“It doesn’t matter, but suffice to say that I am also not the person that your VIA says I am. And I don’t work for whatever intelligence agency it says either. I do work for an extremely secret and powerful group and I only have one mission here; to find out the truth of who did this and neutralize them. I don’t care about the politics, or whatever narrative has already been spun up about what happened here and who is behind it,” Pearce paused for dramatic effect. “And I believe that you can help me figure it out.”
The look in Jula’s eyes turned slightly less feral, and she let out a breath amongst a slew of other micro-expressions that read as an establishing of trust to both Pearce’s own trained eyes as well as the VIAs emotional analyzer.
“So you’re a spooks’ spook. Terrific.”
Sarcasm in this context was subconsciously a sign of acceptance in Pearce’s experience, so he leaned slightly forward to engage, no smiles now, all business. “Tell me what you’ve found.”
“It’s not what I’ve found,” Jula said as she spun back to face the terminal. “It’s what I haven’t found. No sign of intrusion into the system at all. No evidence of a malfunction. According to the logs and the diagnostics everything worked perfectly, and still is.”
As she spoke, Jula’s neck twitched ever so slightly and her fingers danced in the air. Pearce couldn’t see what she was manipulating and resisted the urge to hack into her VIA to watch. Something told him that even his advanced cyberwarfare suite would face resistance from the woman.
“What about a back door?”
That earned a scowl and an eye roll. “I’m not some rank amateur, Not-Buxton. The ones that GTS are aware of weren’t used; they all have digital tripwires to detect them which are still in place. And,” she held up a hand as Pearce opened his mouth to follow up. “All of the unofficial backdoors are also secure. I put most of them there or caught them in the code myself and know what to look for.”
Pearce nodded. “And Zero Days?”
Jula tilted her head slightly to the right before responding. “Extremely unlikely. The USC has a special suite of Cyberwarfare AI’s that attack the UAT system on a continuous basis. That’s classified,” she said with a grin and a nod towards Pearce, “but I’m sure a guy like you has access. They detected my unofficial backdoors and told me rather curtly to leave them in place and never speak of it again. And even if there was something out there that was truly unknown, there would be some sign of it post-attack.”
“What’s that leave us with?”
Jula rubbed her brow with a thumb and forefinger. “Physical attack, which is where I’m focusing now, but there is no evidence of that either. This local array hasn’t had so much as a navigation light burn out since the system was installed. Last physical inspection by a manned team was 15 years ago. Seems like a long con too far, that.”
She tilted her head slightly, and then turned to face Pearce again with a questioning gaze. “But you already knew all of this, because a guy like you surely has access to my reports. And probably even more.”
Pearce smiled again. “I’m a disciple of the first principles approach. It never hurts to re-examine the premises.”
Jula thought about that for a moment, and Pearce again noticed the slight head tilt. It was a somewhat endearing tell. “So you don’t buy the suggestion that the PAN was hacked.”
Pearce leaned forward ever so slightly. “I don’t buy that the PAN even failed. I wouldn’t buy that this colony had been destroyed if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.” Pearce reclined again in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’m no expert, but everything I read on the way starward suggested that the PAN was working flawlessly like you said. Suddenly, the system detected a ship out of the void and yanked it out of A-Space, just as it was designed to. That it happened too late wasn’t the PAN’s fault. Just typical GIGO.”
Jula looked incredulous. “So you are saying somebody fed the PAN bad data?”
“I’m saying that the evidence says the PAN did what it could with the data it was provided. Whether the data prior to the detection was hacked, physically blocked, or somehow otherwise rendered useless to it doesn’t change that fact. What I want to know is why the ship was not detected before. If we know that, we’ll be one step closer to understanding what really happened here. Right now we have no clue if some uber hacker cracked the toughest security in the galaxy or if the Alesshia’s poor Captain somehow ran into a wormhole and…”
Pearce was cut off by a shout from the other side of the table.
“Did you just say wormhole?”
SEVEN
New Shanghai High Orbit, Shenzen System
CNS Scorpio
The shout was from a younger member of one of the science teams. He hurried around the table, pushing and weaving through the mobs, until he stood in a triangle with Pearce and Jula. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with an average stature and an apparent mixed Sino heritage at some point in his past. He had short dark hair and a matching beard on the lower half of his face that tapered off to a thin line that connected with his angular sideburns. Pearce’s VIA identified the man as Dr. Whilliam Meson, with a lengthy list of credentials in quantum physics, M-theory, and superluminal design.
“So what data led you to theorize a wormhole?” He asked energetically.
Jula, frowning, started to respond, “There is no data…”
“No way, Meson,” Pearce interjected with a sharp glance at Jula. “You go first. What data are you using?”
The young Doctor frowned and looked back and forth between Jula and Pearce. He apparently decided that sharing was better than nothing and began speaking.
“I’ve been working on disproving the ridiculous notion that the attackers used a stealth drive or some such nonsense to hide their approach from the PAN,” his hands gestured frenetically to emphasize his point. “As if you’d be able to hide the Cerkenov ejecta from a ship under sustained Alcubierre Drive Propulsion from even the most simplistic telescope. In any case, at first it was rather clear to me that the PAN data had been hacked or manipulated.”
“That’s not true. The data integrity…” Jula trailed off as Pearce raised a hand.
“I’m not insulting your programming expertise. In fact, I now concur that an external intrusion into the software is unlikely, based on what I have discovered in the data.”
Meson paused, perhaps trying to draw a question for dramatic effect. The look on Pearce’s face led him to continue on. “Yes, well, I postulated one of two outcomes. I expected to see a lack of telemetry regarding the ship until the point the space-time phase field collapsed and produced the photonic barrage that was clearly visible right before the impact. The data would either continue to be missing from that point, clearly indicating an intrusion into the PAN system, or would pick up at the moment the ship emerged, which would leave us with a less obvious outcome.”
“What does this have to do with wormholes, Doctor?” Pearce prodded.
“Yes, yes, I’m getting there. The data clearly began at nearly the exact moment the ship’s Alcubierre bubble began to collapse. I say nearly because it actually began some three seconds prior to the emergence. This is relevant because the PAN systems actually detected the ship and responded appropriately with the emergency Alcubierre Drive shutdown commands via the quantum entangled communicator installed in the Drive’s governor. This is what caused the ship to exit A-Space.”
Jula tilted her head slightly, which Meson seemed to notice, and he continued. “This still doesn’t present clear evidence for one of the two hypotheses, and I was flustered until I more closely examined a particular piece of the telemetry data, specifically the gravimetrics. There was an anomaly there that I couldn’t explain. Allow me to illustrate.”
Pearce received a knock request from Meson through his VIA, requesting to access his OHUD, which he approved with a thought. A two dimensional line graph appeared in the air that Meson gestured towards.
“A
ll of this data telemetry instantaneously appears at the same time, here on the graph,” Meson said, pointing to 8 different colored lines that all spiked at the same moment and then continued on in a nearly stable pattern.
“This suggests whatever was hiding the ship acted in a binary fashion; an on/off switch if you will. Except for this.” Meson raised a finger to point as a new color appeared on the graph. This one began slightly before the others and gradually increased instead of spiking.
“This is the gravimetric data, and as you can see it begins not in a binary instant but rather gradually over time in an analog fashion. And it continues to increase in strength even after the rest of the data appears before stabilizing. This seriously undermines the likelihood that the system was compromised or that there is some stealth tech at play. It does, however, imply a third hypothesis.”
“A wormhole?” Pearce guessed.
“If not exactly an Einstein-Rosen bridge, then perhaps an alternative form of interstellar transport that operates in a similar fashion which could hide the ship from the PAN system. There are many such fringe or discredited theories out there.”
Jula spoke up. “If you have a new FTL engine why bother also using the A-Drive?”
Pearce let out a sigh as he considered the situation. “I can think of many reasons. The most obvious being that if this was an intentional act, they wanted to ensure maximum destruction. The flash-in travels at the speed of light…at the range they appeared at nearly every living creature was going to be dead from radiation even if somehow the ship’s impact had been averted. You also have misdirection, or trying to hide the fact that there is a new game in town. You have the terror aspect, with everyone in the galaxy suddenly thinking they are at risk from a broken PAN system that no longer protects them.”
Pearce paused, scratching his chin. This attack was looking more and more like something far above the means of extremist terror groups or separatists. A previously unknown faster-than-light technology that could bypass the PAN system completely changed the calculus of politics and warfare immeasurably.
“What would you need in order to conclusively prove your theory, Meson,” Pearce asked.
“It’s a hypothesis and not a theory. I need direct physical access to the instrumentation, to check the calibration and confirm the data hasn’t been altered.”
“The data hasn’t been altered, Doc. I’d be able to tell,” Jula countered.
The doctor bowed slightly to the hacker. “Again, I mean no offense. However, if we are dealing with mysterious advanced superluminal technology it stands to reason that there may also be superior data manipulation in play. Therefore, I don’t trust anything unless I can confirm it with my own eyes.”
“Well, an inspection would allow me to determine if there was a physical attack or not, “Jula responded. “We should ask for transport to the L1 Array Station.”
Meson shook his head. “Unfortunately, my request has already been turned down by the Confeds. They said all available ships are already tasked with search and rescue, even though the odds of finding survivors are below six standard deviations.”
Pearce felt another puzzle piece fall into place. He had access to the Fleet dispositions and while a good portion of smaller craft were indeed engaged in the final stages of SAR, most of them had already given up and returned to base. There were plenty of other available craft available if mission parameters called for it as well. Combat shuttles, troop transports, even the Captain’s runabout were still docked within the ship.
Meson’s request was important enough to warrant a burn over to the PAN array in question. In fact, even without a wild FTL theory there should have been a physical inspection. For some reason the brass was avoiding the array. And he was going to find out.
“I’ll speak with the Captain.”
***
Pearce sent a priority request to the ship’s Automated Shipboard Intelligence (ASI) through his VIA requesting a face-to-face meeting with the Captain as he threaded his way through the crowd towards the exit from the wardroom. With the official clearance levels provided by his assumed identity, he received a quick response confirming the request and directing him to the Captain’s in-port Cabin just outside the main Combat Information Center. Pearce knew the way but the ASI gave him a visual path to follow on his OHUD.
The two guards ignored him as he left the mess; the ASI would automatically mark him as authorized as long as he didn’t deviate from the prescribed route and as a “civilian” he didn’t rank being acknowledged with a salute.
As he walked he used his elevated access with the ASI to directly request transport to the PAN Array and was mildly surprised when it was instantly rejected. In a normal situation, such a request with his level of access would have been granted without pause. He had the means to push to higher levels and ultimately force his way but using such a wild card burnt it and would expose him to higher levels of scrutiny than he desired at the time being.
It was a short trip to the in-port cabin, just a few decks above the wardroom. As Pearce fast-hopped up a handful of ladders it brought back fond memories of his time spent ferrying from mission to mission years ago in the SSG. He had served with some the finest people he had ever known, and missed the camaraderie and brotherhood he had left behind when he joined Omega. Still, given the choice again he would jump at it. He had done immeasurably more as an Omega Agent in the last five years than he could have as SSG brass. Maybe even more than he had done during his entire SSG career.
Two more guards stood watch outside the entrance to the Combat Information Center. As Pearce approached, the ASI displayed a message on his OHUD informing him to announce his name and purpose prior to entering. It was a formality only; the guards already knew exactly who he was and his purpose. He consciously avoided snapping to a military-style halt and slowed down in a more civilian and apprehensive manner, tiling his head slightly.
“Carter Buxton, here to see the Captain please.”
The senior Marine nodded and responded. “This way, Mister Buxton.”
He stepped inside the doorway and advanced a meter or two, before halting and pivoting to face Pearce again in an at ease stance. He motioned to his left and Pearce entered the Captain’s in-port cabin, which was nearly identical to every one he had ever been on before. A small compartment with a berth, sink, and head in the rear. In front of that was a genuine wooden antique desk, a tradition that had been carried over from Earth’s wet navies centuries ago and never modernized. Three plain chairs faced the desk, and preceding them was an oval rug with the insignia of the Scorpio on it. To either side of the room spanning the rug were two comfortable looking couches for longer discussions with up to a dozen people.
The Captain sat behind the ancient desk reviewing something on a data pad. He didn’t raise his salt and pepper crested head as Pearce entered but simply told him to take a seat at the desk with a terse order. As Pearce walked in and did so, his VIA pulled the Captain’s entire classified personnel file and began reading the highlights to him.
SO-6 Captain Eruk Scalzo, Age 49, CNS-991 Scorpio. Four Tours as Captain, two of them on the Scorpio. Twelve combat actions. Sixteen commendations. No disciplinary actions. Grade A+ Psychological profile.
The Captain worked for another minute on his data pad, and finally dropped it onto the well-worn surface of the desk with a plastic clatter. He looked directly at Pearce for a beat with keen eyes before getting down to business without preamble.
“Mister Buxton, I’m happy to assist you in any way I can, but I hope that you aren’t here in relation to the request for transport that was just denied.”
Pearce was flummoxed. The Captain was denying him before he even had a chance to speak? He decided to activate his VIA’s Psychological Communication Analyzer before he continued. The PCA was an interrogation tool that analyzed core bodily functions such as breathing, pulse, and pupil response. Along with his advanced training it made Pearce the equivalent of a human truth
detector. Overlays superimposed themselves in Pearce’s OHUD and began providing feedback.
“Captain Scalzo, your reputation precedes you,” Pearce said, choosing to start with honey. He quickly queried high-level associates from Scalzo’s personnel file. “Admiral Buckner said you were a hard-nosed and honorable soldier on the fast-track to your first star.” The Captain displayed a hint of acknowledgement at the mention of the Admiral but was otherwise stoic.
“I am indeed here to inquire about transport, for myself and several other members of the investigative team. We’ve determined that on-site inspection of the PAN Array is critical to continue the investigation. I understand that several such requests have already been denied, and so I wanted to speak with you to understand the situation.”
Captain Scalzo didn’t flinch. “I’m aware of the numerous requests and unfortunately at this time the answer is still no.” He didn’t elaborate further, letting the silence fill the room with the weight of authority. Pearce couldn’t get a read on him, and the PCA showed baseline readings.
“Captain, I can’t help but feel that you are being less than accommodating. My authority…”
Scalzo’s brow furrowed and the PCA finally lit up with clear indications of disgust as he interrupted Pearce mid-sentence.
“Your authority clearly supersedes my own in this matter, Mister Buxton. I’m well versed in having intelligence agents pin-on a rank and push me around. But as much as I’d earnestly like to assist on this issue I have clear orders from above to not approach the PAN arrays with any of my ships under any circumstances until additional specialists arrive.” The latter part of Scalzo’s interruption registered as truthful.
Pearce forced a sheepish look onto his face and spread his hands wide. “Captain, I get it. I’m not interesting in swinging my dick around. My only goal is to get to the bottom of this awful mess. My supervisor can clear up the confusion with Admiral Buckner. I can contact him right now on the hypernet.” In reality, Pearce could elevate his credentials in real-time to override the Admiral, but again Pearce didn’t want to use that chit.
Impact Event (Dargo Pearce Chronicles #1) Page 10
