from Base Command. That printer had started out as a standard WIFI capable type that anyone could buy from any retail outlet – but that was the end of any similarity. 361 technical personnel had added a couple of security enhancements to it. They had added an additional processor board of their own design, which bypassed the basic WiFi circuitry with a much more secure system so that the printer operated only when defined circumstances were met. The first requirement for the printer to work was that Ramsdel was within ten feet of the unit, or more specifically Ramsdel's ring was.
The ring on his hand looked like any other piece of jewelry a man might wear, but although it looked like metal it was made of a special high strength ceramic. Underneath the birthstone was a SOC – a System On a Chip – that was a complete receiver, transmitter, and encoder, all built on a single tiny substrate. It only required a small amount of power to operate, and that was supplied by the magnetic induction generator built into the ring. As Ramsdel moved his hands in his every day activities, a very minute amount of power was generated and stored in a tiny supercapacitor on the ring's flexible circuit board. Supercapacitors were just coming into widespread commercial and industrial use, but 361 technicians quickly recognized the potential uses for them. They have the ability to store relatively large amounts of energy compared to physically similar standard capacitors and even batteries. The one in Ramsdel's ring was small, but when fully charged it stored enough power to keep the ring active for almost forty-eight hours. The 361 engineers on the ring project were very proud of what they had accomplished. The rings were now used for many purposes, including identifying a person as a 361 agent when accompanied with other verification. The existence of the rings was considered to be on a need to know basis.
When the printer received a request to print, it would transmit a radio signal from its internal omni-directional antenna. If a properly encrypted response signal – from Ramsdel's ring – was not received, nothing happened. The printer remained in standby mode, and the print job discarded. If the response signal was received, the print request would be honored and the printer did what it was built to do – print the document, unless Ramsdel pressed the orange 'Store' button. If the orange button was pressed, the print job was stored in the internal buffer until Ramsdel was ready to print it out. This ensured that Ramsdel was the only person to get the printout. This printer in Ramsdel's office recognized only his ring. If another 361 member who had a similar ring came into Ramsdel's office, the printer would not respond to its code.
The second requirement for the printer to work was that the print job had to have the correct encryption protocol. All print jobs processed by the printer had to be in the correct encryption format, and it was not a standard or commercially available encryption type. The print job was taken into the printer's buffer memory, and decrypted. The decrypted job had to have a header section which included an acceptable identification code. If that code was there, the print job was 'washed', which consisted of the processor removing a cover code that hid the actual document. This cover code was interlaced with the actual document code in such a manner that if the transmitted signal was intercepted, and printed on a regular printer, the output would be a highly detailed but normal looking picture of some random insipid subject matter.
The third requirement for the printer to work was that the MAC address of the sending device had to match one of those stored in the printer. This last requirement, which is one used by many standard home WIFI networks for security, was just thrown in by the 361 techs because, as they put it, “It's already there. It's easy. So we did it.” This limited the devices that would work to Ramsdel's computer, his smart phone, and three other devices that were in the possession of other 361 personnel. These other personnel were unknown to Ramsdel.
Ramsdel jumped up from his seat and quickly moved to the window. This had become a game for him, to try and spot the vehicle or person sending the signal. He found it a great way to break up the day. The identity of the messenger actually wasn't a big secret. In fact, Ramsdel had been offered the opportunity to meet the person handling that job, but at the time he was very busy with several projects and declined. Now this game had become a mental break from his work – better than a quick nap. He looked over the area in front of the building, checking cars for occupants or antenna, or people using a computer.
The problem with cars was that these days a lot of them had various antenna on them anyway. There were broadcast antenna, GPS antenna, Ham radio antenna, TV antenna, and even some vehicles with small dish antenna. Try to spot the right vehicle by the antenna it had was almost useless, but Ramsdel kept thinking that if an antenna that was peculiar in some way was being used he might spot it. It had to be a directional antenna since he didn't think sending the signal over a wide area would be good security practice – and 361 had become an organization that was very good when it came to signal security. He didn't spot anything that stood out on any of the cars or trucks he could see.
Ramsdel then began to check out the people in the street. There were several people with smart phones, but only one working on an open laptop. She was sitting at a concrete table in the small park across the street, facing in his direction. 'Ah hah!',
Ramsdel thought, 'You must be the one.' He was very excited now. He had never been able to spot a likely suspect before, playing this game of his. The only problem with his theory was that there was nothing that looked like an antenna, and there had to be one. Then he spotted the purse on the ground, by the woman's foot. If he could see the purse, then it had a clear line of sight to the office – something the directional antenna needed to have for the message to get delivered.
Ramsdel pushed the 'Store' button on the printer, grabbed his jacket, and jogged out of the office. The childish grin on his face made several of his office personnel wonder what was going on. The plan of attack came to him as he went through the office door. He ran down the back stairwell, taking four or five steps at a time. If the print job was long enough he would have enough time to circle around the neighboring building, sneak across the street at the corner, and come up behind his prey. His grin kept getting bigger. It was just a game after all, but it still had some of the excitement of being in the field again.
He got to the park, and then tree by tree he made his way toward the table, eager to surprise the messenger. He came up behind what he believed to be the tree that was behind and to the side of the table, and carefully looked around it – and she was looking right at him. She was expecting him! How could she know he was there he wondered. She smiled, and wiggled her finger indicating he should come over. His smile disappeared, and confusion broke his train of thought.
