by Chris Hechtl
Most likely her handler would also be a loose end. The thought that the woman wouldn't live much longer than she did wasn't much comfort for her. She didn't even know the woman's name, nor did she care.
“I'm not sure where things are leading with the relationship. I know he's still prickly over my revealing a few things. Technically, he never should have told me. I think now, in hindsight he was testing me.”
“And you let your reporter instincts kick in. It's a good cover, but he won't tell you anything else,” the woman said as she bent to tie her shoelace. April sprinkled seed on the pavement and grass around her for the birds and critters. There weren't any pigeons in the habitat; they were considered rats with wings, but there were some pretty birds and squirrels.
“I'll make it up to him. I'll find a way back into his good graces.”
“We know you will, it is in your best interest. But, be careful next time.”
“I thought I wasn't supposed to pass on information to you? Just monitor him?”
“We want you to monitor his movements for us so we can be on guard.”
“On guard?”
“To protect him,” the woman said as she pulled her sports bottle off her hip and took a drink. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, then took a small hand towel out, wiped herself down with it, then rang it out as another jogger passed them. Once they were out of earshot she tucked the small towel and the knife she'd palmed back into her fanny pack. “You know how the game is played.”
“I'm not used to long-term assignments. I'm also well aware that I am in a … tenacious situation,” she said.
“You mean you finally figured out you have a target on your back as well?” the woman asked scathingly as she did some stretching exercises. “Congratulations.”
April winced at the withering scorn in the other woman's voice. “Thanks.”
“Don't mention it.”
“I think something is going to have to be done long term about the Sema woman.”
“You don't like having the competition?” the scorn was replaced with amusement.
“No. I can't do my job if she's undermining me at every turn, batting her eyes at him and such. They are together at work.”
“Yes, but not as much as you think. The secretary of state has moved into her own complex and has her own duties. Believe it or not but they only cross paths in person a few times a week, if that.”
“You have someone else watching them?” April asked as she froze.
“You don't need to know that. Besides, it's common knowledge. The gossip columns are watching the situation. You've got your own paparazzi tail as it is.”
“Right,” the red head sighed as she finished the seeds. She got up and stretched as well. “Same time?”
“Same channel. Keep the routine for this month, then we'll vary it. I'll let you know.”
“Right,” April replied as she stuffed her hands into her pockets and turned away. The woman watched her go with yellow eyes, then turned and did some shoulder stretches before she picked up her camera. Her reason for stopping was that she liked the animals and tended to set up a camera to take pictures and video when they were being fed. The device was actually anything but a recorder. Oh, it could record if she needed it for a cover, but its true purpose was to scramble any listening devices nearby.
“See you around tweeties,” she said cheerfully as she tucked the camera into her fanny pack, zipped it shut, and then took off at a light jog once more.
:::{)(}:::
Commander Vestri Sindri cracked his knuckles and then flexed his thick arms to get rid of some of the kinks in his joints. His elbows popped as he moved, a sign that he'd sat in one position for too long. He'd had his morning workout too, so he was a bit stiff despite his implants.
He checked on Commander Gray and then nodded to himself. The commander had some of the keys, but not all. It was an ongoing problem for them to schedule the rest of the key access and get the logistics lined up to take advantage of it.
He still needed to rely on Admiral Irons and Captain Sprite for keys all the time. He was well aware that they needed more list and flag officers, specifically engineers with keys. Hell, you didn't technically need to be an engineer to apply keys; a glorified staff officer could do it. All you had to do was input the keys, let the computer know the number of parts to make, and hit enter! He shook his head. But, that wasn't how the system worked, so he was stuck. Engineers were the ones to have engineering keys.
And since the civilian yards were becoming more important, it meant he and other officers had to schedule time to visit them to upload keys for military projects there as well. That was taking a bite out of his schedules, one he wasn't happy about but was more or less resigned to putting up with. It was for the good of the navy and economy after all, or so people kept telling him.
He had become accustomed to dealing with the day-to-day decisions and pressures of managing the ever-expanding yard. He was also still rising in rank. He had been informed that he was on the short list, but if he was promoted, he would be transferred out of the yard. He didn't like that idea. He'd come to love his position. If he was transferred, it meant he'd have to take on either a teaching job or a ship or instillation command. Anything less than the yard would be a bummer. He wasn't up for commanding a ship though. Oh, he could handle some things, but it really wasn't his cup of tea. He was far more comfortable in engineering than on the bridge. He freely admitted that to anyone who was willing to listen.
That meant teaching. He really wasn't cut out to wipe noses, grade papers, and try to teach young turks how to turn a wrench. Or, as some idiots were starting to insist, teach officers to oversee the rank and file to do the work. Heaven forbid an officer get their hands dirty, he thought scathingly. Hands, tentacles, claws, whatever, he mentally groused as he did a quick scan of his inbox. No, nothing critical was there ready to leap out at him he noted with a gratified sigh.
Back to the civilian yard problem he thought, hauling his mind back to that as he leaned back in his abused chair.
There were three civilian yards, Yard Dogs Inc, the Antigua Prime repair yard, and ETMI. He didn't even bother to count the one in Pyrax. They were still trying to find their ass with both hands, directions, and a flashlight. He shook his head in disgust. What bugged him about the yards the most wasn't the travel time for his people, no, it was that they were not able to keep up with demand. It wasn't for a lack of resources, the problem was him, or so they said. The navy was sucking up the available pool of trained manpower. They were in competition it seemed, and the navy won out every time.
Which, from his perspective, that was the way it should be. But, the Yard Dogs and the Antigua Prime repair yard didn't see it that way. And boy, didn't they get all ticky when someone came over to his side! They might howl about poaching, but many of the people who did come over were college kids who had been working on a career in industry and had a reserve commission. It wasn't his fault they paid for their college courses by joining the navy! Yeah, it sucked for the civilians to get them trained only to lose them, but what did they expect?
Now, ETMI didn't have that problem, but they didn't have on-site engineers either. They could borrow personnel from Spirit of America with some of the keys but not all. Eventually, he was certain they would require a liaison with the keys or some other arrangement.
Heaven help him if someone in BUPERS got the wiseass idea of transferring him there! He'd give them a piece of his mind, and he didn't give a damn who it was, even if it was the big man himself! He wanted no part of ET and the rats nest on the planet. He shook his head in annoyance at the very idea.
He frowned as he picked at his lower lip with a scarred index finger. He reached over to his coffee cup, but when he touched it, the cup was cold. He scowled and withdrew his hand. It was no doubt empty anyway.
When he was promoted, who would take over for him? A Bekian? Gray? He wasn't certain. Most likely not Gray, there had been
a lot of noises going on about how the yards were to the point where they required a flag officer to be in command. He grunted at that as his mind returned to his own future.
He'd heard about the harbor stations, especially the one in B-102c. Now, see, that was something he'd love to do! Could he transfer there? He had already missed out on building the station, but there were a lot of derelict ships there to recover and rebuild. That would be an interesting challenge.
What he wasn't at all certain about was taking on another project like building a yard from scratch. Oh, he could handle the challenge with the right resources. After all, he knew what mistakes he'd made, and he was older and wiser now. But, it was something he'd done. He wanted new, fresh challenges.
There, he'd thought it, he thought to himself in amusement. He was getting a little bored. Command was becoming more of an administration job, which translated to babysitter in his humble opinion.
He made a puttering sound as he rose from behind the desk. It was time to log off for the evening and sleep on it. Perhaps tomorrow would bring something new for him.
:::{)(}:::
“I've finished processing the information from Bast and the other sources. We've compiled a new series of inoculation protocols and files, as well as counterattack methods. What is the distribution list like?” Commander Veber asked.
“I've updated it. Obviously, all the cadre members are on it as is everyone in the government, all A.I. and system managers. That includes ship A.I. We'll have to hand courier the files; we still can't rely on the ansible to transmit them without a virus somehow getting a copy and negating all our hard work,” the A.I. stated. “We're still clearing the IT people,” Captain Sprite said as she flashed a list to the Centaurian.
“Have we managed to come up with a better stimulant?” Commander Gray asked. Currently the best simulation of a Xeno Wraith A.I. acted out what it would do if it was the real thing, but it lacked initiative and spontaneity. It was a puppet that followed its script. Commander Gray and some of the team wanted to inject some realism into the simulations and exercises to find the holes that were in their defenses as to expose them for review and patching.
But in order to get a proper response, they needed to either have an A.I. play the wraith in an exercise or create a dedicated one that could act as the wraith would but have a trigger to stop it. There was also awareness that no simulation would be real-world accurate since they would do their best to limit physical damage.
“No. And before you ask, no, we don't have any more on how it effects ship's systems,” Lieutenant Commander Fletcher stated.
“We need to run more cyber warfare games. Has anyone found a way to get past the latest defenses the Horathians have put up?” the commander asked peevishly.
“No. Air gapping is an effective means of defense. It isn't perfect; it hampers the defender since they lose close coordination between their units and are still vulnerable to a long-term infiltration.”
“Right, I know that,” Jory replied impatiently. “So, there is no way to get into the enemy's telemetry that they do share?”
“Currently no. In order to do that, we'd need to have real-time decryption of their transmissions in order to infiltrate it successfully.”
“And once they realize that we're doing it, they'll shut down and reset under different keys,” Captain Sprite stated.
“Ah. So, how does the wraith do it? How can it get in? It slips through our systems like a thief without any sort of detection. Can we use what we've learned there to help?” the commander asked.
“Unfortunately, no. We don't have enough information, and what we do have tells us that the Wraith studies its target and performs the infiltration only when it is ready. It finds vectors and slips in there, through the cracks. They don't get in right away.”
“Ah.”
“But, they are still doing it,” Veber stated. “I think part of the problem is a nano virus. Even though the system blocks the stream, something sticks in the buffer. I've been going over infiltration attempts. It is what led to the latest countermeasures patch update.”
“Ah. But, it's untested?” Captain Sprite asked as she scanned the patch carefully. She wasn't certain of applying it to herself. One attempt to patch a vulnerability had opened a backdoor port that had spooked her and a lot of A.I. when they'd found out.
“Against the real thing of course not. And remember, the real virus adapts and is intelligent.”
“I'm still locking up over that. How can it be sentient in compressed form? I think it is more along the line of an animal.”
“Possible,” Fletcher stated as he too examined the patch notes. “We're still working on the self-assembly method as well. At least we've identified the key to how it finds the files it wants to rebuild it.”
“That might be one way in, the files. We checked the replicators; some of those files are built into the firmware of our equipment. Obviously, we're getting rid of them, but some are integral to the operation of the hardware so it isn't as easy as it sounds,” Veber stated.
“That explains why there were delays in replicator parts recently,” Jory grumbled.
“Yes. We did that patch last week.”
“Ah.”
“Once we identify all the parts and especially the kernel parts, we can shut the virus's ability to replicate itself, or at least one method.”
“Yeah, until it notices and adapts,” Jory grumbled sourly.
“You are just in such a good mood,” Fletcher observed. “Try it from one of our perspectives,” the A.I. said as the commander turned to his avatar. “Imagine the fear involved in being turned into a puppet.”
“I agree. But, we can't let fear govern our actions. We have to keep moving forward and living our lives,” Captain Sprite said, hauling them back on subject. “So, we have the patch, what do we plan to do next?”
“Improve the simulation. I'd like to build a virtual construct of an infection based on one we know about. Deconstruct it. Is there any word on the Lemnos mission?” Commander Veber asked.
“No. It is still on hold. The risk is not worth the reward. I know you want to get into the systems and see how the wraith infected them and kept the crew from seeing it, but I highly doubt the Admiralty will sign off on it. If word got out to the public that we wanted to do that, they'd pitch three shades of a snit as Admiral Irons would say.”
“Ah. Pity.”
“Right. So, until we have another infection, we're SOL on that front,” Captain Sprite stated. “I'll pass this on to Protector, Proteus, and Admiral Irons,” she said.
“Understood. I guess we're adjourned,” Fletcher stated with a nod.
:::{)(}:::
Governor Jeff Randall watched his wife brush out her hair as they got ready for bed. He pulled out a set of red pajamas and then put them on as they talked. The small talk quickly gave way to long-term goals. He had noticed his wife was starting to chafe at their chosen roles now that the bigger picture of Federation politics was taking center stage. “So, what is the plan long term? Did you factor in competition? If you didn't, then you damn well should have,” she said as she leaned her head to the side to brush her hair out.
“I did. I think it is premature to get reactive about such things though,” the governor replied indifferently as he took a seat to change his socks.
“Oh, no?” she asked, turning to look at him in the mirror.
“No. Remember, long term we're going to be bringing in people from all over the galaxy. Admiral Irons can't step down until the rest of the government is reestablished and open elections are called for. That will take time.”
“Understood,” she replied with a nod. “I even agree with it. But, others are setting themselves up for the high office. And they are positioning themselves early.”
“But, you noticed. Others noticed too. And I'm betting more than one person is resentful of the interloper. Miss Sema will have her hands full appeasing people while also trying to do her job.�
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“Ah. Well, there is that.”
“Not to mention that if she does try to stick a knife in John's back it will be the last thing she does. But, I don't think she will.”
“What about her plans?” his wife asked as she slipped into her kimono robe and belted the sash with an adroit twist and tuck of the silk cloth.
“What about them?”
“I meant for Irons.” He blinked in confusion at her. She rolled her eyes. “Jeff, she wants power. He's on the throne. The easiest way to get power is to marry him, correct?”
“But she wouldn't have direct access to the power. It would be by proxy,” he said as he caught on.”
“Yes, but if she set herself up right, she'd be ready to jump in at any time that he stepped down.”
“Ah, but you have to remember, people will want a change. If she's seen as the leadership, they'll reject her.”
“You don't see a smooth transition?”
“No. I highly doubt it,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Most married couples in politics don't do it for love,” he said with a fond smile to her. “It's a given that most of the general public realize that too. Cynicism will kick in. She'll be considered a gold digger.”
“Ah. Well, I admit, there is that.”
“I think if she does go after John it will be a fling. Something to enhance her reputation, give the gossip people something to talk about and give her a means to use him in the future,” Jeff said.
“When did you get to be so wise,” his wife accused as she came over and kissed him on the cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Why, I married you dear,” he replied with a straight face.
“Good answer,” she chuckled as she kissed him again.
Chapter 11
Destria
Colonel Dana Harley noted a blinking alpha priority on her HUD. She clicked it, read the line, and then nodded. She waited until she had gotten back to her office and was behind her desk before she tapped into her desk. “Access the ansible for priority incoming transmission,” the computer intoned. “Ansible connection complete, the president's office is on the line.”
