Jungle colony book 2, p.91
Jungle (Colony Book 2), page 91
But … that didn’t make sense unless the power source was experimental. Which, I guess could be possible. While early tests would be better done on a known power source, who says that we’re the first? UNSEC buries all sorts of things. Hack attacks would be easy enough to hide.
Hide … Something about the word made him pause, a fresh shirt halfway over his head. Hide! Maybe that’s what the satellite is testing! And that’s why the transmissions only come a few times a day! Our job might be to see if the one being attacked can track down the source, the satellite’s job might be to monitor the source directly and see how hidden the place is up close! That would explain … well, wait a minute … No, it wouldn’t. The time stamps didn’t match up. He shook his head. Okay, so that’s maybe a possibility. Maybe it’s looking for something else. Regardless, it has to be part of the test somehow because Varus hasn’t told me about it or acknowledged it. And though he was no longer part of the meetings with Captain Sokolov and fully up-to-date, he was fairly certain that the ship’s technical crew weren’t aware of the satellite’s existence either.
Which implies that there’s a reason they weren’t told, he thought as he looked at the screen on his laptop. The first of the two files was only partially complete. Looks like I got good reception last night, though. Maybe that’ll help with cracking the encryption.
Which, admittedly, was another issue. Nothing he’d received from the satellite yet was complete, owing to the fact that it was receiving from inside several layers of hullmetal rather than floating out in space as it was intended to.
Maybe later he could move the satellite elsewhere and see what it picked up. Or maybe it’s not even encrypted, he thought for a moment, before casting the idea aside.
No, it’s UNSEC, he thought as he turned and headed for the door. It’s definitely encrypted.
The air outside his cabin felt cooler as well when he stepped into it—noticeably cooler than he could remember it being. Maybe it wasn’t just my cabin, he thought, switching gears as he began making his way to the cafeteria. Maybe someone wanted the place to be a little colder.
Or it was just his imagination. He couldn’t put that possibility out of the running. With the last day or so spent with such a laser focus …
I could have missed a number of things, he thought as he reached the cafeteria. As usual, it was partially occupied, though he knew from the shipboard schedule that most of the current day crew had already eaten. One more perk to being a VIP, he thought as he walked in and grabbed a breakfast box at random from the dispensers. I can eat when I want.
Once his meal had been heated, he took a seat at one of the empty tables—he had his pick—and took a look at what he’d selecting. Nice. Fried egg, rice, natto, miso soup, and sausages. Classic. It was one he’d had before, and though the texture of the natto felt a little off, it still wasn’t bad considering the meal had come from a box.
So, he thought as he ate. The to-do list for today …
First up, now that he had synced the stealth satellite’s clock with the eye’s, he needed to see if he could work backwards. Try to establish some sort of distance estimate and then try to pinpoint its location from there. It wouldn’t help if the satellite were simply floating in deep space or moving—And for all I know, he thought, it might be—but if he was able to establish a sphere that overlapped with one of the planets in the system …
I could have something to take to Sokolov, he thought. Either as a “Hey, I know what’s going on” presentation, or if I wanted to mess with him, just as a theory. He smirked as he thought about how much chaos that would cause. They’d figure out how he’d found out before long, sure, but until then …
Well, I don’t have to tell Sokolov. He took a bite of his rice and natto, chewing. I could just … not tell anyone. Eventually the ship goes back, and then—hopefully—I get to walk away free. And with some knowledge of some new method of attacking ships.
Except … I don’t really have anything except that there’s a geo-survey satellite monitoring something. He frowned. And I don’t even know what it is that it’s monitoring. If I could get into those data packages … Hmmm …
Might as well be honest with myself, I wanted to get into those anyway, he thought. The fact that he couldn’t was a constant itch at the back of his mind. But with just my laptop … The machine was powerful, but against modern encryption schemes, it could take days if not weeks to brute-force its way to something recognizable.
Worse, the data I have is going to be incomplete, and full of holes. Which, while not an impossible obstacle to overcome, would certainly make things much more difficult. Any program he used to try and brute force what he had would likely be confused as to whether any omissions were purposeful, part of the encoding, or accidental.
It could take weeks to try and crack any of them open, Sweets thought, shoveling what was left of his egg into his mouth. Sure, the rest would fall into line pretty quick, but … By that point, the exercise would likely be over, the Casimir on another assignment. Leaving me with a bunch of information that would still be valuable, maybe, but I’d be missing out on any current context.
There had to be a way around it. Plugging what he’d found into the ship’s systems and seeing if the Casimir recognized the encryption wasn’t an option. Not yet, anyway. Looking up the information about the geographical satellite had been risky enough; he’d been lucky not to trip any flags. An oversight? Or a deliberate attempt to make him think he hadn’t been spotted?
This was a lot easier at North Shore, he thought as he finished off his rice. There, I’d have known if Argus had gotten wind of what I was up to: I’d have simply been shot. Here …
Varus could be completely aware of his actions and simply watching. There was no way to know without asking.
And then if he’s not, and I’ve stumbled onto something I wasn’t supposed to … well …
He didn’t think they’d kill him. Not unless ordered. But there were probably a lot more cruisers out there with berths he could be “assigned” to. Dead or disappeared … UNSEC could make both happen. Better just to keep his head down, like always, and assume he was being watched, but hadn’t been caught.
Which does mean that if I do want to crack that encryption, I’ll need to find another workaround. Hard processing power could cut it, but only if he had access to it.
So, if I can’t brute force it, but assuming I still want to decrypt it—and I do, I definitely do—what would be the best way to go about that?
He couldn’t take it to the ship’s techs. Or use their systems. Doing either would definitely throw up flags … and besides, the techs would definitely report him. Not out of malice, even. Just out of a sense of “that was strange.”
So what else would work? he wondered, leaning back and spearing a sausage on the end of his fork. Assuming it is a military encryption, I’d need to get my hands on something that would be cleared to decrypt it. But without getting noticed or caught, and everything here is tied into the ship’s systems. His mind skipped back to the bag hidden in the drawer beneath his bunk, but he gave his head a slight shake.
That wouldn’t work either, he thought. The Lockpick is powerful, but it leaves a pretty clear trace. If I plugged that into the ship’s systems anywhere, Varus would be on top of me in a heartbeat. And if I plugged it into Varus … Yeah … been there, done that. I’ve got no desire to lobotomize the warship I’m riding in.
It’s a shame the stealth satellite doesn’t deal with decryption, just recording. This would be a lot easier if I could just have it decrypt things, but …
He sighed. Nothing’s ever easy. Still, there had to be a way around the encryption. There always was. Nothing was truly secure. Hard to breach, perhaps, but it was impossible to make a perfect security system.
At least, not while leaving any way for anyone to access anything, including yourself. He bit down on the last piece of sausage, watching idly as a few crew members walked out of the cafeteria, talking amongst one another.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way, he thought, chewing. I just need to find it. There had to be something that Varus wasn’t connected to. Some system on the ship that wasn’t tied into the AI directly that he could …
He paused, his chewing slowing to a stop. Wait a minute, he thought. I think there is one. In the hangars! The dropships! Those would have to be able to decrypt at least some transmissions! They’d be worthless otherwise! Of course, they’d still be secure. Their computers have to be locked down like everything else.
But if I used the Lockpick … He tapped his fork against his chin as lines of thought rose up inside his mind. They might be based on a different system, which would put me out of luck … but if they use an operating system based on anything I have access to, then the Lockpick should work, right? And at most, it might put the clock off slightly, but Varus wouldn’t be able to tell anything from that.
Sweets hunched over his breakfast, finishing off the last few pieces quickly as he examined the idea from multiple angles. I’d need a cover, something to justify my presence, but I could just say that I’m going to check the dropship systems for anything out of the ordinary after the last hack attempt. Which means I should probably wait until one’s just happened before showing up at the hangar.
Still, that wouldn’t be a problem. The attacks were still coming several times a day. All I need to do is wait. Then ask Fen if I can take a look at one of the VTOLs and, assuming she lets me in, see if I can get what I need. Crud, she can even flash the VTOL’s system afterwards if she’s worried about me messing with something.
Not bad, he thought, nodding and crumpling the cardboard remains of his meal into a small ball. Not bad at all. A little bit of social hacking and a little bit of the cloak-and-dagger. Mostly just cloak. Though if Varus did get suspicious and figure out what the Lockpick was …
Then there will definitely be daggers involved, he thought, rising from the table. I’d rather avoid that outcome if at all possible. Lockpick goes in the laptop bag.
And that’s still assuming I can interface with the VTOL systems. Though I could look that up. For now, though, he thought as the disposal let out a dull thump, consuming the leftovers of his breakfast. I should see about plotting a possible location for that satellite.
***
“Dang,” Sweets said, leaning back against the back of his chair and scowling at the numbers staring up at him from his laptop’s screen. “Again.” The columns in front of him almost looked mocking with their simplicity and their refusal to add up.
He let out a sigh, twisting his scowl as he glanced up at the cabin viewscreen, noting the time and, more importantly, how long he’d been trying to get the numbers he was looking at to make sense.
Only an hour, he thought, his scowl growing more pronounced. An hour of my day spent trying to figure out why these numbers aren’t adding up.
He rubbed one hand against the back of his head, fighting off the tension that was slowly starting to wind up at the base of his skull. Everything had looked easy from the start—just plot where the Casimir had been when the stealth satellite had picked up the message, factor that alongside the speed of light, and work out the maximum distance the message could have come from. He’d done it easily enough with the first result, and the remaining three should have given him a set of overlapping spheres, allowing him to do a bit of basic, rough triangulation regarding the location in system the satellite signals were originating from.
That had been the theory. In actuality, however …
This isn’t working like I’d hoped, he thought, staring down at the results he’d simulated on the laptop’s screen. He’d left them flat and confined to the display rather than projecting them—putting them in the air where Varus could see them was an invitation for the AI to question what he was up to, and it wouldn’t be hard for the intelligence to put the pieces together.
Even if I haven’t, Sweets thought, tapping one finger idly against the laptop’s casing. This should be so simple! What am I missing!? A spread of three spheres filled the screen, each superimposed over a map of the local system.
The math was right, he thought, leaning forward once more. But the results I’m getting can’t be right. None of these spheres touch one another, and any orbits I try and plot that connect with all three of them, well … He tapped a key, ordering the plotting program he was using to do just that, and received back an unholy mishmash of results.
Basically, free floating, he thought as he eyed the hundreds of paths. And accounting for time moving between those points … He added the restrictions into the plotting program. This eye has to be moving at ridiculous speeds while maintaining the orbit. Which would make it … He zoomed out. Exo-solar, he finished as he saw the wide band surrounding the system. And I really doubt that’s the case. For one, it’d probably make this satellite very easy to find when it shot through the system like a bullet.
He frowned. So … could it be something else, maybe? Like a ship? A stealth ship of some kind, pretending to be a satellite? That could explain why none of the spheres cross over with one another. Crud, that would make all this data useless, too. I’ve been assuming that the satellite confined to one area, but another ship capable of moving around the system like ours would …Wait a minute. He glanced down at the columns of numbers on the side of the screen. Wait a minute! He lifted his datapad, checking the numbers he’d gone over, his scowl vanishing. A moment later, he smacked himself in the forehead with one hand.
I’m an idiot, he thought, shaking his head. A complete idiot! All this time I ran the numbers assuming that the satellite wasn’t moving … and neither was the Casimir! I ran them like we were sitting “still” relative to the satellite. But we aren’t, we’re usually moving! And that means … He tapped at the datapad, pulling up a log of the ship’s movements through the system.
I didn’t account for time dilation, however miniscule. The result being that these spheres … He tapped at his laptop, adjusting several of the equations he’d punched in earlier and giving them new formulas to follow. Most of it, thankfully, was drag and drop, the math already worked out by the system. It was a quick-and-dirty solution, and would make any real astronomer scoff, but he didn’t need to be precise. Just halfway accurate. He finished typing the numbers in and hit enter.
The spheres changed, morphing and elongating as the software began taking momentum, direction, and relativity into account. Each began to stretch out into a warped oval, sides bulging, and as he watched, two of them touched, overlapping. His eyes snapped to the third, and he watched as it too stretched out, the program calculating the effect on the enveloped based on the Casimir’s rough position and heading when the data dump had been received.
Then it stopped, just shy of the overlap. However, it was close enough, and Sweets grinned, a swell of triumph rising inside him as he took in the location. Gotcha. It was still embarrassing that he’d forgotten to account for something as basic as relativity and direction when putting in the numbers, but …
The last hour of beating my head against my desk is punishment enough for that screw-up, he thought as he eyed his findings. While only two of the three overlapped, all three of them also connected with a single line that circled through the system.
That’s where the satellite is, he thought, tapping the line and zooming in on the body responsible for it. Or orbiting, or whatever. A green globe filled the laptop’s display. Very green. Must be a lot of plant life or something down there. And now let me guess: could have been colonized, but UNSEC wanted somewhere to play with their latest weapons project?
I mean, that still doesn’t explain everything. He glanced at the program’s summary of the planet, but it was limited, and added nothing that he couldn’t identify just by looking at it. Atmosphere. Near-Earth gravity. The satellite’s there, but that doesn’t explain how the Casimir keeps getting hit by hack attacks. He swiped through his datapad, once more accessing the ship’s locational logs. If I roll the orbit of the planet back according to the local observations … Yup. The blinking indicator marking the Casimir’s location was well out of sight of the system’s second planet, concealed in the “shadow” of the sun.
Prime, I was right, Sweets thought, rolling the log back further. We’ve been out of direct line of sight with that planet quite a bit. Which means that there must be something else to this system. FTL relays maybe? Send a message from the planet’s surface and then bring it back to realspace? That’d be a lot of power, though, and FTL relays already aren’t small. Maybe a network of satellites like the stealth satellite—
He shook his head and rose, shutting the laptop screen with a plastic snap. Nope. Not going to start pondering on the imponderables of how we keep getting attacked again. I don’t even know for certain if that’s the source of the attacks. All I know is that with conventional wisdom, it couldn’t have been for some of the spots the Casimir occupied in system. And that we’re getting transmissions from a satellite around it.
Which did point somewhat in the direction that the planet was important, but it didn’t make it the source. It does give me some prime leverage the next time I want to talk to Captain Sokolov, though, he thought, one corner of his mouth coming up in a faint smile. Maybe. But then again, they did hire me to try and figure out where the attacks were coming from. If I figured that out—or at least got a little bit closer, well that’s what they wanted me to do, right?
Nervous energy was flooding his system, pride and exhilaration at finally getting a solid lead burning through his body. Part of him wanted to sit down and immediately see what sort of information he could pull up on the secondary body of the system. Another part of him wanted to go running.
Run later, he told himself, still pacing. Work now. Unless we don’t get an attack anytime soon, in which case … maybe I could go to the gym.
His chair let out a metallic squeal as he pulled it away from his table and sat down again, one leg bouncing with nervous energy. He silenced it.
Hide … Something about the word made him pause, a fresh shirt halfway over his head. Hide! Maybe that’s what the satellite is testing! And that’s why the transmissions only come a few times a day! Our job might be to see if the one being attacked can track down the source, the satellite’s job might be to monitor the source directly and see how hidden the place is up close! That would explain … well, wait a minute … No, it wouldn’t. The time stamps didn’t match up. He shook his head. Okay, so that’s maybe a possibility. Maybe it’s looking for something else. Regardless, it has to be part of the test somehow because Varus hasn’t told me about it or acknowledged it. And though he was no longer part of the meetings with Captain Sokolov and fully up-to-date, he was fairly certain that the ship’s technical crew weren’t aware of the satellite’s existence either.
Which implies that there’s a reason they weren’t told, he thought as he looked at the screen on his laptop. The first of the two files was only partially complete. Looks like I got good reception last night, though. Maybe that’ll help with cracking the encryption.
Which, admittedly, was another issue. Nothing he’d received from the satellite yet was complete, owing to the fact that it was receiving from inside several layers of hullmetal rather than floating out in space as it was intended to.
Maybe later he could move the satellite elsewhere and see what it picked up. Or maybe it’s not even encrypted, he thought for a moment, before casting the idea aside.
No, it’s UNSEC, he thought as he turned and headed for the door. It’s definitely encrypted.
The air outside his cabin felt cooler as well when he stepped into it—noticeably cooler than he could remember it being. Maybe it wasn’t just my cabin, he thought, switching gears as he began making his way to the cafeteria. Maybe someone wanted the place to be a little colder.
Or it was just his imagination. He couldn’t put that possibility out of the running. With the last day or so spent with such a laser focus …
I could have missed a number of things, he thought as he reached the cafeteria. As usual, it was partially occupied, though he knew from the shipboard schedule that most of the current day crew had already eaten. One more perk to being a VIP, he thought as he walked in and grabbed a breakfast box at random from the dispensers. I can eat when I want.
Once his meal had been heated, he took a seat at one of the empty tables—he had his pick—and took a look at what he’d selecting. Nice. Fried egg, rice, natto, miso soup, and sausages. Classic. It was one he’d had before, and though the texture of the natto felt a little off, it still wasn’t bad considering the meal had come from a box.
So, he thought as he ate. The to-do list for today …
First up, now that he had synced the stealth satellite’s clock with the eye’s, he needed to see if he could work backwards. Try to establish some sort of distance estimate and then try to pinpoint its location from there. It wouldn’t help if the satellite were simply floating in deep space or moving—And for all I know, he thought, it might be—but if he was able to establish a sphere that overlapped with one of the planets in the system …
I could have something to take to Sokolov, he thought. Either as a “Hey, I know what’s going on” presentation, or if I wanted to mess with him, just as a theory. He smirked as he thought about how much chaos that would cause. They’d figure out how he’d found out before long, sure, but until then …
Well, I don’t have to tell Sokolov. He took a bite of his rice and natto, chewing. I could just … not tell anyone. Eventually the ship goes back, and then—hopefully—I get to walk away free. And with some knowledge of some new method of attacking ships.
Except … I don’t really have anything except that there’s a geo-survey satellite monitoring something. He frowned. And I don’t even know what it is that it’s monitoring. If I could get into those data packages … Hmmm …
Might as well be honest with myself, I wanted to get into those anyway, he thought. The fact that he couldn’t was a constant itch at the back of his mind. But with just my laptop … The machine was powerful, but against modern encryption schemes, it could take days if not weeks to brute-force its way to something recognizable.
Worse, the data I have is going to be incomplete, and full of holes. Which, while not an impossible obstacle to overcome, would certainly make things much more difficult. Any program he used to try and brute force what he had would likely be confused as to whether any omissions were purposeful, part of the encoding, or accidental.
It could take weeks to try and crack any of them open, Sweets thought, shoveling what was left of his egg into his mouth. Sure, the rest would fall into line pretty quick, but … By that point, the exercise would likely be over, the Casimir on another assignment. Leaving me with a bunch of information that would still be valuable, maybe, but I’d be missing out on any current context.
There had to be a way around it. Plugging what he’d found into the ship’s systems and seeing if the Casimir recognized the encryption wasn’t an option. Not yet, anyway. Looking up the information about the geographical satellite had been risky enough; he’d been lucky not to trip any flags. An oversight? Or a deliberate attempt to make him think he hadn’t been spotted?
This was a lot easier at North Shore, he thought as he finished off his rice. There, I’d have known if Argus had gotten wind of what I was up to: I’d have simply been shot. Here …
Varus could be completely aware of his actions and simply watching. There was no way to know without asking.
And then if he’s not, and I’ve stumbled onto something I wasn’t supposed to … well …
He didn’t think they’d kill him. Not unless ordered. But there were probably a lot more cruisers out there with berths he could be “assigned” to. Dead or disappeared … UNSEC could make both happen. Better just to keep his head down, like always, and assume he was being watched, but hadn’t been caught.
Which does mean that if I do want to crack that encryption, I’ll need to find another workaround. Hard processing power could cut it, but only if he had access to it.
So, if I can’t brute force it, but assuming I still want to decrypt it—and I do, I definitely do—what would be the best way to go about that?
He couldn’t take it to the ship’s techs. Or use their systems. Doing either would definitely throw up flags … and besides, the techs would definitely report him. Not out of malice, even. Just out of a sense of “that was strange.”
So what else would work? he wondered, leaning back and spearing a sausage on the end of his fork. Assuming it is a military encryption, I’d need to get my hands on something that would be cleared to decrypt it. But without getting noticed or caught, and everything here is tied into the ship’s systems. His mind skipped back to the bag hidden in the drawer beneath his bunk, but he gave his head a slight shake.
That wouldn’t work either, he thought. The Lockpick is powerful, but it leaves a pretty clear trace. If I plugged that into the ship’s systems anywhere, Varus would be on top of me in a heartbeat. And if I plugged it into Varus … Yeah … been there, done that. I’ve got no desire to lobotomize the warship I’m riding in.
It’s a shame the stealth satellite doesn’t deal with decryption, just recording. This would be a lot easier if I could just have it decrypt things, but …
He sighed. Nothing’s ever easy. Still, there had to be a way around the encryption. There always was. Nothing was truly secure. Hard to breach, perhaps, but it was impossible to make a perfect security system.
At least, not while leaving any way for anyone to access anything, including yourself. He bit down on the last piece of sausage, watching idly as a few crew members walked out of the cafeteria, talking amongst one another.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way, he thought, chewing. I just need to find it. There had to be something that Varus wasn’t connected to. Some system on the ship that wasn’t tied into the AI directly that he could …
He paused, his chewing slowing to a stop. Wait a minute, he thought. I think there is one. In the hangars! The dropships! Those would have to be able to decrypt at least some transmissions! They’d be worthless otherwise! Of course, they’d still be secure. Their computers have to be locked down like everything else.
But if I used the Lockpick … He tapped his fork against his chin as lines of thought rose up inside his mind. They might be based on a different system, which would put me out of luck … but if they use an operating system based on anything I have access to, then the Lockpick should work, right? And at most, it might put the clock off slightly, but Varus wouldn’t be able to tell anything from that.
Sweets hunched over his breakfast, finishing off the last few pieces quickly as he examined the idea from multiple angles. I’d need a cover, something to justify my presence, but I could just say that I’m going to check the dropship systems for anything out of the ordinary after the last hack attempt. Which means I should probably wait until one’s just happened before showing up at the hangar.
Still, that wouldn’t be a problem. The attacks were still coming several times a day. All I need to do is wait. Then ask Fen if I can take a look at one of the VTOLs and, assuming she lets me in, see if I can get what I need. Crud, she can even flash the VTOL’s system afterwards if she’s worried about me messing with something.
Not bad, he thought, nodding and crumpling the cardboard remains of his meal into a small ball. Not bad at all. A little bit of social hacking and a little bit of the cloak-and-dagger. Mostly just cloak. Though if Varus did get suspicious and figure out what the Lockpick was …
Then there will definitely be daggers involved, he thought, rising from the table. I’d rather avoid that outcome if at all possible. Lockpick goes in the laptop bag.
And that’s still assuming I can interface with the VTOL systems. Though I could look that up. For now, though, he thought as the disposal let out a dull thump, consuming the leftovers of his breakfast. I should see about plotting a possible location for that satellite.
***
“Dang,” Sweets said, leaning back against the back of his chair and scowling at the numbers staring up at him from his laptop’s screen. “Again.” The columns in front of him almost looked mocking with their simplicity and their refusal to add up.
He let out a sigh, twisting his scowl as he glanced up at the cabin viewscreen, noting the time and, more importantly, how long he’d been trying to get the numbers he was looking at to make sense.
Only an hour, he thought, his scowl growing more pronounced. An hour of my day spent trying to figure out why these numbers aren’t adding up.
He rubbed one hand against the back of his head, fighting off the tension that was slowly starting to wind up at the base of his skull. Everything had looked easy from the start—just plot where the Casimir had been when the stealth satellite had picked up the message, factor that alongside the speed of light, and work out the maximum distance the message could have come from. He’d done it easily enough with the first result, and the remaining three should have given him a set of overlapping spheres, allowing him to do a bit of basic, rough triangulation regarding the location in system the satellite signals were originating from.
That had been the theory. In actuality, however …
This isn’t working like I’d hoped, he thought, staring down at the results he’d simulated on the laptop’s screen. He’d left them flat and confined to the display rather than projecting them—putting them in the air where Varus could see them was an invitation for the AI to question what he was up to, and it wouldn’t be hard for the intelligence to put the pieces together.
Even if I haven’t, Sweets thought, tapping one finger idly against the laptop’s casing. This should be so simple! What am I missing!? A spread of three spheres filled the screen, each superimposed over a map of the local system.
The math was right, he thought, leaning forward once more. But the results I’m getting can’t be right. None of these spheres touch one another, and any orbits I try and plot that connect with all three of them, well … He tapped a key, ordering the plotting program he was using to do just that, and received back an unholy mishmash of results.
Basically, free floating, he thought as he eyed the hundreds of paths. And accounting for time moving between those points … He added the restrictions into the plotting program. This eye has to be moving at ridiculous speeds while maintaining the orbit. Which would make it … He zoomed out. Exo-solar, he finished as he saw the wide band surrounding the system. And I really doubt that’s the case. For one, it’d probably make this satellite very easy to find when it shot through the system like a bullet.
He frowned. So … could it be something else, maybe? Like a ship? A stealth ship of some kind, pretending to be a satellite? That could explain why none of the spheres cross over with one another. Crud, that would make all this data useless, too. I’ve been assuming that the satellite confined to one area, but another ship capable of moving around the system like ours would …Wait a minute. He glanced down at the columns of numbers on the side of the screen. Wait a minute! He lifted his datapad, checking the numbers he’d gone over, his scowl vanishing. A moment later, he smacked himself in the forehead with one hand.
I’m an idiot, he thought, shaking his head. A complete idiot! All this time I ran the numbers assuming that the satellite wasn’t moving … and neither was the Casimir! I ran them like we were sitting “still” relative to the satellite. But we aren’t, we’re usually moving! And that means … He tapped at the datapad, pulling up a log of the ship’s movements through the system.
I didn’t account for time dilation, however miniscule. The result being that these spheres … He tapped at his laptop, adjusting several of the equations he’d punched in earlier and giving them new formulas to follow. Most of it, thankfully, was drag and drop, the math already worked out by the system. It was a quick-and-dirty solution, and would make any real astronomer scoff, but he didn’t need to be precise. Just halfway accurate. He finished typing the numbers in and hit enter.
The spheres changed, morphing and elongating as the software began taking momentum, direction, and relativity into account. Each began to stretch out into a warped oval, sides bulging, and as he watched, two of them touched, overlapping. His eyes snapped to the third, and he watched as it too stretched out, the program calculating the effect on the enveloped based on the Casimir’s rough position and heading when the data dump had been received.
Then it stopped, just shy of the overlap. However, it was close enough, and Sweets grinned, a swell of triumph rising inside him as he took in the location. Gotcha. It was still embarrassing that he’d forgotten to account for something as basic as relativity and direction when putting in the numbers, but …
The last hour of beating my head against my desk is punishment enough for that screw-up, he thought as he eyed his findings. While only two of the three overlapped, all three of them also connected with a single line that circled through the system.
That’s where the satellite is, he thought, tapping the line and zooming in on the body responsible for it. Or orbiting, or whatever. A green globe filled the laptop’s display. Very green. Must be a lot of plant life or something down there. And now let me guess: could have been colonized, but UNSEC wanted somewhere to play with their latest weapons project?
I mean, that still doesn’t explain everything. He glanced at the program’s summary of the planet, but it was limited, and added nothing that he couldn’t identify just by looking at it. Atmosphere. Near-Earth gravity. The satellite’s there, but that doesn’t explain how the Casimir keeps getting hit by hack attacks. He swiped through his datapad, once more accessing the ship’s locational logs. If I roll the orbit of the planet back according to the local observations … Yup. The blinking indicator marking the Casimir’s location was well out of sight of the system’s second planet, concealed in the “shadow” of the sun.
Prime, I was right, Sweets thought, rolling the log back further. We’ve been out of direct line of sight with that planet quite a bit. Which means that there must be something else to this system. FTL relays maybe? Send a message from the planet’s surface and then bring it back to realspace? That’d be a lot of power, though, and FTL relays already aren’t small. Maybe a network of satellites like the stealth satellite—
He shook his head and rose, shutting the laptop screen with a plastic snap. Nope. Not going to start pondering on the imponderables of how we keep getting attacked again. I don’t even know for certain if that’s the source of the attacks. All I know is that with conventional wisdom, it couldn’t have been for some of the spots the Casimir occupied in system. And that we’re getting transmissions from a satellite around it.
Which did point somewhat in the direction that the planet was important, but it didn’t make it the source. It does give me some prime leverage the next time I want to talk to Captain Sokolov, though, he thought, one corner of his mouth coming up in a faint smile. Maybe. But then again, they did hire me to try and figure out where the attacks were coming from. If I figured that out—or at least got a little bit closer, well that’s what they wanted me to do, right?
Nervous energy was flooding his system, pride and exhilaration at finally getting a solid lead burning through his body. Part of him wanted to sit down and immediately see what sort of information he could pull up on the secondary body of the system. Another part of him wanted to go running.
Run later, he told himself, still pacing. Work now. Unless we don’t get an attack anytime soon, in which case … maybe I could go to the gym.
His chair let out a metallic squeal as he pulled it away from his table and sat down again, one leg bouncing with nervous energy. He silenced it.
