“Tell him the captain requests him in my office at his earliest convenience, if he pleases?”
“Okaaay. What if he isn’t pleased?”
That made me laugh. “Oh, he won’t be pleased, that’s for sure.”
Jeremy Smythe knew that ‘earliest convenience’ meant immediately, and that it did not matter one little bit whether he was pleased or not. He came into my office, his hair and beard still damp, having taken just enough time to get his uniform sorted. “Sir?”
“Colonel Smythe,” I tried to look stern though my eyes might have betrayed my happy mood. “I just came from the galley. Some cretin scraped the last molecules of peanut butter out of the jar, and put the jar back as if it was still full.”
He blinked slowly at me. If I had just told him that I was applying for beautician school when we got back to Earth, he would not have been more surprised. “You wish for me to investigate? Sir?”
“No!” I laughed. “Seeing that jar gave me an idea. You want to destroy the kitties’ supply of pixies, right? We can’t do that, I agree with Skippy. No, I think the only thing we have to destroy is their faith.”
The side-eye is something Smythe used sparingly. He used it on me right then. “Their faith? In their god, or gods?”
“No. Something more concrete. Their faith in the security of pixie technology.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. Our STAR team commander is smart, he caught onto my thinking right away. “The Maxolhx believe their technology is ultra-secure,” he agreed, muttering half to himself. “Not even the Rindhalu can replicate pixies. The technology is considered invulnerable.”
“Even by the Rindhalu,” I added. “Skippy told me the spiders have been trying to copy pixies, or intercept their communications, and they have failed. Now, someone has cracked that technology. We have.”
“We can’t reveal our existence to the enemy,” he said cautiously.
“That’s the beauty of it: we don’t have to. We just need the Maxolhx to think the Bosphuraq have replicated pixie technology and have used it to read their messages.”
“They would need to shut down their entire military communications system,” he mused, nodding slowly in appreciation. “All the pixies in their vaults would be instantly rendered useless. That would cripple them for years.”
“Longer than that,” Skippy spoke up as his avatar shimmered to life on my desk. “Those arrogant kitties are so confident about their tech, they don’t have a workable backup. Pixie technology has been invulnerable for so long, they don’t even think about it. Arrogant, stupid kitties,” he chuckled. “What’s your plan, Joe?”
“Uh, it kind of depends on what you say about it. We still have a set of blank pixies?” The answer should be yes, because that info was in the status report every morning. With Skippy, it never hurt to verify he hadn’t forgotten to update the report.
“Yes. Those are precious, Joe, we don’t have many left.”
“I appreciate that. You once told me that you can disassociate and then re-tag a pixie more than once? And that when a pixie is re-tagged, the process leaves a residual signature?”
“Yes, a contamination. That is why pixies can’t be re-tagged an infinite number of times. I have learned a lot from working with the batch we got from Detroit, and recently with the ones we got from the ships we captured.”
“Excellent. Next question: if the kitties captured any of the pixies we stole from their factory on Detroit, is there any way they can determine which batch they came from, anything like that?”
“Oh,” Smythe looked at me with an expression that said he should have thought of that, and he was glad someone had asked the question.
“No, Joe,” Skippy answered my question. “Blank pixies are just that; blank.”
“Yeah, I believe you about that. What I’m talking about is more subtle. Like, on Earth, batches of chemicals are tagged with substances to identify where and when they were made. So, if it is later realized there is a problem with a batch, they can find everything made from it. Is there something in the manufacturing process that leaves a, I don’t know. A quantum tag or something?”
“Oh. I get your meaning now. Um, yes. The Maxolhx do not ‘tag’ batches of pixies, but it is possible to determine where and when a blank pixie was manufactured.”
“Shit. That could screw up everything. We can’t let the kitties figure out that we broke into their factory.”
“Then you are screwed, Dude. Except for, you know the awesomeness of me. I can alter the signature so pixies can’t be identified to a particular batch.”
I slapped the desk so hard, my hand hurt. “Outstanding! Hey, can you also alter a pixie so it is tagged in such a way that it looks like the thing wasn’t created in a Maxolhx factory?”
“Um, hmm,” he took off his ginormous hat and scratched his dome. “I guess so. Sure. Yes, I can do that. Why do you ask?”
“Because what I want to do is plant a blank pixie in the wreckage of a Bosphuraq ship, where the Maxolhx will find it. When they examine it, I want the kitties to think that pixie wasn’t stolen from them, it was made by the Bosphuraq.”
“Whoooo,” Skippy whistled with approval. “Wow. That would drive the Maxolhx totally batshit crazy. They would be tearing their fur out, trying to discover how the birdbrains made a blank set of pixies. That is kind of genius, Joe.”
“You haven’t heard all of it yet. Aboard that wreck, I also want to plant a pixie tagged to a Maxolhx battleship, or some other vital asset. That pixie needs to be one you have recycled. I want the Maxolhx to know their enemy has the ability to disassociate pixies and reuse them. And to accurately copy the tagging of a Maxolhx ship. Um.” Just then, a bad thought struck me. “Shit. That will only work if the Maxolhx know what a recycled pixie looks like, and can detect it.”
“Don’t worry, Joe,” Skippy doffed his hat to me. “I’ve got this. The kitties don’t know that a pixie can be recycled, but I’ll make it obvious the one we plant has been previously tagged. Hey, would it help if the previous taggings were to some of the ships we destroyed?”
“Brilliant!” Smythe clapped his hands.
“Yeah, that would be great.”
“This is brilliant,” Smythe mused. “During World War Two, the cypher team at Bletchley Park cracked the German enigma code. The allies kept it secret that they were reading German communications, so the Jerries wouldn’t switch to a new code. If we allow the Maxolhx to know someone has cracked their technology, we might lose the ability to intercept their messages?”
“That’s possible, I guess,” Skippy admitted. “Well, no,” he shook his head. “I don’t think that will happen. They don’t have another code to switch to. Like I said, they do not have a backup to pixie technology. Whatever lower-security system they use as an alternate, I can hack into. Probably. I can’t make any promises until I know what they do.”
“That’s good enough for me,” I declared. “Smythe, I want you to do two things. First, work with Skippy to find a Bosphuraq shipwreck where we can plant the pixies. Or, a ship we can turn into a wreck, if there’s not one out there. I’ll do the same, and we’ll compare notes.”
“Yes, Sir,” Smythe was perched on the edge of his seat, eager to get to work. “The second task?”
“Try to,” I sighed, “imagine how this could go sideways on us. I know it all sounds great right now, but I have a feeling the Law of Unintended Consequences is just waiting for a chance to bite us in the ass.”
Walking back to my office with a very full coffee mug, I was being super careful not to spill any of it on the deck. Yes, it would have been smart to just take a sip of coffee off the top so it didn’t risk sloshing all over, but I think it has been well documented that I am not smart. Plus, that coffee was about a billion freakin’ degrees and needed to cool before I put any of it in my mouth. Also, it was a challenge to see if I could make it all the way from the galley to my desk without spilling a drop.
Smythe was waiting for
me when I arrived, he stood up to greet me. “Sir, we-”
“Not yet. Just a few more steps and,” the coffee wobbled alarmingly before I set it down, not daring to breathe. Success! “Yes!” Pumping a fist in triumph, I bent over the desk to slurp the hot liquid. And, of course, it dripped down my chin and onto my shirt. Fortunately, it was Causal Friday aboard the mighty Valkyrie, and I was wearing a black T-shirt with ARMY across the chest, so the stain didn’t show. “Ok, sorry about that,” I gestured for Smythe to sit. “What’s up?”
“We discovered a complication.”
My response was to scowl at him. The scowl wasn’t done for effect. “I hate complications. Especially before coffee in the morning.” My triumphant mood was fading fast.
He looked at the still-full mug. “Should I come back later, Sir?”
“No, if you’re going to ruin my day, let’s get it over with.”
“It is not necessarily a bad complication. It depends on how you look at it.”
“Will I think it’s a bad thing?”
“Again,” he splayed his hands, palms up. “It depends. We were looking for a wrecked Bosphuraq ship where we could plant pixies.”
“Good, because I didn’t find anything.”
“We didn’t either,” Smythe acknowledged. “There are many ships that have been destroyed, but we need a shipwreck that the Maxolhx will search. Therefore, it must be recent. The kitties will not go back to a wreck they have already scanned, unless we give them a reason to do so. I couldn’t think of a reason that wouldn’t make the enemy suspicious of the information.”
“Well, shit. So, you came to the same conclusion I did? That we need to plant the pixies aboard a Bosphuraq ship before the Maxolhx attack it?”
“That won’t work, Joe.” Skippy gleefully crushed my hopes. “Hey, that coffee is getting cold.”
“Oh, thanks.” Picking up the mug, I sloshed it and spilled enough on the desk that Skippy’s avatar had to move so he wasn’t standing in a puddle. There was no rush to mop up the spill, because the flexible surface of the desk sagged, forming a pool to contain the spill. That was a cool feature of my fancy new desk. It was still too big but, I had promised to like it, and I kinda did. Pulling a towel out of a drawer, I tossed it on the pool of liquid. “It won’t work because we can’t be sure the pixies aren’t damaged or destroyed in the attack?”
“Bingo!” Skippy gave me not just a thumbs up, but the more enthusiastic double-gun point. “That problem, plus we would have the whole issue of capturing and boarding a Bosphuraq ship, to plant the pixies.”
“Like I said: well, shit. I don’t want to risk boarding a hostile ship with our depleted STAR team. We’re back to Square One, then.”
“Not precisely,” Smythe had a very satisfied I-know-something-you-don’t look.
“Don’t make me guess,” I mock-glared at him over my mug while I gulped it. Damn, it was still super hot.
“In the Maxolhx message traffic, we found an operation they are planning. The Bosphuraq have sent transport ships to a planet they call Vua Vendigo. It is an isolated world, served by only one dead-end wormhole. Its primary asset is an agricultural research station. That station has a substantial civilian population, and the birdbrains want to evacuate all personnel. The Maxolhx have learned about the evac plan, and they are using it as an opportunity to show their clients they can’t escape punishment. The kitties intend to intercept and destroy the transport ships, then bombard the research station from orbit.”
“They are going to wipe out an agriculture station?” I knew the Maxolhx were ruthless, but that surprised me. “Why?”
“Because,” Skippy explained. “The Maxolhx suspect that research into plants might be a cover for banned activities. But mostly, the kitties want to make a statement that no place in Bosphuraq territory is safe. Probably, they wouldn’t have bothered attacking Vua Vendigo, but if they allow their clients to get away with an evacuation, the Maxolhx will appear weak. Killing a couple thousand civilian research scientists, support personnel and their families will send a strong message. Plus, the Maxolhx are simply hateful MFers and they think killing defenseless clients is fun.”
“Well, screw them.” Suddenly, I didn’t feel like drinking coffee. Guilt tends to spoil my appetite. “Listen, Smythe, I do feel bad for those Bosphuraq. I started this whole mess.” That was true. The reason the Maxolhx were shooting at their clients was my fault. The worst part of it was, that desperate scheme hadn’t worked. All those Bosphuraq deaths were for nothing, and we couldn’t do anything to stop the slaughter. “You aren’t proposing we defend that planet, are you? I’m not risking this ship for aliens, even if they are civilians. Besides, the kitties will just send more ships, until they knock us out and turn that planet into a smoking ruin.”
“No, Sir. It is impractical to defend that world, and that is not our responsibility. Skippy and I were considering whether we should warn the planet, and perhaps the star carrier that is bringing the transport ships. Let them know the Maxolhx are planning to attack.”
Without thinking about it, I did the Jim Kirk Lean. Right elbow on the armrest, chin cradled by my thumb, index finger scratching my chin thoughtfully. “We warn the Bosphuraq, the Maxolhx are certain to learn about it, right? The kitties will know for sure someone has hacked their communications.”
“That is the point, yes,” Smythe agreed. “We will provide the Maxolhx with evidence their communications have been compromised, by warning the people on Vua Vendigo. Then we will show them how they were hacked, by planting pixies aboard damaged Bosphuraq ships.”
“Huh.” I stared at the ceiling. That was not a Jim Kirk signature move. But then, Kirk seldom wrestled with self-doubt. “I read somewhere that in World War Two, the Allies knew the Germans planned to bomb a city in England, but they couldn’t send the RAF to defend, because that would expose the secret that that the German code had been broken. Damn,” I shook my head. “That was a tough call. The right call, but, tough. Now we’re doing the opposite.”
“The story about the bombing of Coventry,” Smythe said matter-of-factly, “is probably a myth. However, it is true that protecting the secret of the Ultra code being broken required extraordinary measures.”
“And now,” I mused, “we have an even greater secret, and we’re giving it away. Somehow that doesn’t feel right.”
“The Maxolhx would assume-”
“That doesn’t mean it is wrong, it just feels wrong, you know?” I asked. “We’ve spent years out here, going to great lengths to keep our secrets. We have killed to protect our secrets. Now we’re giving it away. It goes against my training. But,” I took a breath. “It is the right thing to do. This Voodoo Vending place-”
“The name is Vua. Vendigo.” Skippy was disgusted. “Can you not remember even-”
“Like the name matters?”
“Do you have to give a nickname to everything?”
“Well, I’m a soldier, so, yeah.”
“Ugh. The next time I sign up with an outfit of dangerous desperados, it will be the Salvation Army.”
“Ok, on one side we have a birdbrain star carrier with its racks stuffed with transport ships. What are the kitties bringing to the party?” For me, that was the crucial question. If the Maxolhx had assigned a group of battleships to the raiding party, we needed to look for another opportunity. No way was I risking Valkyrie in another tough fight if I didn’t have to. One screw-up was enough.
“It’s not quite so simple,” Smythe explained with a pained expression. “The Bosphuraq are sending three star carriers. Two are bringing eleven transport ships between them. The third carrier’s platforms are loaded with four battleships; four of the most modern heavy combatants in the Bosphuraq fleet.”
“Whooo,” I whistled. “Holy shit, the birdbrains are gearing up for a fight against their patrons?”
“It appears so,” Smythe nodded. “The Maxolhx are sending a pair of heavy cruisers, without escorts.”
�
��No escort ships?” That was puzzling to me.
“Yes, Joe,” Skippy confirmed. “It’s a long flight from the closest Maxolhx base to Vua Vendigo, far enough that short-range ships like destroyers would need to refuel along the way, or be strapped to a star carrier. Our ghost ship attacks have convinced the kitties that lightly-armored escort vessels are worthless, even a burden in combat. Two heavy cruisers can complete the mission without needing a vulnerable star carrier, plus they are considered safe from us, because we have never intentionally attacked a capital ship.”
“We did that once,” I corrected him.
“That was a mistake,” Skippy corrected me right back. “From intercepted message traffic, we know the Maxolhx now suspect that our thirteenth attack did not intend to target such a heavy force. Regardless, the kitties believe we will avoid targets that can fight back.”
“They’re right about that,” I muttered, unhappy with the thought of taking our one precious battlewagon into another potentially fair fight. “What about the birdbrain battleships? Does the math change if they’re on our side?”
Skippy took off his oversized Grand Admiral’s hat and scratched his dome for effect. “Marginally,” he frowned. “We shouldn’t count on coordinating an attack with the Bosphuraq, Joe. They’re not just going to follow orders from a ghost ship. Besides, their tactics are not compatible with-”
“Ok, I was just asking, bad idea,” I admitted. “Crap. We need to hack into a Bosphuraq relay station to get the flight plans of those three star carriers, then find their actual locations before they get to, uh.” When I called the place Voodoo Vending, that was to piss off Skippy. Now I couldn’t remember the real name. “The planet.”
“No need to do that, Sir,” Smythe assured me with another self-satisfied smile. “The kitties have done all the work for us.”
“How?”
“Because, Joe,” Skippy took up the explanation. “They hack the messages of their clients, even the codes that the birdbrains think are secure. The Maxolhx know all about the battleships and the flight plans. The three star carriers are staging from separate bases, they plan to rendezvous after going through the last wormhole, at a location about three lightyears from Vua Vendigo. The Maxolhx will be waiting for them.”
Valkyrie (Expeditionary Force Book 9) Page 33
