by J M Leitch
‘Yes. Maryland. I worked at the Laboratory for Astronomy and Solar Physics – LASP – it’s a Division of the Space Sciences Directorate. Then I got my doctorate in Aerospace Engineering from USC in 1989.’
‘How long were you at NASA?’
‘Just over twenty years. I left in ’07 to take on the Directorship of OOSA.’
‘Why did you leave?’
The question took him by surprise. Why had he quit NASA and given up the job he loved? It was inspiring working with world experts in engineering and aeronautics, mixing daily with brilliant although often difficult individuals. He’d excelled there and received promotions and countless awards. But he’d never intended staying forever and after celebrating his twenty-year anniversary, knowing it would only get more difficult to haul himself out of the NASA rut, the unexpected offer from OOSA seemed heaven sent. He was flattered being invited to take over from the retiring Director and the employment package was substantial. The offer stroked his ego and he was attracted by the kudos it would bring.
He sighed. ‘I was honoured when OOSA approached me. So honoured, I couldn’t refuse.’
‘Of course!’ Rebecca said, and Carlos caught a note of admiration in her voice.
‘And I was inspired by the mission. To promote international cooperation in the peaceful use of outer space and to help developing countries by making space technology more easily available. As long as I’m here, I’m committed to driving these initiatives forward.’
Rebecca smiled. ‘Now tell me about the Space Elevator,’ and she shifted forward on her seat. ‘What is it exactly?’
‘The concept is simple. You stretch a ribbon from an ocean-based station at the Earth’s equator and counterweight it around 100,000 kilometres up in space. Lifter vehicles, powered from the ground by lasers, climb the ribbon. Each lifter vehicle has a maximum weight payload and will transport parts and people up and down the ribbon, to construct anything from satellites to space stations.’
‘Incredible. 100,000 kilometres long! And how wide will it be?’
‘Just a few centimetres.’
‘But how can a ribbon that slim lift such huge weights?’
‘It’s high-strength, low-weight material. It’ll be made from carbon nanotubes mixed with polymers. It has the potential to be one hundred times stronger than steel. As I said, the concept is simple but the engineering is revolutionary.’
‘That I can believe! And LiftPort was created to develop this concept commercially? To build the first Space Elevator?’
‘Correct. The first lift’s scheduled for the early 2030s.’
Rebecca continued asking questions about the Space Elevator and although Carlos enjoyed talking to her – he liked her freshness and enthusiasm – uppermost in his mind was anxiety about the e-mails.
She sensed his distraction. ‘I’m nearly finished,’ she said, biting the inside of her lip and looking up at him from under her lashes, ‘just a couple more questions. What practical help will the Space Elevator be once it’s commissioned?’
‘Firstly it will dramatically reduce the cost of getting payloads into space and secondly it will benefit many industries – from telecommunications to pharmaceuticals – as well as creating some completely new markets.’
‘And how does OOSA fit in?’
‘We’ll act as a watchdog to ensure potential disputes between countries wanting to use the elevator and the frequency of its use, for example, are resolved fairly. We’ll also ensure no monopolies are exercised and that it’s only used for peaceful purposes. Also we’ll identify ways poorer countries can benefit from the new technology.’
‘That’s a broad mandate,’ Rebecca said, and Carlos nodded.
‘Sí, it is… it will be tough.’
‘And what benefits do you see the Space Elevator bringing to the world?’
‘It could give us a new source of energy by lifting large solar arrays into space to create a competitive source of clean, limitless and eco-friendly energy to be beamed back to Earth.’
‘Amazing. Anything else?’
‘Yes. Because the cost of getting payloads into space will be halved and efficiency will be increased, we can build more sophisticated and larger habitable space stations.’
‘For research?’
‘Not just that.’
‘You mean to colonise space?’
‘Sí. The stations could be used should we ever need to evacuate the planet.’
Rebecca shuddered, ‘Now you’re frightening me!’ and her brown eyes grew huge.
‘You’re right to be scared,’ Carlos said, ‘there’s no reason to believe our planet can support human life indefinitely. We’re just one species inhabiting it – an intelligent species for sure – but just a species,’ and yet again he thought of Zul. ‘Whether we’ll survive all the natural disasters the Earth can throw at us and all the crazy things we’re doing to destroy it, well… that we’ll never know… not until it’s too late.’
Sitting motionless at his desk Carlos looked as if he was asleep with his eyes open. He wasn’t. In actual fact he was experiencing the surreal verging on meditative state that occasionally accompanies the mid-stage of a hangover and acts as a welcome buffer against intrusion by the physical world. It is a dreamy, ethereal place, where thoughts drift past like candyfloss clouds, demanding only peripheral attention.
It was, however, no match for Corrinne who burst through the door making him think his heart had jumped out of his chest and landed between his feet.
‘Hans has been on the phone again. He wants to see you. Urgently.’
Just one look at Corrinne’s face and the interplay of emotions battling there warned Carlos she was struggling to master an unfamiliar jumble of feelings. The combination of irritation at delaying the Session meeting and worry about the security breach was threatening to mess up her whole day.
‘Now will you please tell me what this is all about?’ she demanded.
‘Sit down,’ Carlos sighed.
She perched on the edge of the chair, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap and her head tipped to one side like a plump little budgie. Just an inch further forward and the chair would have overturned.
He stretched his arms overhead, fingers interlaced, trying to release the tension in his shoulders, and told her about the e-mails.
‘And just how much did you have to drink last night?’ she asked, pursing her lips.
‘Corrinne, it’s no joking matter.’
‘I’m not joking.’
‘Hey, I know it sounds crazy,’ a crooked little smile started to form, then faded.
‘But it makes no sense. Why’s this old man – this hacker…’
‘I call him Zul.’
‘Oh Carlos,’ she said shaking her head, ‘but why’s he sending these messages to you?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Well, Hans sounded really worried.’
Carlos hooked his forefinger inside his shirt collar and circled his head.
‘We can do without all this,’ Corrinne muttered. ‘We need to finish preparing for the Session. And you’re in DC next week for two days.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll tell Hans to come up now. Meantime I’ll write up the meeting minutes and send them over. Please read them, especially the parts you missed.’ She got up. ‘Looks like we’ll be working late again tonight.’
She was halfway to the door when she turned. ‘It’s past lunchtime, shall I send Sabine down for a sandwich?’
‘Sounds good. Make it two.’ All of a sudden he felt very hungry.
As Corrinne left his office, Carlos noticed the little swagger in her stride had returned. She was back in control again but he wasn’t sure how much good it would do them.
He leaned back in his chair. He had no inclination to work. Nothing seemed that important any more. He didn’t know if it was a symptom of his hangover or because he still didn’t know where the messages had come from.
Hans walked into Carlos’s offic
e, polishing his spectacles with the wide end of his tie.
‘What have you got?’ Carlos asked. ‘Which UN location were the e-mails sent from?’
‘Here.’
‘And?’
Hans replaced his glasses as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Carlos, they all originated from your terminal sessions. The first from a session here last night, the second and third from your home last night and this morning.’
‘That’s crazy!’ Carlos raised his hands. ‘I was the only one on this floor last night. And at home? Well Drew was there… hold on… you met him. But there’s no way he’s involved.’
‘I don’t know how to say this…’ Hans paused.
‘Say what?’ Hans took off his spectacles and started polishing them again. ‘Are you accusing me of sending the messages?’ Carlos jumped up jabbing himself in the chest with his hands, ‘to myself?’
‘I don’t want to. But what other choice do I have? It’s the only explanation we’ve got.’
Carlos paced up and down. ‘The tag, my tag,’ he jerked the tag off his jacket pocket and skidded it across the desk, ‘someone could have hacked into it, sí?’
‘No. The tags include a random encrypted password generator that’s synchronised with the authentication computer at the other end. It changes every minute. It’s impossible to hack into the tags.’
‘Then someone hacked into the system… from outside.’
‘How? The whole of UNO City’s protected by radio frequency shielding – a Faraday cage. It stops external signals getting in and internal signals getting out and being intercepted. In any case, the internal e-mail server’s records can’t be interfered with. They confirm that the source location is within our virtual private network and that the messages originated from terminal sessions your tag was logged in to.’
Carlos sat down. ‘So? What next?’
‘I need information on everyone who knows about the messages.’
‘There’s Drew – you already know about him. He was at my apartment when the first video came in last night, although he was in another room at the time. But this morning he was sitting right next to me. He watched the whole thing. It’s all in the Incident Reports. Then there’s Corrinne. I just told her. You and your department. That’s it.’
‘And I’ll need to check the CCTV records for last night. Your office, the corridor, the executive bathroom.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘Not long, but if I don’t find anything…’
‘Which you won’t.’
‘Then I’ll have to pass it over to ITU-T.’
‘ITU-T?’
‘The section of the International Telecommunications Union that deals with all aspects of the UN’s security for multimedia communications. They’ll study my report and supplement it with their own investigation.’
‘Christ!’ Carlos slammed his hands on the desk. ‘What are you trying to do to me? Hey? You want me suspended?’ he waved his arms in the air, ‘arrested?’
Hans dropped his head as the colour in his face deepened. ‘Of course not. But right now there’s no other explanation.’
‘The minute you leave my office, I’m calling the Secretary-General. I want to be sure he hears this story. All of it. From me.’
CHAPTER 6
When Carlos walked into the Chill Out Lounge, Drew was already there, sitting in a big rattan armchair sipping a Mojito. Carlos ordered a drink for himself and also sat down.
‘Did you see the latest headlines?’ Drew asked. ‘You were right. There’s talk Russia’s going to threaten turning off the gas supply to Europe. The Germans are going mental and the EU’s in a complete panic. The Yanks are shit-scared NATO’s going to collapse, leaving their arse well and truly exposed.’
‘Jesus!’
‘Any news on your messages?’ Drew asked.
Carlos shook his head. ‘Nothing. Still waiting for ITU-T to come back.’
‘What’s the boss say?’
‘I’m meeting him in New York Saturday, on my way to see the Pentagon Monday.’
‘The Pentagon? I thought you were sworn enemies.’
‘We are. I think they want to negotiate concessions on use of the Space Elevator.’
‘By the look on your face, that’s not going to happen.’
Carlos took a swallow of his drink. ‘No way! It goes against everything I believe in and everything OOSA stands for.’
‘Rather you than me – fighting the US military single-handed.’
‘Carlos!’ A man approached with his hand extended. ‘Long time, no see. It’s Joseph. Joseph Fisher. Remember me?’
‘What are you doing here?’ Carlos asked, turning to Drew. ‘Did you set this up?’
Drew grinned. ‘When I found out Joe was in Vienna too, I thought I’d get him to join us.’ He reached up to clap Joseph on the shoulder. ‘Glad you could make it mate. Pull up a pew.’
‘It’s got to be what, twelve, thirteen years?’ Joseph said to Carlos, drumming his nubby fingers on the back of Drew’s chair. ‘How long have you two known each other?’
‘We met at USC in ’84,’ Carlos replied.
‘Shit,’ Drew said, ‘that makes me feel old. Twenty-eight years ago.’
Carlos thought back to his early days in the States. At the beginning it had been tough. American culture was a new experience and he’d found it hard to adjust. He’d been miserable and terribly lonely. He shook his head. ‘Where did you go when you left NASA?’ he asked Joseph.
‘Northrop Grumman.’
‘Ah sí. Baltimore. I remember now.’
‘Advanced electronics for the military. I put together a strategic cooperation agreement with Israel Aerospace Industries – IAI – back in ’02. Then IAI offered me a job back home in Tel Aviv.’
‘Little bugger clawed his way right to the top. He’s the boss of their MALAT Division now!’
‘MALAT?
‘UASs, Unmanned Air Systems. We do a lot with the armed forces and ministries of defence all over the world.’
Carlos raised one eyebrow and his drink. ‘Congratulations.’
‘And to you. Director of OOSA Drew said,’ and Carlos nodded. ‘So…’ Joseph turned towards Drew, ‘what’s it like at NASA now? The place must be in uproar after the bombshell the President just dropped.’
‘The proposed budget cuts? No shit! All hell let loose. But the media’s loving the public backlash. Probably blowing it up out of all proportion but who cares, we need the show of support.’
‘Anderson’ll have to be careful if he doesn’t want to lose his edge at the polls,’ Carlos added.
‘If he doesn’t back down I could be out of a job in a couple of months. Me and hundreds of others. Not that I care,’ Drew grinned. ‘I’m ready for a holiday – get in some sailing. I’m over the rat race. I need to relax and slow down.’ He got up. ‘Another round?’
As he loped off, Joseph leaned in towards Carlos. ‘Drew told me about your wife. She was so young,’ he shook his head ‘only thirty Drew said.’
Carlos fought his instinct to recoil.
‘Please accept my condolences,’ Joseph said and squeezed Carlos’s arm with a grip as fierce as a vice. ‘How long’s it been? Four years?’ Carlos nodded. Their heads were practically touching. ‘It must have been terrible.’ He dropped his hand. ‘I guess the job helps keep you focused.’
‘No time for a social life,’ Carlos replied.
‘I know how that feels,’ Joseph sighed, ‘not like the old days at Goddard eh?’
‘What?’ Drew said, reappearing with the drinks, ‘those glorious halcyon days. Where did they go?’
‘You two always struck me as unlikely friends.’
‘I thought he was a right pompous little prick before I first spoke to him.’
‘Hey, I didn’t like you much either. So arrogant and opinionated. Always strutting around with some girl following, preaching to her about this and that.’
�
�How did you meet?’ Joseph asked.
Carlos looked at Drew. ‘Remember? You stopped me in the corridor.’
‘Hey mate, slow down,’ Drew had said, grabbing Carlos by the elbow. ‘I want to talk to you. You’re from Spain, right?’
‘So?’ Carlos glowered up at him.
‘It’s just I know what it’s like to have folks living on the other side of the world. That’s all. You must be feeling like shit here all on your own,’ and he dragged the startled Carlos off to the nearest bar for a beer.
‘First time living overseas?’
Carlos nodded.
‘Poor sod! You’ll get used to it. Me? I’ve lived all over the place. My old man’s an oily boy.’ Drew chuckled at the puzzled look on Carlos’s face. ‘An oilfield hand. A bloke who works in the drilling business. I had a go at it myself. Worked as a roughneck on a jack-up in the North Sea. For a couple of years. Bloody freezing in winter, I’ll tell you. Finally I saw sense and decided to further my education in an academic way. You’re on my course, right?’
Carlos didn’t know what to make of the lanky young man who peppered his sentences with unintelligible English slang and swear words. But he was very friendly. They talked about their families and as the beers went down, discovered they shared many interests, although not always the same points of view: music, football, politics, the cosmos… and women.
Whether it was his South London accent, his quirky charm or his flushness from working on the rigs, Carlos wasn’t sure, but Drew certainly attracted the ladies and on top of the fascinating though sometimes heated discussions they shared, that was another good reason to hang out with him. They cut an odd picture, the six foot four, lean, fair Englishman and the five foot ten, stocky, swarthy Spaniard, but it wasn’t long before their antics became legendary.
‘Truth was,’ Drew said, ‘I felt sorry for him. Being Spanish and all.’
‘Hey…’
‘But after spending time with him, I knew we’d get on famously.’
‘How come?’ Joseph asked.
‘Because he always rises to the bait. Every time. I just love taking the piss out of him. Talking of taking the piss, are you still on your thespian trip, Carlos?’
