Sentience 1: Storm Clouds Gathering (13 page)

“Have a seat, gentlemen,” said Admiral Melendez, as they gathered round the conference table. “Bat, are we locked down?”

Bat flipped a series of switches and checked the readout near the doorframe. After a few seconds he reported, “Yes sir, Admiral. Hermetic seals are showing secure and broadband jamming functioning in the green.”

“Good. Now Al, you said you might have a problem that we might be able to help you with”?

“Yes, Admiral,” said Ligurri. “If anyone can help, it would be your boys. I’m not quite sure how to explain this, but I’m afraid HQ computer security may have been compromised.”

“What area?” Turner asked.

“Well, that’s part of my problem. I’m not sure we’ve experienced a security breach at all, but we’ve discovered a couple of very weird anomalies in our security monitoring readouts I’d like to show you.”

Ligurri slipped a data cube into the computer console in front of him and brought up the pertinent files and displayed it on the wall-sized monitor at the back of the room. As everyone turned to view the display, Ligurri explained they were seeing a security log generated by scores of sophisticated sensing devices which monitored all input/output functions of the HQ library computer, verifying proper authorization codes, and the data requestor’s identity, security clearance level and need-to-know status. He then pointed to the anomaly.

“About a month ago, there appears to be a 73-millisecond interval during which FALCON (Fleet Algorithm-driven Library Computer Online Network) had absolutely no communications coming in, nor going out on any of its multiple thousands of I/O channels, although this readout down in the lower right-hand corner of the display shows over 50,000 requests waiting to be processed at the time. A couple of days later, another identical incident occurred which lasted approximately 42 milliseconds.”

“What does that mean exactly, Al?” asked Admiral Melendez.

“That’s the problem, sir. We don’t know what it means, or if it means anything at all. None of us have ever seen anything quite like it. It’s like FALCON just ignored all these thousands of backlogged data requests while it took a couple of very short naps.”

“What do your people think, Al?” Turner asked. “You’ve got some of the best computer geeks in the known universe working for you. Surely they must have some ideas.”

“Dozens of them, but we eliminated all the obvious possibilities, then the less obvious possibilities, and then all the highly improbable possibilities we could think of, but we’ve still found nothing that can explain these two dead zones in FALCON’s data flow. We’ve chased our tails for over 43 straight hours. My boys are exhausted and we’re all out of ideas. That’s why I brought this over here to your
Ghostbusters,
sir, because we’re down to blaming this phenomenon on some kind of supernatural phantasm.”

“Gremlins,” said Masterson.

“What?”

“Gremlins. That’s what they used to blame inexplicable behavior in electronic and mechanical systems on, back during the dawn of technology. Gremlins got into the gear. That’s what old-timey techs used to blame as causing problems they couldn’t find or understand.”

“If it was supposedly during the dawn of the technological era as you said, how could you possibly know that?”

“Don’t ask, Al,” said the admiral. “None of us quite understands where Bat comes up with these things, but if he says it’s so, then you can bet your ass, it is. Trust me on this one. Does Commodore Coxler know about this anomaly thing yet?”

Ligurri looked absolutely stricken at the mention of Commodore Coxler. “No, and between us and the carpet, I’d really like to keep it that way.” J.T. Turner broke out into outright laughter at Ligurri’s discomfiture at the thought of informing his pompous little boss he couldn’t find the cause of a computer anomaly, nor being unable to determine whether it constituted a security threat. “Look, Admiral, I know that you and Commodore Coxler are friends, but if he gets involved, I’ll never...”

At this point, Admiral Melendez also laughed, but as Ligurri’s face fell, he held up his hand. “Enough said, Al. I know all about Geoffrey Coxler, and if I were you, I wouldn’t want him mucking around knee-deep in my garden either. Jeff may think he’s an expert, but he knows even less about computer security than I know about counter-intelligence. The difference between us is I can admit it’s J.T. and Bat who are the real experts here. I’m also smart enough to know if I just stay out of their way and let them play magic bloodhound, they’ll nail the bad guys and make us all look good. Jeff just hasn’t had his flag nor his new position long enough to become comfortable with the idea of turning you and your boys completely loose. He feels like he has to micro-manage everything himself, just to keep from losing that shiny new star he just got tacked onto his collar.”

Looking over at Masterson, the admiral asked, “Well, Bat, as you’re our resident computer expert, what do you think?”

“I think you’ve forgotten, sir, that I haven’t played with the hardware of a biological mainframe in over a dozen years. Some ‘expert.’”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Melendez cracked. “How much time left until you’re supposed to notify Commodore Coxler about this, Al?”

Checking his wrist comp, Ligurri replied, “Four hours and thirty-seven minutes, Admiral.”

“No problem, Bat should find your anomaly and have its head stuffed and mounted without your having to bring Jeff Coxler into it, until after it’s a done deal.”

With that, Masterson was instantly on his feet. “Four hours and thirty-seven minutes? Are you out of your freakin’ mind… uh, sir?”

Looking shocked at Masterson’s outburst, Melendez asked, “Why, what’s the problem, Bat?”

“What’s the problem?” Bat roared. “Last I checked, supply is all out of magic wands! Al’s people are the top computer genius’ in the Fleet, whose mainframe knowledge is up to date I might add, and they’ve had no luck nailing this thing down in over 43 hours. Now you expect me to catch up on over twelve years of mainframe technological advances and find the cause of Al’s gremlin in the next four and a half hours? Have you lost your Cuban mind, sir? — Shut-up J.T., this isn’t funny!”

By this time, Turner and Melendez were both laughing uncontrollably and Ligurri was aghast, not believing what he was seeing and hearing. Fleet scuttlebutt had it that these
anti-spooks
made it their business to know everything about everyone, so it seemed they always knew you, whether you knew them, or not. But Al Ligurri thought he knew them better than most. They’d all been casual drinking buddies at the Officers Club for over a year during his time at the Weapons Development Center across the street from the Intelligence Building, where he now sat. Everyone knew the
Ghostbusters
were a little odd... but they were the white cells in Fleet’s bloodstream, finding and eliminating any bogeys that tried to get inside. They were reported to be the
best-of-the-best.
At the Officers Club, Al had always thought of them as regular guys, but he’d never actually witnessed them interacting within their own inner sanctum before. He’d always assumed there was nothing but cold professionalism between them, while on the job. Now it looked more like the inmates had taken over the asylum. It was much like it had always been at the bar... lots of shouting, arguing, laughing and general mayhem.

Finally both J.T. and Admiral Melendez wound down from their laughing fit and wiping tears from his eyes with a handkerchief, Melendez asked, “All right, Bat, besides a magic wand, what will you need to find the cause of Al’s little anomaly?”

Masterson then realized the admiral had merely been yanking his chain again, as he was wont to do at the most unexpected times, due to his overdeveloped sense of humor. Composing himself, Masterson contemplated his answer, knowing that no matter how he phrased it, Melendez was not going to like it.

“Assuming the worst, that there really has been an intrusion into FALCON, it could have potentially originated from about anywhere, but in order to produce these symptoms, I’d say it had to be from a source having command level access to the operating system and virtually all high-level synopsis. If this really is a covert attempt to extract data from FALCON, I doubt very seriously if they were after biscuit recipes used in the Officers’ Mess on the
Ticonderoga
. Anything this sophisticated means they were definitely after the family jewels. In order to determine what they did, how they did it, did they get anything from it, what did they get and who the hell they are, I’m going to need all, I repeat, ALL of the access codes including Maintenance, Security and the Top Flag Master Overrides necessary to thoroughly check Bozo’s oil.”

Sure enough, that pronouncement stopped the laughter. No one, but no one
ever
had access to more than one access code. That precept had been at the heart of computer security since time immemorial.

The most advanced bio-computer ever developed was officially designated as CLOWNEMS, an acronym for Command, Logistics, Operations, Weapons, Navigation and Engineering Master System and it was quite literally the brains behind the entire United Stellar Alliance Defense Department. At some point early on, during the time that CLOWNEMS was first being brought online, some person or persons unknown noticed the word CLOWN within the CLOWNEMS acronym and for an equally unknown reason dubbed the system with the nickname
Bozo
. What Bozo means, or how it relates to the word “clown” had yet to be discovered, but for some strange reason, the odd nickname stuck and soon, virtually everyone in the Fleet was calling their new super-computer “Bozo
.
”

“Wait a minute,” said Admiral Melendez, “I thought we were talking about the Headquarters Library Computer. How did Bozo come into this?”

“Well, sir,” Masterson continued, “I’d be really surprised if Capt. Ligurri’s boys missed anything in the local FALCON system, so that leads me to believe that whatever caused the anomaly originated on the outside. The interrogation routines within FALCON’s operating system are specifically designed to flag Security when questionable data requests are received. Al’s monitor logs essentially act as a backup to those OS routines for redundancy purposes.”

“That right, Al?”

“Yes sir, Admiral. Bat is spot on, so far.”

“So again, where does Bozo enter into all this?”

“The only exception to these security protocols in the FALCON system is whenever it receives a data request from Bozo
,
which bypasses all of the local safeguards. Since none of Al’s security routines were alerted by whatever caused FALCON’s mind to go blank for those few milliseconds, either the system saw a high-level command coming from a source it is programmed to consider as totally trustworthy, meaning Bozo, or we’re up against an intruder who knows FALCON’s entire operating system verbatim and once again, we’re back to Bozo, because it’s the only one with access to more of it than merely entering in new access codes. Even Al’s people have to go through Bozo to make modifications to FALCON’s security routines.”

“Is that right, Al?”

“Yes sir, Admiral,” Ligurri replied. “Everyone making changes to FALCON’s programming has to go through Bozo to get them implemented. Sometimes Bozo even requests that we rewrite some instructions which it thinks might reduce system efficiency or interfere with other things, which only Bozo knows about.”

“And do you rewrite instructions when Bozo asks?”

“Standard Operating Procedure. Whenever Bozo requests us to make a change, he usually gives us two or three alternative routines that will accomplish the same purpose as the original without giving it heartburn. Sometimes I think Bozo just does that to humor us and make us feel important.”

“So, are you telling me that Bozo has to approve of, and actually implement any changes to FALCON’s programming?”

“Not just FALCON, Admiral,” J.T. interjected. “Bozo has complete software oversight over every computer in the entire Alliance Defense Net. Back in 3853, I was Navigation Officer aboard the
Valiant
when she went into the yards at Norf for an overhaul. The memory modules for the new navigation computers arrived in sealed containers. We couldn’t even open the damned things without a direct comm link to Bozo Jr.”

“Bozo Jr.?”

“Yes, Admiral,” said Ligurri. “Every planet in the Alliance has its own local version of Bozo. The original, ‘master’ Bozo system located here in Waston regularly sends out update packages to all of its little brothers whenever a military spaceplane goes out of here. It even utilizes commercial spaceplanes whenever there are no military flights scheduled to a given destination within 12 hours of sending out its last update. Every Bozo Jr. sends update packages back here to Bozo the same way. This way, all of the Bozos are nominally within 36 hours of one another and are theoretically able reach similar conclusions within a 1.3 percent tolerance. It’s the best that they’ve been able to come up with until somebody finally invents a comm system which can transmit data at faster than light speeds.”

Melendez nodded. One of the great outstanding paradoxes of modern science was when the
Stupman-Taylor Overdrive
finally broke the light barrier back in 3514, humanity could suddenly move matter faster than they could move energy. Everyone believed that hyperspace communications would follow right behind, but now, 346 years later man still had to rely on spaceships and spaceplanes for interstellar communications.

Melendez took a moment to absorb everything he’d just learned. “Damn, I need to get out of this office more. All this Bozo stuff is new to me. So since Bozo is obviously watching over us, who is keeping tabs on Bozo?”

In unison, Bat, J.T. and Al all said, “Bozo!”

Oh God, I was afraid they were going to say that.

It is strange to be known so universally and yet to be so lonely.
-- Albert Einstein

The Planetoid Discol, City of Waston

United Stellar Alliance Fleet Headquarters,