They waited for nearly an hour before deciding that nothing else was going to happen. Then Pakkpe-katt ordered the spotter ships to move up, and had Glorious brought back to its accustomed position, trailing fifteen klicks behind the vagabond.
“Briefing in my wardroom, thirty minutes,” he announced to the bridge. “I want preliminary encounter data from all teams at that time. And I want the commanders of the landing teams present.”
“Did you get it?” Lando asked Lobot eagerly.
“We could not help but 'get it,' ” said Lobot. “The same pattern was broadcast at multiple frequencies along the energy spectrum, and not only monitored by active receivers, but induced in passive circuits.”
“Is it the same as the Hrasskis signal? It sounded like it to me.”
Artoo-Detoo chirped a short, emphatic response.
Threepio straightened himself to a formal standing posture before translating. “Artoo reports that if he allows for the missing and distorted sections of the original recording, the probability that the new signal is identical is greater than ninety-nine percent.”
“So we've filled in all the blanks? That's something. Do you recognize the language now, Threepio?”
“No, Master Lando,” Threepio said with a convincing emulation of regret. “Although I am fluent in more than one thousand languages and codes which employ single-frequency vibrations as meaning units, this does not match the syntax of any of those methods of communication.”
“Blast,” said Lando. “I think Pakky's about to send in the landing teams, and we still don't know what that ship's been trying to say to us. Keep working on it, everyone. We'll talk more when I get back.”
The captain's wardroom aboard the Glorious had not been built to accommodate as many bodies as were crowded into it. By the time Lando arrived, there was no room left at the table, and all but one of the auxiliary seats along the walls were occupied.
The vacant chair was directly behind Pakkpekatt, who was seated in the middle along one side of the oblong table. Lando opted to leave the chair vacant, settling instead for standing in front of the panels where the ship's history was recounted.
“We can begin now,” Pakkpekatt said, indirectly acknowledging Lando's presence. “I'd like the report from the tracking team first. Keep it succinct.”
“Yes, sir,” said a slender officer seated to Lando's right. “Close approach was twelve-point-zero-zero-one kilometers. Initial target response occurred point-eight seconds after close approach and lasted six seconds. Secondary target response occurred six seconds later—”
“Not long on patience, are they,” Lando said.
Two officers laughed, then immediately looked sheepish.
“—and resulted in an aborted jump of two-point-eight kilometers along the flight vector.”
“Nor am I, as a rule, General Calrissian. If you could confine your comments to matters germane to this meeting—”
“I think the quick trigger these folks have shown is absolutely one hundred percent germane,” Lando said. “Whatever the meaning of that signal we all heard, they don't wait very long for the right response on our part. We'd better be awfully sure of ourselves the next time we cross that line.”
“Thank you for your thoughts, General,” Pakkpe-katt said in a decidedly ungrateful tone. “Was there anything else, Agent Jiod?”
The slender officer shook his head. “Only that by all appearances, the hyperspace entry and exit of the target were indistinguishable from those of a ship equipped with our standard Class Two fusion engine and motivator.”
“Very good,” Pakkpekatt said, glancing meaningfully at Lando. “Report of the scanning team, please.”
“There were a total of twenty-eight distinct variances and events detected by the combined sensor array during the encounter. The six we've been able to identify...”
Leaning his broad back against the plaque, Lando suffered silently through six more reports before Pakkpekatt called for the one which most concerned him.
“Foray commander, your report on team readiness.”
The foray commander, Bijo Hammax, was one of the few officers under Pakkpekatt's command for whom Lando still had any respect after a month's exposure. Technically astute and mentally tough, Bijo had been a member of the Narvath underground and fought with the Alliance regulars through the last year of the Rebellion.
“The team is as ready as can be,” Bijo said, standing slowly. “We've identified two suspected hatchways and a couple of candidate sites in case we have to cut our way in. Of course, we'll take active soundings right off the hull as soon as we have the cofferdam up, and be ready to adjust accordingly. I've got one man down with a cold and not fit for work in a suit, but that shouldn't affect our ability to do the job.”
“Have you isolated this sick man from the rest of your team?”
“He isolated himself, at the first symptoms,” said Bijo.
“Can I assume that you'd have no problem being ready for a go order at fifteen hundred hours tomorrow?”
“None at all, Colonel.”
“Thank you.” As Bijo sat down, Pakkpekatt turned toward the other end of the room. “General Calrissian, what can you tell us about the vagabond's hailing signal?”
Lando was taken by surprise at being called on. “I can tell you that it's a dual-frequency carrier, modulating up to a thousand times a second. I can tell you that the data capacity is at least fifty thousand units, and could be ten times that. And I can tell you that we still don't know if they're saying 'Halt or I'll shoot' or 'Welcome to the Cold Space Bazaar, transmit credit information immediately. Have your people had any better luck?”
Pakkpekatt looked down the table for an answer.
“Er, the contact protocol team believes that the signal recorded by the Hrasskis and in today's contact was an automated collision alarm,” a young rating said, his voice touched by nervousness. “In our opinion, it has no informational content. It's simply meant to be heard loudly and clearly, no matter what sort of communications receivers an approaching ship might use.”
Lando walked forward to the table and leaned down to rest his weight on it. “Are you saying that the vagabond jumped to avoid a collision that was never going to happen?”
“You have another explanation, General?”
“How about that it was trying to get away from US?”
“Do you think the target didn't know we were here until the intercept took place?”
“No, I—”
“Then why would the target wait until now to try to get away?”
“I'll give you three answers for the price of one,” Lando said. “Because some animals freeze first when a predator's nearby. Because until now, we hadn't made any aggressive moves. And because we flunked whatever intelligence test it sent us today.”
“Mr. Taisdan,” said Pakkpekatt, keeping his steady gaze on Lando, “is there as much as a minority opinion on your team that believes we should wait until we have deciphered what General Calrissian has called the 'intelligence test'?”
“No, sir, Colonel.”
“General Calrissian, do you have any clear evidence of informational content in the signal recorded during today's intercept?”
“No,” Lando admitted reluctantly.
“Thank you,” said Pakkpekatt. “Captain Hammax, inform your team that we will begin operations at fifteen hundred hours tomorrow. Foray Team One will make the first attempt, in Assault Barge One. Everyone, make sure your sections are ready. Thank you—that's all.”
Lando waited, arms crossed over his chest, as the other officers and staff filed out past him. He was like a rock in the middle of a river.
“Was there something else, General?”
“I'm just trying to find out if you and I are even on the same menu,” said Lando. “We waited weeks before taking the first tentative step, and now we're going to rush ahead and try to board her? Shouldn't we allow some time to process what we've learned?”
“
I am allowing time for that,” Pakkpekatt said. “Why do you think we're holding off until fifteen hundred hours tomorrow?”
“That's not very blasted much time,” Lando said angrily. “You've bought into this collision-alarm theory because it suits your purposes. If you think you've seen the last of the vagabond's defenses, you should think again. You're treating that ship like a yacht with a burglar alarm, when you should be treating it like—like a warship.”
“The assault barges are fully armored and have augmented shields. The agents will be in full armor as well,” said Pakkpekatt. “How long would you have me wait for you while your vaunted cyborgs and droids fail to decipher something my experts tell me has no meaning to begin with?”
“Longer than twenty hours.”
“No, General,” Pakkpekatt said firmly. “Even twenty hours may be too much. I will not relax for a moment until fifteen hundred hours arrives. We took a step forward today. We are no longer just curious companions, traveling in company. Our next step has to follow quickly, before whoever or whatever controls that ship decides to act rather than react. I would rather that the foray team was boarding the shuttle this minute. So use what time I have given you. And surely you can find better uses for it than arguing with me.”
Lando frowned, and the frown quickly turned into a sour expression. He started to turn away toward the door, then stopped and turned back, head held high.
“More?” asked Pakkpekatt.
“You promised that we'd be included in the boarding party.”
Pakkpekatt showed surprise. “I thought that with your apparent disapproval of my plans, you wouldn't want to risk yourself or your staff. But, very well. There is one space open on Barge One. Choose your representative and notify Captain Hammax within the hour.”
“One! That wasn't our agreement—” Lando began, warming up to blister the colonel's leathery hide.
“One or none,” Pakkpekatt said firmly. “Your choice. Notify Bijo either way.” He swept out of the room, moving swiftly and lightly despite his mass, before Lando could say another word.
“All right,” said Lando with a quiet seriousness.
“Tomorrow at fifteen hundred hours, Colonel Pakkpekatt's going to send his brush salesmen knocking at the vagabond's door. The colonel's accepted an opinion that the signal is just a warning hail. I think if it were that easy, the vagabond wouldn't be here for us to puzzle over.
“But we're running out of time to offer the colonel any alternatives. We've got one of every kind of brain there is in this room,” he said with a grin. “Let's do some serious brainstorming.
“Here's the situation in a nutshell We've got a good, clean capture of the signal from the vagabond. It looks to be identical to the signal captured by the Hrasskis. A warning hail? Maybe. What else could it be? Maybe if we can figure out what it is, we'll be able to crack what it says. I want to hear every idea every one of you has. I don't care if it's been brought up before.”
“I am still inclined toward a recognition code,” said Lobot. “The telesponders on our ships send out an ID profile when interrogated. This may have been an interrogation of that sort.”
“It's thousands of modulations long.”
Lobot considered. “Then perhaps our proximity served as the interrogation, and this was the response. We don't know what information they might consider crucial.”
“And the way the ship tried to run today, after giving the signal?”
“Failure to respond in kind.”
“They said hello, and we didn't say hello back,” said See-Threepio. “A clear breach of etiquette.”
Lando considered. “A ship closes with the vagabond—the vagabond pipes out its ID code, then listens for the same—when it doesn't come, it treats the approaching ship as a threat, and bolts.”
“Call and response,” said Lobot.
“Sign and countersign,” said Lando. “It wants to hear the password. But why didn't it try again to get away? All it would have had to do is turn to a new heading. The interdiction pickets could never have re-positioned themselves in time.”
“There is a high probability that this vessel was built before interdiction fields were invented,” said Lobot. “If we are dealing with an automated response system, what just happened may have been outside the parameters of the identification and security routines.”
“Okay,” said Lando. “Maybe their black box doesn't look outside to make sure that the jump actually took place if the motivator and the drive report normally, it assumes that the ship jumped. And by the time all that was over, D-89 was long gone—no threat within the threat horizon.”
“That seems plausible.”
“I'm going to play a hunch here and say it's more than plausible,” Lando said. “The ship wants an answer from anyone who comes knocking. No answer, no entry. And it won't wait around for you to keep guessing. It wants the answer right away.”
See-Threepio cocked his head. “But Master Lando—what is the question?”
“That's what we have to figure out, Threepio.”
Hours of frustrating and fruitless verbal wandering passed before the group finally found a path that seemed as if it might lead somewhere.
“Think, everyone—think. Let's back up and look at this again,” Lando said impatiently. “You want to lock up a spaceship you're sending out to the great nowhere. You want to make sure no outsider can get in uninvited, but you and yours always have access”
“Excuse me,” said Lobot. “We don't know that the builders of the vagabond intended to reenter it after it was launched.”
“That's true,” admitted Lando. “But if they locked the door and threw away the code, we might as well go home before we get somebody killed. We have to assume there's a way in.”
“Very well. But I will consider this an axiom rather than a fact.”
“Here's a fact. If I'd built it, there'd be at least two ways in—a front door, and a back door for when something goes wrong with the front door,” Lando said. “But, I was saying—you don't want to use a physical key, because you don't want to let anyone that close without checking them out. So we're talking about a password, basically. A really long binary password.”
“Forgive me, Master Lando, but in my experience no sentient being could remember a password of this length and complexity,” said Threepio.
“The answer might not be as long as the question—” Lando began.
“It could be longer,” said Lobot.
“That's not the point. Maybe the question only looks long and complex because we don't understand it. Human beings can remember incredibly long sequences if they have meaning,” said Lando. “I knew a smuggler who'd memorized the Hundred Prescriptions of Alsidas when he was a kid taking religious training, and he could still rattle them off thirty years later. My mother knew hundreds of songs and poems by heart. And there are species with much better memories than human beings.”
“I don't dispute that. There are many feats of memory recorded in the libraries,” said Lobot. “Even so, passwords and access codes, whether mathematical or linguistic, are not error-tolerant. No matter how long the expected response may be, it must contain no errors.”
“Well, that's always the problem, isn't it?” said Lando. “How do people remember all the things they have to remember? What do they do when there's something they can't allow themselves to forget? Some people have incredible memories, and others have trouble remembering their kids' birthdays, much less their ID numbers and the access codes for digital locks they haven't opened in years. So people cheat.”
“Mnemonics.”
“Yes, but they cheat in other ways, too,” said Lando. “They carry the passcodes with them—”
“But that compromises security. Anything that's carried can be stolen.”
“Right. So some try to disguise the passcode as something else—”
“That's little better. Anything that's hidden can be found.”
“Right again,” said Lando. �
��A pickpocket on Pyjridj once told me that four of every five belt pouches he saw had passcodes in them, and it rarely took him even a minute to find them. Sometimes the passcode was the only handwritten item in the pouch.”
“You could ask a droid to remember the passcode for you,” said Threepio. “A droid can be instructed to tell no one but you, does not make mistakes, and will not forget.”
“But droids can be stolen, just like pouches,” Lobot said. “Droids can have their memories read, or wiped. Droids will dump their memory data under sensor-torture. Droids also know what it is that they know, which can lead to erratic behavior. Droids have revealed criminal acts by their owners, refused orders from their owners, wiped their own memories, destroyed themselves—” To Threepio's seeming relief, Artoo interrupted the litany of failings with a trill.
“Artoo wishes to remind us that all combat astromechs have protected memory segments which can be used to store sensitive information,” said Threepio. “He says that in more than thirty years of operation, no captured R2 unit has ever revealed the contents of a protected memory segment.”
“That's fine, Artoo,” said Lando. “You can tuck something away in your memory where even you won't know what's in it, so you can't be forced to reveal it. But you can still be blown to bits or snatched away from me—and then what am I supposed to do? A little better shooting by the Empire, and the technical readouts on the Death Star would never have reached General Dodonna at Yavin.”
“The key must be replicable,” Lobot said.
“Exactly,” Lando agreed. “Otherwise the key itself is the weak point. Like having all your riches in a vault, and only one guy who knows where the only key is. Too risky.” He stood and started to pace in the confined space of Lady Luck’s galley. “Come on, come on—we're getting close to something here, I feel it. What haven't we looked at? Where's the missing piece?”
“What about the fact that there are pairs of tones in the transmission?” asked Lobot.
“Good, good,” said Lando rubbing his hands together.
“But are they pairs, or is it two separate channels of information? Do the individual modulations count, or just the pairs? Pairs, long sequences, replications, securely concealable—what kinds of information fit that description?”
Star Wars - Black Fleet Crisis 1 - Before the Storm Page 17
