Suspicions

"So now she says she wants a little more space. And I said, ’Honey, we’re out here in the middle of the fuckin’ universe! How much more space do you need?’ Women," Frank snorted.

Hawke and Starling were doing their usual, which meant minding their own business, while Frank vented about his inevitably disastrous relationships. They didn’t mind though; his stories were always amusing.

"But, hey, that’s fine. I got my eye on that foxy Chinese prof."

"You mean the one who’s repeatedly given you the brush-off? In fact, I think I distinctly heard her use the phrase: ’Get away from me or I’ll call security’," said Jim.

Frank made a face. "Aww, that’s just a girl’s way of playing hard to get."

"Well, she hasn’t been that way with Roger."

"What can I say? There’s no accounting for taste. She’ll come around. Just wait and see."

Hawke held up his hand. "Hey, guys, quiet, we’ve got a transmission coming in over a classified wavelength. It’s signed by Langolier’s office." Frank and Jim sat up, curiosities piqued. Hawke listened over his COM, then punched several buttons on the console. "Damn, it’s been so long I hope I remember the procedure for this. I switched the audio off in case the information is sensitive." After a couple of minutes, Hawke slapped his knee. "Oh, this is too good. I need to replay it and put it on video." He flicked a switch and turned a dial.

A woman’s face appeared on the cockpit’s LCD screen. Her blonde curls were cropped short. Dimples creased her cheeks where her full lips turned up in a shy smile. Although the image stopped just below the shoulders, it was obvious she was wearing a pilot’s green coveralls, the same sage color that had been used by pilots in the military for over a hundred years. Frank gave a wolfish whistle.

Jim’s jaw dropped. "Carla?"

"Hi, Jim. I hope you get this. Everything is fine, don’t worry. I miss you so much already. I just wanted to let you know, even though you’re out traipsing through the universe having the adventure of a lifetime, I couldn’t just sit here by myself for a whole year. So I decided to start planning the wedding without you. I even called your sister." Jim groaned. "She was really excited to hear the news. And boy, does she have some great stories to tell! You never told me you used to sleep with a toy rocket ship until you were eleven." Jim groaned again and covered his face in his hands while Frank guffawed and hugged himself with glee, his stomach bouncing up and down. "Well, the Admiral was wonderful to let me send you this message, but I don’t want to abuse the privilege. So I’ll just say I love you. Have a safe trip and I’ll have everything ready when you get back." She waved. "Bye, Jimmy."

The screen turned black. Jim raked his hands across his face and peeked between his fingers. Hawke and Frank were ready to pop. "Don’t even say it," he warned, but that only sent them into fits of laughter.

Hawke’s UCD buzzed on his hip. He wiped tears from his eyes. "This is Hawke. Go ahead."

The answering voice was hesitant. "Commander? It’s Roger. I...I need to talk to you. Would you mind coming to my quarters? Whenever you get a chance, that is. Level four, suite twenty-two."

"Sure thing. I can come right now. I’ll be there in a few minutes."

On the way out, he heard Frank snicker, "Toy rocket ship?" Following that was a sharp retort by Jim to ’shut the hell up!’ There was more to it, but Hawke was already too far to catch what was said. He speculated about Roger’s peculiar call. What’s up now?

Roger had multiple computer screens running on the desk. Likes to stay close to his work. Hawke could make out the text on most of them as some sort of programming code, but beyond that it was all gibberish to him.

Roger’s cabin was neat and well-kept. There was a poster on the wall for a movie called "Star Wars." Hawke had heard of the film; it was an old classic, though he’d never actually seen it. From the bits and pieces he knew of it, it had seemed a bit trite and juvenile, and the special effects were laughable compared to most modern features with holographic visual and audio enhancements. On Roger’s desk was a plastic collectible superhero figure. Although Hawke didn’t know much of superheroes or action figures, even he recognized Superman, the iconic hero from the early twentieth century.

But Roger didn’t ask him here to admire his décor. "What’s up, Roger?"

"It has to do with the Protocol Officer," Roger began, pushing his glasses further toward the bridge of his nose.

Hawke was all ears. "What did he do?"

"It’s not what he did. It’s what he asked me to do. He...asked me to rout the vidfeed from the security cameras in the scientists’ labs and private quarters directly to his in-room console, for analysis he said."

Hawke’s expression darkened. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him it was a breach of security protocol. Ordinarily those files could only be accessed and used by the CSO, provided she had probable cause, and even then, authorization would still need to come from you as the commanding officer."

"And?"

"He said his authority superseded yours." Hawke said nothing. "I told him unless he could prove it I couldn’t do it without at least notifying you first. That’s when he started cursing and threatening me, saying I could be charged with obstruction and treason in a case of paramount national security...or something to that effect. Then he calmed down. Even apologized, told me to forget it and not tell anyone." Roger wrung his hands. "I didn’t know what to do. He scares the bejeezus out of me."

Hawke laid his hand on Roger’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. "You did the right thing, Rog. You stood up for what you believe in. That takes guts."

Roger smiled weakly.

"Is there any way Max can go around you? Could he do it himself? Or get Bishop to do it?"

"Well, yes and no. He can’t hook anything up through the ship’s internal architecture or I’ll know in an instant. There are other types of devices, simple wireless receivers, but there’s too much EMI on the ship and shielding in the walls for them to work effectively. As for Bishop, well...she seems very uh...passionate when it comes to following regulations."

"Okay, promise me you’ll let me know if Snelling asks for any more ’favors’."

Roger nodded, adjusting the glasses on his nose that invariably slipped down. "I will."

Hawke wandered through the ship gathering his thoughts, not really thinking or caring about where he was going. A pretty young girl, a petty officer third class was diligently working on cleaning one of the cabins. She straightened and saluted as he passed. She was one of only three on the cleaning crew. On a craft of this size there’d normally be three or four times that number assigned to housekeeping duty, but they had been given a bare bones crew for this mission. More personnel meant additional security risks.

Hawke turned a corner. The situation with Snelling was troubling to say the least. He considered discussing the matter with Bishop, but had reservations about doing so. He wasn’t certain whose side she was on.

His UCD buzzed again. The display indicated it came from the Teleportation Room.

"This is Commander Hawke. Go ahead."

"Hawke, it’s Ben. Can you come down here?"

"Sure, I’ll be right there." It was unlike Ben to be so terse. Without realizing, he quickened his step. He found the Lieutenant at the teleporter’s access terminal with a look of extreme vexation.

Ben pushed himself back from the monitor. "Hey, I’m not an expert like Bixby, but when the security cyberwall started screaming bloody murder at me, I figured someone had tried to access the teleport subroutines. Only you, me, and Roger have access to that part of the code. And I’m not savvy enough to figure out who’s responsible."

"Say no more. I’ll get Roger to look into it immediately."

Relief was evident on Ben’s face. "Thanks."

Hawke called Roger on his UCD.

"Yes, Commander?"

"There’s been an attempted break-in to a secure server. I need you to come down to the Teleportation Room right away."

"Yes, sir! I’ll be there on the double."

*****

It took Roger less than thirty minutes to determine the source of the intrusion. Watching him work, Hawke was impressed by the young man’s skill and methodical approach.

Now he, Roger, and Bishop were on their way to Dr. Bhattacharya’s laboratory to find out why someone there had tried to gain access to a restricted section of the network. He was both relieved the cyberwall hadn’t actually been breached and concerned that someone had actually attempted it in the first place. Bishop’s face was grim.

They exchanged brief glances before entering. The door slid open. Dr. Bhattacharya, in the middle of the room, was poring over a computer with one of his assistants. Next to the computer was a test device with a sealed transparent chamber in its center. They both looked up as the three of them entered.

The Professor did not show any surprise to see them, though he smiled broadly and extended his hand in greeting. "Gentlemen, welcome. It’s good to see you."

"Under normal circumstances I would say the same, Dr. Bhattacharya," Hawke stated.

"Victor," he interrupted, wagging a long finger at him. "You promised."

"Victor. We have a serious matter to discuss."

Dr. Bhattacharya studied their expressions. "You are referring to my attempt to access the teleportation modules? Yes, I’ve been expecting you. First, I want to assure you I didn’t have any malicious intent. In fact, I wasn’t aware the teleport code was restricted."

"Do you really expect us to believe that?" asked Bishop.

The Professor spread his hands. "Major, TelePortals are common, everyday devices. There’s nothing sensitive or proprietary in their operation or programming. In fact, anyone with a mechanical, chemical, and electronics background can download the patent and build one themselves."

"But the networks they run on are rigorously controlled, safeguards within safeguards," Hawke countered. "If you intentionally, or unintentionally, alter the code in any way, you could jeopardize our lives."

Victor bowed his head. "You’re right, Commander. It was foolish and presumptuous of me. I should have asked permission first."

"Permission? There isn’t going to be any permission," Bishop barked. "The teleporter is off-limits. Period."

Roger spoke up. "Excuse me, Professor, but what were you hoping to accomplish?"

Dr. Bhattacharya brightened and pointed to the device behind him. "I wrote a special program to operate our Molecular Soil Composition Tester which I hooked up to the network. The program–"

"Hold it!" Roger interrupted. "What do you mean: hooked up? All the external devices brought onboard are only to be operated on a standalone basis, separate from the ship’s mission systems. How could you have linked this to the network without my being aware of it? My SNIFR programs alert me any time so much as a battery charger is plugged in."

Victor replied through half-lidded eyes, "I have written programs of my own – ones to keep hard drives free from scrying. When you work for a university and conduct sensitive research, you need to be able to hide your data from rival universities and private industries. Sometimes, even from your own colleagues. You cannot steal what you cannot see, no?"

"I’m afraid you’re going to have to provide me a copy of that code. For security reasons."

Dr. Bhattacharya acquiesced. "I would be happy to do so. Come–"

"Never mind that," Bishop interrupted. "You haven’t explained why you attempted the access in the first place."

"Yes, well, as I was saying, my program operates this device. By linking it directly to the teleportation drive, I can use it as a microTelePortal, controlled entirely by the computer here."

"For what purpose?"

"Once we have suitably scanned and mapped out the terra-formations and land areas of interest, I can use the linked system to teleport small soil samples directly to the test chamber, here." Victor pointed to the transparent area. "I have the mating part of the microTelePortal here in this lab. It just needs to be attached to the MiniProbe." He looked at Hawke expectantly. "With your permission, of course."

"This is all very impressive, Victor, but I still don’t understand. Why do you have to go through this elaborate process just to get some soil samples?"

"Well, the MiniProbe can record excellent data through its sophisticated sensor suite, even air and water samples, but in its current capacity, it is incapable of retrieving hermetically sealed solid specimens."

"That’s why we have the Lander."

The Professor looked embarrassed. It was hard to be sure, but Hawke thought he was blushing. "I... um...was hoping if the device worked properly that I, that is...that my presence would not be required."

Hawke couldn’t hide his surprise. He figured nothing short of a nuclear holocaust would be able to stop any of the scientists from venturing onto Eden’s surface. "Why?"

"I...do not like shuttles." He shuddered, a tremor running up and down his long frame. "You see, my grandparents were killed in a Lander accident when I was young. I was...with them. I was fortunate to survive and I still bear several scars as a reminder. Until now, I have never left Earth since, even though I have much family living in the Moon Colonies."

"I’m sorry to hear that."

"Thank you. Your sentiment is appreciated."

"Well, I’m afraid I still can’t authorize you to network your device to the teleporter. If you’re not comfortable joining us when the time comes, you’ll have to send one of your assistants. Or one of us would be happy to gather whatever samples you desire."

"You are most kind. Very well, then. That’s how we shall proceed. And I’ll remove our Composition Tester from the network."

"Thank you." Hawke turned to go. Bishop hesitated and opened her mouth to say something, shut it again.

Roger piped up, "If you don’t mind, the code–"

Hawke nodded as he and Bishop left the laboratory. Even though he was a step ahead of her, Hawke felt the woman’s stare boring into the back of his head. "What is it, Major?"

"You let him off too easy."

"What do you mean?"

"Don’t tell me you bought that bit about being afraid to fly in the Lander?" she scoffed. "A brilliant scientist he may be, but an actor he’s not."

"I don’t know. His reaction seemed genuine enough to me." When she said nothing further, Hawke prompted, "I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me."

She searched his face, and for a moment Hawke thought she wasn’t going to answer him. "I’m willing to bet he had other motives for not going planetside."

"Like what?"

"Like sabotaging the Lander and creating his own accident."

"That’s ridiculous!"

"Is it?"

"And do you think he intended to use his soil tester to teleport the rest of the crew off the ship?"

She waved the sarcasm aside. "I’m sure he had something in mind." Hawke shook his head. "I looked up the meaning of his name, you know. His real name. Vishvajit."

"What about it?"

"It wasn’t his given birth name. He changed it when he was in college. Literally translated it means ’conqueror of the universe’."

"So? That doesn’t make him guilty of anything."

"Maybe not. But it sure as hell tells me he’s got a super-sized ego. His humble college professor image may be just a facade from his true motives. The name change could be symbolic."

Hawke laughed. "Or it could just mean he liked the name. I think you should leave the Freudian psychobabble to the psychobabblers."

"Joke all you want, but in my years on the job I’ve seen crazier hunches lead to convictions."

Hawke didn’t doubt it. Nevertheless, what concerned him wasn’t the origin of Dr. Bhattacharya’s name, but another omission. Nothing he’d been given on the Professor mentioned anything about an advanced aptitude for computer programming. It worried him that Victor could so easily bypass Roger’s security routines, but he didn’t need to share this apprehension with the Major. She was already distrustful enough. The CSO’s stubborn determination and compulsively suspicious nature were in themselves a dangerous combination.

Next Chapter: Chapter 11: The Black Hole