by Rob Buckman
“No unemployment?”
“No, sir, we, that is the Government, eliminated all the usual things that breed criminal behavior. We haven’t had a case of child abuse, wife beating or rape in over fifty years, sir. That’s 120 Earth year.”
“That is impressive.”
“The last rapist paid for it with his life. The father of the girl challenged him to a duel to the death. The man didn’t really have a choice, he knew his life was over on Avalon.”
“My! That certainly took care of the problem and the punishment.” Mike nodded in agreement. “Was he guilty?”
“Yes, sir, not only by his own words, but DNA testing of the girl.” Mike smiled slightly, but there was little humor in it. He saw the King’s puzzled look. “The young lady in question was drugged by the rapist. When she recovered, she was the first to challenge him to a duel… Well, actually, she just wanted to go around to his place and shoot him, but family and friend persuaded her otherwise.”
“It still leaves room for doubt.”
“No, sir. I disagree. With the methods we use, the man condemned himself before they’d ever received the DNA results.” The King nodded in understanding.
“I’m not saying that mistakes weren’t made and the wrong man didn’t win the duel, or the wrong man killed, but it did eliminate the potential problem. Other would-be rapist, or what have you, know what to expect.”
“I can see that.”
“My Grandfather always said that vengeance was the heart of justice, and I have come to agree with him.” The King nodded slowly. Understanding that no system was perfect, yet all strive towards that goal.
“You said Proctor’s office, instead of Police Station.”
“We don’t treat anyone like a criminal in the normal sense, but someone who is in need of medical treatment.”
“I can see I need to do a little more reading up on Avalon.” The King smiled slightly, as if embarrassed to admit he did not know as much as he should about one of his colonies.
“We do have a few people who do drugs, or petty theft, but that is treated more as a mental problem than a crime.”
“With automatic factories turning out just about everything that anyone could ever need, all basic necessities are taken care off. So drugs and alcohol, or other problems caused by boredom are what our Doctors have to deal with in the main.”
“Yes, in a situation like yours, where work as such is redundant, boredom, might be a prime consideration.”
“The Government has tried to address that, sir, but it's more of a human condition if someone cannot find a normal, or creative ways of using their time constructively.”
“I suppose in a way it is, once you remove the profit motive, what else is there, except possibly power… but then again, it would be difficult for anyone to take over power or stage a coup on Avalon, would it.”
“With an armed populace, damn near impossible, sir.”
“That was always the problem here on Earth, in the past, too many people, insufficient jobs, poor wages, lack of food, and bad Government.”
“Yes, Sit, a potent combination, and a receipt for disaster eventually. Unlike many societies, Avalon didn’t load the people down with safety restrictions.”
“I don’t follow.”
“If you want to go out and climb a mountain without safety equipment, operate a flyer at an unsafe speed, or do something that places your life in danger, that's your right and choice. The restrictions only came into play where you deliberately put someone else life at risk, directly or indirectly, without their consent. If you do, you could expect to pay the consequences, either in a clinic, or in a duel.”
“I can’t say that I don’t approve, as whatever you have works, and that is the key, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I was a little upset when you sent the last two Governor Generals packing.” It was Mike’s turn to laugh.
“It wasn’t me, sir, but my Great Grandfather, the first one was a complete idiot, and tried to impose his will on parliament, and the second was a crook and a thief.”
“Harsh words, Mike.”
“Yes, sir, but true.”
“I can see I shall have to take greater care in future as to whom I recommend to the PM to send as the colonial Governor General.”
“That might be wise, sir, and might avert some nasty repercussion in the future. Some of the colonies aren’t as tolerant as we are.” The King’s face became serious.
“Yes, I agree, a few star systems have already gone over to the Sirriens, and we have lost touch with many more.”
“I didn’t know that, sir, but more fool them.”
“Few do, Mike, so keep that to yourself.”
“Any way to bring them back, sir.”
“Short of war, and a greater naval presents I don’t see how.”
“Not a pleasant thought, sir.”
“No, it isn’t, but as a constitutional Monarch, there is little I can do directly.”
“Sir, if I may...” Mike stopped, as if realizing who he was talking to.”
“Go on, Michael, please say what you are thinking.” The King gave him a smile of encouragement.
“...you are the spokesman for the people, they look to you to rectify their grievances, not the Government!” The moment he said it, Mike knew he’d let his mouth run away again.
“Exercise greater power over the activities of my Government, you mean, rather than just a rubber stamp, don’t you.” The King looked at him, raising one eyebrow.
“Yes, sir,” Mike felt his ears get red, “the Government is supposed to work for the good of the people in your name, yet in too many cases they work the opposite.”
“It's a thought, Mike, it's a thought.” He looked into his coffee cup for a moment, knowing how true that statement was, yet… “James the First tried to interfere with the workings of the Government, and he lost his head, and almost destroyed the Monarchy.”
“Then he was a fool, sir, and didn’t go about it the right way.” The moment he said it, he regretted it. “I apologize, your Majesty, I shouldn’t have said that.” The King stood, patting him on the shoulder.
“No, Mike, you are quite correct, he was an idiot, and a religious fanatic..”
“Thank you for saying so, sir.”
“I shall have to ponder your words carefully, Mike, there is a lot of truth in what you say.” With a wave, he left, and Mike breathed a sigh of relief.
He’d almost insulted the King, or at least the Monarchy. Thankfully, Taffy came bounding in and grabbing a cup of coffee, sat down beside him.
“Morning, Mike.”
“Morning, Taffy.”
“Now then, what’s the trouble with getting your ship completed?”
“Just too many roadblocks, especially in supply. My XO and I have been trying for weeks to get something as simple as a mop out of them, let alone the massive amount of supplies and equipment a newly commissioned ship needs.”
“Yes, I can see that supplying a ship from scratch would require tons of miscellaneous items.”
“It's not that unusual, is it?” He asked, seeing the odd look on Taffy’s face.
“Afraid it is, Mike. Most of the yards haven’t launched a new warship in years.”
“What! That’s ridiculous, of course they have...” His voice trailed off as he saw Taffy shaking his head.
“All refit and refurbishing of old and existing vessels. The Government lets everyone believe other shipyards are building the vessels, but in truth, none are.”
“Good God!”
“Now you see why it's so important to get your ship finished quickly. If we can show the movement that they don’t need to spend billion to build new ships, but rather rebuild the old ship into a newer, better configuration at a substantially lower cost, we can update and upgrade the whole fleet.” The made sense to Mike. His ship was nothing more than recycled parts and material, but it Taffy’s information still shocked him.
“Taffy, you’re telling me the Admiralty hasn’t launched a new warship in a year?”
“Not the Admiralty, Mike, they’ve been screaming, or did, for new ships for years, it's the Government. The requests get killed in appropriations, lack of funds and all that.”
“Good God! Lack of funds! That’s ridiculous, the belt mining operations produce tons of gold, silver, platinum, heavy metals, precious stones and God knows what else.”
“Yes, but it all gets used by the Government for other services, or so the Chancellor of the Exchequer tells us. Social services mainly.”
“But the Moon and orbiting construction yards are turning out new ships all the time, even if they are older designs.”
“Not really, it's all smoke and mirrors. They just refurbish old ships and give them a new coat of paint to make them look new.”
“I don’t believe it,” The look on Taffy’s face told him the truth. “And what about all the new research that’s going on, you should see my power plants and main weapons.” He snorted.
“Again, killed in appropriations, same reason, costs too much, and the less said about your power plants, etc., the better at the moment.”
“CPO Conner Blake told me that as well.” He muttered darkly, wondering just how far the rot had spread.
“He did, huh, smart man, not many people know about that.”
“Taffy, I don’t like the sound of all this, something is going on.”
“You’re telling me,” he grumbled, “Seaford, I and a few others have tried looking into what exactly is going on, but each time we run into a dead end.” That made Mike sit up and take notice. Taffy wasn’t kidding when he said dead.
“Conner also told me the there is evidence that some of the new R&D projects are ending up in other hands?”
“The least said about that the better.” Taffy muttered softly.
“It doesn’t say much for MI5 or Naval Intelligence.” He said, remembering his experience after the rescue mission.
“Careful, Mike.”
“Why, if they aren’t doing their job, then someone should do something about it.”
“We are, Mike.” He muttered very softly into his coffee cup. It was almost so low that Mike almost didn’t hear it. Taffy looked at him and winked. In answer, Mike gave him a slight nod. Things were starting to fit and added with what Ann told him, a picture was emerging.
“I’ll see what the gang can do about your supply problem.”
“Thanks, Taffy.”
“I have an idea how I can get round the impasse.” He gave Mike a grin.
“Great, I think.” Mike expected to spend another night at the Palace, and with Ann, but his comm unit dashed those hopes.
“Gray actual, go!” He said, hitting the scrambler button.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but we have run into a bit of a problem.” Pete Standish informed him. Mike could see the worried look on his face in the tiny screen.
“I take it, that it’s not something you can handle, Pete?”
“No, sir, sorry to say, I can’t.”
“I’m on my way, and should be there within two hours or sooner.”
“Aye-aye, sir.” Mike immediately changed channels and called the pilot.
Although he tried not to look it, the man was definitely feeling the spirit of the season. They met at the shuttle, and Mike took the controls himself, half-angry, half smiling. He couldn’t really blame the man, it was a holiday, and he’d told him to stand down. His return also meant that he wouldn’t be able to see Lady Ann again. After a shaky take off, and a lot of yelling from traffic control he flew South through a slate gray sky, icy rain fixed with snow pounded the craft. If it weren’t for the computerized navigation and digital view screen, he wouldn’t have been able to see at all. Even with computer controlled ‘fly-by-wire’ assist the shuttle craft still got tossed around. The further South he flew the more it turned to snow as a cold front moved in off the Atlantic and up the English Channel. By the time he set the scout car down it was almost a blizzard. Struggling through knee deep snow he made it inside, looking like a snowman by the time he got there. Peter Standish met him at the door, a glum look on his face.
“Tell me the bad news, Peter.” Mike took his greatcoat off, and shook the snow off, fearing the worse.
“They crippled us, sir,” he sighed, “from the one direction we weren’t looking.”
“How bad?”
“As bad as it gets, they uploaded a virus into the mainframe, and we can’t get it out.” Mike almost flinched hearing that, realizing the implications immediately.
“How on Earth did they manage that Pete?” Pete Standish followed him into the service elevator.
“We went online with the comm equipment, testing it and so forth, and we receive what looked like a regular transmission from the Admiralty, complete with authentication codes. They piggy backed the damn thing on that. Pete looked embarrassed, as if it was his personal responsibility.
“Christ on a crutch! What did we lose?” He didn’t berate Pete for not having the virus scanner in place and working before accepting the transmission.
“Everything, navigation, weapons control, environmental, power, you name it. It infected the whole damn ships operating system software.”
“I take it you tried wiping it clean and rebooting?” The moment he asked, Peter’s face got longer.
“We did, and the moment we inserted the backup program the virus transferred itself to the archival copy and wiped that out as well.”
“Shit!”
“Yes, sir, that’s one of the things I said.”
“What are our options?”
“I had the communications tech, leading communication technician Sally Goldman try and trace the hacker back, but she ran into a firewall that she couldn’t get through.”
“So, whoever it was, wasn’t just some lucky amateur.”
“No, sir, this was a professional job, that is one sophisticated virus.”
“So, where do we get another operating system?” He muttered more to himself than Pete Standish.
“Don’t know, sir, the one we had came from R&D.”
“Yes, I know, so the standard Corvette or Cruiser operating system won’t work worth a damn.”
“I’ve got Goldman working on removing the bug, but her solution was to remove the hard drive and CPU and replace them.”
“She may be right,” Mike sighed, “if the damn thing has inserted itself into the core memory, and the archive copy, that may be our only option.”
“Yea Gods that could take weeks, sir!”
“True, but it might be quicker in the long run than trying to get the bloody virus out.” Mike’s face looked bleak. “Even then, how do you know you’ve got it all, and that it’s not just waiting for the right moment to pop up again.”
“Shall I order her to start removing the hard drive and CPU, sir?” Mike thought about it for a moment as they walked through the ship and up to the CIC. When they arrived, they found Sally Goldman up to her waist under the CIC operational consult, and everyone else standing around in solemn silence.
“Any luck, Sally?” Mike asked, throwing his coat over the command chair.
“No, and whoever the hell you are, get off my damn foot!” A muffled voice yelled.
“Oops, sorry.” Mike stepped back and she wiggled back out.
“Who’s the big foot lummox who doesn’t watch...” she came out and sat up, “oh, sorry Skipper, didn’t know it was you.” Her ears got red.
“Don’t worry about it, Sally, my fault, should have watched where I was putting my big feet,” Mike squatted down beside her and peered inside the control panel, “tight squeeze in there.”
“Yes, sir, and to answer your question. I can clear the virus out of the system, and all the subroutines, but the moment I bring the mainframe back on line, it re-infects the operating system.” Mike thought about his options for a moment, rubbing his forefinger across his chapped lips. Hi
s mind shot down one path of possibility after another, yet they all ended up at the same place. Until they could be 100% sure they’d removed the virus, they stood a good chance of it re-infecting itself later. He sighed at last, then nodded, as if agreeing with himself.
“Ripped the damn CPU, hard drive, and memory crystals out and scrub the sub-systems clean. That should kill the bloody thing, right?”
