He Who Dares: Book Two (The Gray Chronicals 2) (11 page)

“Good God!  Lack of funds!  That’s ridiculous, the belt mining operations produce tons of gold, silver, platinum, heavy metals, precious stones and God knows what else.”

“Yes, but it all gets used by the Government for other services, or so the Chancellor of the Exchequer tells us. Social services mainly.”

“But the Moon and orbiting construction yards are turning out new ships all the time, even if they are older designs.”

“Not really, it's all smoke and mirrors.  They just refurbish old ships and give them a new coat of paint to make them look new.”

“I don’t believe it,”  The look on Taffy’s face told him the truth.  “And what about all the new research that’s going on, you should see my power plants and main weapons.”  He snorted.

“Again, killed in appropriations, same reason, costs too much, and the less said about your power plants, etc., the better at the moment.”

“CPO Conner Blake told me that as well.”  He muttered darkly, wondering just how far the rot had spread.

“He did, huh, smart man, not many people know about that.”

“Taffy, I don’t like the sound of all this, something is going on.”

“You’re telling me,” he grumbled, “Seaford, I and a few others have tried looking into what exactly is going on, but each time we run into a
dead
end.”  That made Mike sit up and take notice.  Taffy wasn’t kidding when he said dead.

“Conner also told me the there is evidence that some of the new R&D projects are ending up in other hands?”

“The least said about that the better.”  Taffy muttered softly.

“It doesn’t say much for MI5 or Naval Intelligence.” He said, remembering his experience after the rescue mission.

“Careful, Mike.”

“Why, if they aren’t doing their job, then someone should do something about it.”

“We are, Mike.”  He muttered very softly into his coffee cup.  It was almost so low that Mike almost didn’t hear it.  Taffy looked at him and winked.  In answer, Mike gave him a slight nod.  Things were starting to fit and added with what Ann told him, a picture was emerging.

“I’ll see what the gang can do about your supply problem.”

“Thanks, Taffy.”

“I have an idea how I can get round the impasse.” He gave Mike a grin.

“Great, I think.”  Mike expected to spend another night at the Palace, and with Ann, but his comm unit dashed those hopes.

“Gray actual, go!”  He said, hitting the scrambler button.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but we have run into a bit of a problem.”  Pete Standish informed him.  Mike could see the worried look on his face in the tiny screen.

“I take it, that it’s not something you can handle, Pete?”

“No, sir, sorry to say, I can’t.”

“I’m on my way, and should be there within two hours or sooner.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”  Mike immediately changed channels and called the pilot.

Although he tried not to look it, the man was definitely feeling the spirit of the season.  They met at the shuttle, and Mike took the controls himself, half-angry, half smiling.  He couldn’t really blame the man, it was a holiday, and he’d told him to stand down.  His return also meant that he wouldn’t be able to see Lady Ann again.  After a shaky take off, and a lot of yelling from traffic control he flew South through a slate gray sky, icy rain fixed with snow pounded the craft.  If it weren’t for the computerized navigation and digital view screen, he wouldn’t have been able to see at all.  Even with computer controlled ‘fly-by-wire’ assist the shuttle craft still got tossed around.  The further South he flew the more it turned to snow as a cold front moved in off the Atlantic and up the English Channel.  By the time he set the scout car down it was almost a blizzard.  Struggling through knee deep snow he made it inside, looking like a snowman by the time he got there.  Peter Standish met him at the door, a glum look on his face.

“Tell me the bad news, Peter.”  Mike took his greatcoat off, and shook the snow off, fearing the worse.

“They crippled us, sir,” he sighed, “from the one direction we weren’t looking.”

“How bad?”

“As bad as it gets, they uploaded a virus into the mainframe, and we can’t get it out.”  Mike almost flinched hearing that, realizing the implications immediately.

“How on Earth did they manage that Pete?”  Pete Standish followed him into the service elevator.

“We went online with the comm equipment, testing it and so forth, and we receive what looked like a regular transmission from the Admiralty, complete with authentication codes.  They piggy backed the damn thing on that.  Pete looked embarrassed, as if it was his personal responsibility.

“Christ on a crutch!  What did we lose?”  He didn’t berate Pete for not having the virus scanner in place and working before accepting the transmission.

“Everything, navigation, weapons control, environmental, power, you name it.  It infected the whole damn ships operating system software.”

“I take it you tried wiping it clean and rebooting?”  The moment he asked, Peter’s face got longer.

“We did, and the moment we inserted the backup program the virus transferred itself to the archival copy and wiped that out as well.”

“Shit!”

“Yes, sir, that’s one of the things I said.”

“What are our options?”

“I had the communications tech, leading communication technician Sally Goldman try and trace the hacker back, but she ran into a firewall that she couldn’t get through.”

“So, whoever it was, wasn’t just some lucky amateur.”

“No, sir, this was a professional job, that is one sophisticated virus.”

“So, where do we get another operating system?”  He muttered more to himself than Pete Standish.

“Don’t know, sir, the one we had came from R&D.”

“Yes, I know, so the standard Corvette or Cruiser operating system won’t work worth a damn.”

“I’ve got Goldman working on removing the bug, but her solution was to remove the hard drive and CPU and replace them.”

“She may be right,” Mike sighed, “if the damn thing has inserted itself into the core memory, and the archive copy, that may be our only option.”

“Yea Gods that could take weeks, sir!”

“True, but it might be quicker in the long run than trying to get the bloody virus out.”  Mike’s face looked bleak.  “Even then, how do you know you’ve got it all, and that it’s not just waiting for the right moment to pop up again.”

“Shall I order her to start removing the hard drive and CPU, sir?”  Mike thought about it for a moment as they walked through the ship and up to the CIC.  When they arrived, they found Sally Goldman up to her waist under the CIC operational consult, and everyone else standing around in solemn silence.

“Any luck, Sally?”  Mike asked, throwing his coat over the command chair.

“No, and whoever the hell you are, get off my damn foot!”  A muffled voice yelled.

“Oops, sorry.”  Mike stepped back and she wiggled back out.

“Who’s the big foot lummox who doesn’t watch...” she came out and sat up, “oh, sorry Skipper, didn’t know it was you.”  Her ears got red.

“Don’t worry about it, Sally, my fault, should have watched where I was putting my big feet,” Mike squatted down beside her and peered inside the control panel, “tight squeeze in there.”

“Yes, sir, and to answer your question.  I can clear the virus out of the system, and all the subroutines, but the moment I bring the mainframe back on line, it re-infects the operating system.”  Mike thought about his options for a moment, rubbing his forefinger across his chapped lips.  His mind shot down one path of possibility after another, yet they all ended up at the same place.  Until they could be 100% sure they’d removed the virus, they stood a good chance of it re-infecting itself later.  He sighed at last, then nodded, as if agreeing with himself.

“Ripped the damn CPU, hard drive, and memory crystals out and scrub the sub-systems clean.  That should kill the bloody thing, right?”

“Yes, sir, it will, but what about new operating systems, and who’s to say that one not infected as well?”

“I’ll work on that, you concentrate on making sure you’ve got the bug completely out of my system.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”  She smiled weakly and dived back under the consult.

“Anything else, Peter?”

“More of the senior staff arrived, sir, all NCO, so I turned them over to COB Conner Blake.”

“Good, how many officers short are we now?”

“Four, sir, environmental, communications, weapons, and navigation.”

“If need be, you and I can handle navigation, Sally on the comm, Gable on tactical, but we definitely need a weapon and environmental officer.”

“In a pinch, we could let the Petty Officer run those divisions, sir.”

“Yes, and we might have to, I have the feeling we aren’t going to get many more officers for this ship.  Work with Conner Blake and pick the best person to run each division.”

“Aye-aye, sir, but you are aware that it's against naval policy to let an NCO run those divisions, sir.”

“I do, Peter, but you know as well as I do, in practice they run them anyway.”  He smiled, seeing Pete nod in agreement.

“Too true, sir, half the time the officers don’t know what the hell they’re doing.  Can I use Conner Blake in one of them?”

“Only as a backup, or stand in, he’s COB, Chief of the Boat and also our Master Helmsman.”  After that, Mike took a walk round the ship, earplugs in place.

The work was going ahead at full speed, and it surprised him how much they’d done in the short time he’d been gone.  Half the Cobalt-Iridium outer hull armor was in place, and they were working on installing the anti-radiation shielding over that.  He did find one quite place on the ship down on what would eventually be the Marine deck.  The bunks were full, with camp cots scattered everywhere, and the snores of sleeping men.  It took him a moment to realize that they were the yard dogs.  Instead of going home, they were sleeping here between shift.  It gave him pause to think.  He’d have to find a way to repay these men for their loyalty, and tiptoed away.  Everything was makeshift, from the dormitory to the galley and the toilets.  Everywhere he looked he found people had discovered ways to make do with what they had, all aimed at getting this ship finished as soon as possible.  It was a race against time, as any day now someone would come slipping and sliding down that road and stop everything.  Mike just hoped the weather stayed nasty, or get worse.  The longer it did, the better their chances of getting her finished, or at least finished to a point where they could get out of here.  Once in space, they could take her to the yard on the Moon to complete her if necessary, or out to the space docks in the asteroid belt.  That meant they had to have the hull completed and all airlocks install and working, the drive and AG system functioning, and the environmental system operational.  The rest they could work by the seat of their pants if they had to.  He ran into Conner Blake and they shook hands.

“Good to see you back, Skipper, but I was hoping we could sort this mess out ourselves, without having to call you.”

“Thanks, Conner, I understand.  How’s it going?”

“The same as usual, sir, ‘Fubared’,” he chuckled, "but we’ll work it out.”

“Fucked up beyond repair, huh, that sound about like our last trip.”