A counter told him there were nearly a million data packets inside the mail drop, waiting to be gathered up and sent to Earth. Doubtless they would have been sent already if the message from the New Terran Front had gotten through. Even so, the time for regular shipment was coming up soon; he’d better get any data he needed this trip, as there might not be time for another one.
But where to start, with so much data? He did a scan of the packets, a general survey of message length, encryption type, and origin. It was as good a starting point as any other, to see if there were patterns here worth exploring.
He found out that the messages came from all over, a random sampling of major and minor stations throughout the outworlds. No help there.
None were encrypted. That was curious.
And ... they were all the same length.
He could feel his pulse speed up as he read the last figures. In his gut he thought he knew what these data packets were, but he wouldn’t allow himself to react. Not yet. He checked again to see that his analytic programs were working properly (they were) and that the results were indeed what they seemed to be (all segments of code were long and nearly exactly the same length, the difference between them so slight that it might almost be discounted) and then he cracked one message open carefully, oh so carefully, almost as if he expected that something might jump out at him from inside.
Which it might, he thought. Literally.
Evidently something in his posture warned Varsav that he had found something; he sensed the man coming up behind him, not quite touching him but close enough to make his presence known. Maybe he was saying something, but Masada couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t waste his time making small talk, when he was handling the most deadly piece of code ever loosed in the civilized worlds.
Lucifer.
He resealed the first data packet and went on to another. And another. They were here, all the missing spores, enough of them to explain why his numbers had fallen short. Versions of Lucifer from each generation, quiescent now as they waited to be shipped to Earth. To meet their maker? The thought was chilling. He wanted copies, but didn’t dare make them yet; the self-destruction sequences on these spores were too finely tuned, and each one would be different. He remembered the hours it had taken him to copy Lucifer the first time, and how many copies he had ruined in doing so. He didn’t want to leave his mark here, not even by the loss of one single spore. Whoever had set this virus up damn well knew what he was doing, and he’d be watching for signs of such interference.
It took an act of pure willpower for him force himself to withdraw from the mail drop. The gateway programs closed up as soon as he released them, and he stayed there just long enough to make sure that no sign of his interference was visible. Though his wellseeker told him that his blood pressure was dangerously high, and distantly he could feel his forgotten hands trembling, this was no time to be careless.
Lucifer.
He retraced his steps to the next node out, far from Earth’s waystation, and then finally shut down. His thoughts were confined to his head again with a suddenness that was numbing. His throat was dry, as if from hours of thirst. Maybe it had been hours. It had felt like years.
“Well?”
It was hard for him to find his voice again. “It’s Lucifer. All the information I’d predicted its designer would want, packaged to be shipped to Earth. All its ‘children.’ ”
“To Earth.” He could hear Varsav hiss softly.
“Yes.”
“That means...” The man’s dark eyes were fixed on him, shadowed beneath scowling brows. “This thing is from Earth?”
He said it quietly. “So it would appear.”
Varsav exhaled noisily. “That means...”
He didn’t finish the thought. The words didn’t have to be said. The ramifications were... stunning.
“It could be just one company,” Masada offered. “One of Earth’s Corporations, acting on its own recognizance.”
“Perhaps.” Varsav’s expression was dark. “Or perhaps a few of them in concert. With Earth’s compliance. It’s happened before. Or perhaps... some official branch of Earth itself.”
No one had to say what would come of that. Not even Varsav, who seemed to like stating the obvious. Putting it into words would be too, too terrible.
At last the Guildmaster said, “You going to tell Gaza, or should I?”
“It’s my job,” Masada said quietly. “I’ll take care of it.”
He had to get more data first. He had to be sure, absolutely sure, before he told anyone.
Sure of what? That the spores are being sent to Earth? That they are exactly what you predicted, samples being collected by Lucifer’s maker, because he can’t be here in the outworlds to watch the virus’ progress himself?
The fate of the universe seemed to be on his shoulders at that moment. Its weight was crushing.
“I’ll tell him,” he whispered.
All data leaves a trail.
The search for data leaves a trail.
The erasure of data leaves a trail.
The absence of data, under the right circumstances, can leave the clearest trail of all.
DR. KIO MASADA;
“The Enemy Among Us”
REIJIK NODE TRIDAC STATION
THE BOARDROOM was strewn with the trappings of a recent meeting: silvered boxes of gourmet coffee, now crushed and empty; data printouts sorted carefully into piles, now discarded; a single stylus left behind, its laser tip glowing scarlet against the table’s dark surface.
She stood at the end of the table, her attention fixed upon some inner vision. He entered silently and waited for her to notice him. When some time passed and she did not, he coughed softly and took a step forward, taking up a position behind one of the molded chairs.
For a moment longer her eyes remained unfocused, as she shut down whatever internal programs she’d been processing, and then her attention turned outward again.
“Miklas.”
He bowed slightly, acknowledging the greeting.
“I didn’t expect you so early. You have news of our... search?”
He nodded and began to speak, but she waved him to silence. “Shut the door.”
He did so.
She turned up to face the security node and for a few seconds stared at it, soundless. No doubt she was feeding it the codes which would shut down the cams normally present in such a room. The thought made a cold thrill go up his spine. If this matter was so secret even here, in her own domain, what rewards might there be for the man who brought it to successful conclusion?
At last she turned to him again, and nodded. “Report, then.”
“We know where the girl is.”
Her eyes flared, the only life in a stone-like expression.
“You’re sure.”
He nodded.
“Tell me.”
“I designed a facial recognition program to search her out, and sent it out to the major waystations. It managed to infiltrate the station security system in all but three, and is tapping the public cams for images.”
“And it found her?” Her tone was frankly incredulous. “So quickly? Such luck is... unusual.”
Much as he had told himself he wouldn’t preen in front of her, he could not help but stiffen proudly as he said, “No luck at all. I wasn’t hoping for it to succeed.”
She said nothing, waiting.
“I sent out thirty-four copies of the program. Yesterday I checked on all of them. Thirty-three are unchanged.”
“And the last?”
“Altered, and by a skilled programmer. Though it looked much the same at first glance, a key section of the recognition code had been altered.” He paused. “So that if it found this girl, it would no longer be able to identify her.”
“This girl’s not stupid. She dodged Earth security on Reijik, and we know the Guild is after her as well. So far they haven’t caught her. So she knows what she’s doing, and has made the right contac
ts. That’s the real clue.
“No one can truly disappear in outworld society, not by purely physical means. There’s too much of a data trail left behind in day-to-day business. The fact that we haven’t been able to locate such a trail means that she has help. Skilled help.” He paused. “It stood to reason they’d interfere with any program searching for her. That’s why I sent it out. The chance that it would actually find her was a long shot at best ... but the chance that she would find it, and alter it, was another thing altogether. With the results that you see.”
Her thin lips pursed as she considered that. Then, very slowly, she nodded. “Yes. You did well.”
He could feel himself stiffen at the unexpected praise.
“Where is she?”
“On Paradise Station. And we’ll know if she leaves it, because the same thing will happen elsewhere.”
“It’s a large station.”
He smiled tightly. “But we know what we’re looking for now. Not a girl, but a hacker. Someone who is going to erase every trail she would normally leave behind... and leave us signposts by doing so.” He paused. “Each time she dodges one of our data traps, I’ll know how to refine the next. Each one will demand a different response... and that response will be traceable.” He paused. “We’ll find her.”
She stared at him for a long, long moment in silence. Despite his self-confidence the moment was tense.
“All right,” she said at last. “Well done.” She paused. “Do remember, Miklas. The goal is not only to get hold of her, but to do so before the Guild does.”
“Of course.” He bowed his head in acknowledgment, deeply enough to hide the glow of triumph on his face. “I promise.”
The ancients said that knowledge is power. How much more true that is in our state now, where the most minimal data can open the door to a treasurehouse of secrets.
SORTEY-6, On Human Power
GUERA NODE TIANANMEN STATION
IT WAS a somber Kio Masada who called for a meeting with Gaza and the Prima. Not that anyone else would notice that quality in him. The iru was inward-focused, and rarely offered other kaja the cues they needed to interpret its emotions. Yesterday he had been quiet and reserved and dressed in black. Today he was quiet and reserved and dressed in black. Yesterday he had been chasing a data phantom across a vast and fascinating universe. Today the crushing weight of that universe was on his shoulders, and he knew that the words he chose might condemn a guilty world to hell, or damn an innocent one. Who could tell the difference?
The Prima suggested a small meeting room on an inner ring of the station. That was fine with him. There was no place that was truly comfortable for him, outside of the workroom where he now spent so much of his time. Yet even these rooms were familiar compared to where he might have to go soon. At least this station was peopled mostly by Guerans, and most of them Guild; he was of their race and their culture, and theoretically knew how to deal with him. Other stations would be very different. Yet as much as he dreaded leaving Tiananmen, he knew it might soon be necessary. There were some meetings that simply could not be managed, except in the flesh.
The Prima was dressed formally, which told him that she had official business lined up right after this meeting. He wondered if she’d cancel her next event, after what he had to tell her. Devlin Gaza was more casually attired. It struck Masada suddenly that he hadn’t seen the programmer as much in the past few days as he was accustomed to. Was that a sign of his trust in the professor, that he could manage his job now without being supervised? Ironically it had come at the time when Masada most would have liked another human being to share in his discoveries, someone to bounce ideas off as he tried to weave facts together into some meaningful whole. Human conspiracy wasn’t his strong point.
They knew that, of course. It was possibly even why they had made an effort recently to see that he was left alone. Objectivity.
Gaza called up the room’s security system and gave it instructions verbally, so that they might all know what he was doing. He engaged the soundproofing, ordered a data filter, and called up recording cams they could turn on at will. He glanced at the Prima, who shook her head ever so slightly; no. The cams remained off, tiny glass eyes staring down at the table, cold and blind.
“Well, Dr. Masada.” The Prima folded her gloved hands on the table; the sigil of the Guild, embroidered on each cuff, was turned back neatly at each wrist. “I take it you have something to report?”
He drew in a deep breath and for a minute he didn’t look at them, but turned inward, composing himself. The intensity of their gaze was hard to meet, so he didn’t even try. He just said quietly, “I may have discovered Lucifer’s source.”
He could hear her indrawn breath, and he saw out of the comer of his eye that Gaza stiffened.
“May have,” he stressed.
“Of course,” she said softly, and Gaza urged, “Please, tell us.”
“As the Director knows,” he still didn’t look directly at him, “it’s been my theory since the beginning that whoever created this virus would want to watch it, and possibly fine-tune it as it evolved. That implied there would be some kind of collection system, or perhaps a homing pattern within the virus itself. When I arrived in the outworlds to discover that a large percentage of Lucifer’s spores were unaccounted for, this seemed to confirm that theory. Either spores had been removed from the outernet, or they were being collected at one point, where they could be studied.”
“The Professor’s figures on this were most impressive,” Gaza said quietly. There was an odd tension in his voice. Jealousy, perhaps? This should have been his speech to give, not an outsider’s.
Masada forced himself to look up at them again, knowing his direct gaze would give his words more power. “I found that collection point.”
“Where?” the Prima demanded.
Now. Say the words. Commit that errant world to its fate.
“Earth Node. The waystation.” As always his words were voiced without emotion, but clearly none was needed. The name itself, in this context, had all the power of a scream. He could see them both stiffen in response, and cursed his own lack of skill at reading human expression. Were they more surprised, horrified... or pleased? Many Guerans considered Earth to be an enemy, and would be all too happy to have evidence of Terra’s guilt in something like this. It was his job to be objective, but it wasn’t theirs. “They were being gathered at a mail drop, for delivery to the motherworld. Over a million of them.” He paused. “Deactivated.”
“Earth!” Gaza muttered. “We should have known—”
The Prima held up a gloved hand, silencing him. “Deactivated, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Then we know how to do this now. How to shut the virus down. Yes?”
“Not yet, Prima. But we will. I managed to visit the mail drop several times before the dump, and collected several copies of what should have been the most dangerous spores. If we compare those to our ‘hot’ copies of the same generation, we should be able to figure out what was done to turn it off.”
“That’s our priority,” she commanded him. “The hunt for its maker can wait. Lucifer is still killing.”
“With all due respect,” Gaza said quietly, “if we let the trail get too cold, we may lose sight of it entirely—”
“The two goals are not exclusive,” Masada told them. Why couldn’t people stay with the natural flow of a conversation, and not stray? There was information to impart, and he knew how to do it; he wished they would trust him to lead this, and not interrupt. “Director Gaza has copies of nearly every variation on file. The comparison work shouldn’t require my attention; a good program will do the first steps automatically. In the meantime, I’ve been working on identifying the data trail from both ends.” He paused. “I don’t yet know where Lucifer came from, but I know exactly where it was going.”
The Prima said, “You know where the deactiviated spores were being sent.”
It seemed
to him a question that didn’t need to be asked, but in deference to her rank he answered it anyway. “Yes.” And therein lies the weight of the universe which chokes my very breath....
“To Earth?” Gaza demanded.
He nodded. “To Earth.” And then came the words which would echo in history for eons to come. They were the most powerful words he had ever uttered, and he could taste their power as they left his lips. “ECS.”
The Prima exhaled a sharp breath. “Earth Central Security?”
“Are you sure?” Gaza demanded. “Absolutely sure?”
Masada nodded.
The Prima sat back heavily in her chair. Gaza muttered something under his breath that might have been a profanity.
This was no corporate effort, one move in a vast war between Terran industries. It was no experimental gambit either, launched by an independent researcher who hoped to make his name at the expense of Gueran secrets. This virus was from Earth, from the center of Earth authority itself, launched by those very people who were responsible for seeing that the motherworld acted like a responsible member of the galactic community.
Earth had betrayed Guera. Earth.
She had betrayed her Guild treaty.
She had put all of humanity at risk. All of her children.
“You are sure,” the Prima pressed. Her tone was icy. “There can be no doubt, if we take action on this.”
Masada pulled a chip out of his headset and slid it across the table to Gaza. “Look for yourselves. The data is all here. Transfer codes for the mail drop, standard ECS encryption. I even watched the transfer take place, just to make sure as they were sent out according to those codes, to confirm where they were going. There’s no doubt, none at all. One million plus spores of Lucifer, shipped via official channels to ECS, on Earth. Now, as for who is in charge of it once it gets there... I regret there’s no way to know that.”
Her brow furrowed. “You can’t...” She glanced toward Gaza as she sought the proper word. “Can’t follow the trail back? See where it goes?”
Gaza shook his head. “Two-month signal delay. No way to work in real-time. Earth is just too far away.” He tapped the chip sharply; his mouth was a hard, thin line. “This is enough though. This ... this will be enough.” Masada could well imagine what he was feeling. Here was the enemy who had infected his most advanced programs, spied on his greatest secrets, and killed the outpilots he was sworn to protect. Now, for the first time, he had a name for it, and even Masada could hear the hate in his voice. And of course there would be vengeance. The most terrible vengeance imaginable. An echo of the horror Earth had once let loose on all of them, from which Variant society had never fully recovered.
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