Read Online All the Colors of Time by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff - Free Book Online
Authors: Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff
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list of contacts?”
“No, it’s displaying an index.” She held it out to him. “You’re
the hacker—have at it.”
It was at once logical and beyond all possible miracles to
suppose that the names and system addresses of Caldwell’s contacts for Project
Hourglass were amongst the data stored in Hilyard’s handcomp, but they were.
George and Louis went into high gear. They downloaded the information to their
own handcomps and immediately set about using it to shunt any requests for
information originating from the contact’s terminals through to the QuestLabs’
Library server. Hilyard’s unit was returned to him post haste.
“But what if somebody just goes to a library terminal and
requests information about Gorbachev’s assassination?” asked Shiro.
George allowed himself a self-congratulatory grin. “I
planted something in the nature of a glorified IF-THEN statement in the Library
of Congress system. IF anyone requests information on the assassination
attempt, THEN they get routed to our ersatz fact file. Since all libraries
network to that system—” He shrugged.
“George, you’re a marvel,” Oslovski told him.
He blushed faintly at the praise. “Well, I couldn’t cover all our tracks, but I did what I could.
It’s just . . .” He made a wry face.
“What?”
“Well, it seems too much of a fluke, I guess. Here we find
ourselves in a position where we could use certain information and—bingo!—it
falls onto our conference room floor.”
“Miracles do happen,” observed Vance.
George tilted his head. “I don’t doubt it. But there’s
something a little odd about this miracle. For two weeks, Hilyard’s been taking
notes on that handcomp. I didn’t find a trace of them.”
“Maybe it was encrypted,” suggested Shiro.
“Even encrypted information takes up room in memory, my
dear. The only data left in that unit, with the exception of the information we
needed, was general stuff. There wasn’t even a letter to mom.”
Oslovski stiffened. “You’re suggesting we’ve been set up.”
George shrugged. “The nodes I accessed were operative and
the addresses and passwords were real. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”
“Maybe not.” Oslovski frowned thoughtfully. “Let’s keep a
close eye on Major Hilyard.”
“What do we do if he does anything suspicious?” asked Louis.
Oslovski grimaced. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. But we don’t
have any time to worry about it. We’ve got to get ready for Phase Two of
Operation Little Big Horn. First order of business is helping General Caldwell
decide where to go.”
oOo
“It has to be someplace where I can ascertain military
activity,” said Caldwell. “In other words, a military installation.”
“A . . . War Room, perhaps?” suggested
Oslovski.
“You mean a Tactical Center,” corrected Ferris. “We haven’t
called them War Rooms for years.”
A rose by any other
name, thought Oslovski. Aloud, she said, “Tactical Center, then. Would that
be appropriate?”
Hilyard looked up from fiddling with his handcomp. “Begging
your pardon, sir, but if a Tactical Center was in operation in the future,
wouldn’t that indicate something about the health of the military
establishment?”
Caldwell nodded slowly. “Makes sense. All right. Send us to
Offutt. If there’s any activity at all, it’ll be there.”
oOo
Four days later they were ready for the Shift, their
target, the year 2094, Offutt Air Force Base, Bellevue, Nebraska. Caldwell didn’t
ask what was in his shot, but accepted the electrolyte story at face value.
This time it was closer to the truth. Instead of a powerful tranquilizer, the
infusions contained only a mild neural damper and a dose of Ephkal-A.
Hilyard went onto the Grid first—a precautionary measure,
Cladwell insisted. Caldwell himself was plainly nervous as he followed; only
Hilyard’s extreme calm persuaded him he was not going to merely evaporate into
the shimmering void.
He
“No, it’s displaying an index.” She held it out to him. “You’re
the hacker—have at it.”
It was at once logical and beyond all possible miracles to
suppose that the names and system addresses of Caldwell’s contacts for Project
Hourglass were amongst the data stored in Hilyard’s handcomp, but they were.
George and Louis went into high gear. They downloaded the information to their
own handcomps and immediately set about using it to shunt any requests for
information originating from the contact’s terminals through to the QuestLabs’
Library server. Hilyard’s unit was returned to him post haste.
“But what if somebody just goes to a library terminal and
requests information about Gorbachev’s assassination?” asked Shiro.
George allowed himself a self-congratulatory grin. “I
planted something in the nature of a glorified IF-THEN statement in the Library
of Congress system. IF anyone requests information on the assassination
attempt, THEN they get routed to our ersatz fact file. Since all libraries
network to that system—” He shrugged.
“George, you’re a marvel,” Oslovski told him.
He blushed faintly at the praise. “Well, I couldn’t cover all our tracks, but I did what I could.
It’s just . . .” He made a wry face.
“What?”
“Well, it seems too much of a fluke, I guess. Here we find
ourselves in a position where we could use certain information and—bingo!—it
falls onto our conference room floor.”
“Miracles do happen,” observed Vance.
George tilted his head. “I don’t doubt it. But there’s
something a little odd about this miracle. For two weeks, Hilyard’s been taking
notes on that handcomp. I didn’t find a trace of them.”
“Maybe it was encrypted,” suggested Shiro.
“Even encrypted information takes up room in memory, my
dear. The only data left in that unit, with the exception of the information we
needed, was general stuff. There wasn’t even a letter to mom.”
Oslovski stiffened. “You’re suggesting we’ve been set up.”
George shrugged. “The nodes I accessed were operative and
the addresses and passwords were real. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”
“Maybe not.” Oslovski frowned thoughtfully. “Let’s keep a
close eye on Major Hilyard.”
“What do we do if he does anything suspicious?” asked Louis.
Oslovski grimaced. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. But we don’t
have any time to worry about it. We’ve got to get ready for Phase Two of
Operation Little Big Horn. First order of business is helping General Caldwell
decide where to go.”
oOo
“It has to be someplace where I can ascertain military
activity,” said Caldwell. “In other words, a military installation.”
“A . . . War Room, perhaps?” suggested
Oslovski.
“You mean a Tactical Center,” corrected Ferris. “We haven’t
called them War Rooms for years.”
A rose by any other
name, thought Oslovski. Aloud, she said, “Tactical Center, then. Would that
be appropriate?”
Hilyard looked up from fiddling with his handcomp. “Begging
your pardon, sir, but if a Tactical Center was in operation in the future,
wouldn’t that indicate something about the health of the military
establishment?”
Caldwell nodded slowly. “Makes sense. All right. Send us to
Offutt. If there’s any activity at all, it’ll be there.”
oOo
Four days later they were ready for the Shift, their
target, the year 2094, Offutt Air Force Base, Bellevue, Nebraska. Caldwell didn’t
ask what was in his shot, but accepted the electrolyte story at face value.
This time it was closer to the truth. Instead of a powerful tranquilizer, the
infusions contained only a mild neural damper and a dose of Ephkal-A.
Hilyard went onto the Grid first—a precautionary measure,
Cladwell insisted. Caldwell himself was plainly nervous as he followed; only
Hilyard’s extreme calm persuaded him he was not going to merely evaporate into
the shimmering void.
He
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