She looked away from the ship and watched the other patrons follow the scene. They soon began arguing politics amongst themselves, often saying something about Callites and immigration laws.
Walter peered down at his computer, frowning. “Coffee sshopss are much tougher than Naval encryption,” he said, still smarting over her jab at his technical prowess. “They update their sstuff weekly—the Navy takes decadess. Thiss sshop csycle’ss its passsword every half-hour and they usse ten twenty-four bit encryption.” He took a sip of his gelatte and wiped the foam off his lips with the back of his hand. “If the Navy took half thesse precautsionss, you’d probably be dead.”
He smiled up at her. “Twicse,” he added with a grin.
Molly glared at him over the lip of her glass. “You can’t die twice—”
A gasp from the upward-gazing crowd cut her off. Molly shielded her eyes and looked up as well. A second later, the distant roar of the spacebound ship went silent. As she followed the plume of exhaust upward to locate the ship, she saw the craft tumbling down past the pillar of smoke it had created, bow spinning over thrusters, over and over.
Everything in the café froze as the patrons watched solemnly, waitresses frozen in place with pitchers of water dripping condensation. When the plummeting hull disappeared behind the building’s awning, there was a distant rumble, the sound coming from many kilometers away. Everyone gradually looked back to their food. Forks tinked against plates. Whispers began to grow back into conversations.
Molly took it all in, desperate to know what had just happened. Were they testing some kind of new craft? Something to use against the fleet? Everyone else seemed to know something, or at least they weren’t terribly shocked by the display. She leaned over to ask a nearby table, when Walter hissed excitedly.
“I’m in,” he said, his face glowing. He bent over the computer, typing furiously and sneering.
Molly reached across the table. “Let me see it.”
Walter continued to peck away.
“Walter, it’s important. Give it here.”
He frowned and handed over the computer. “Won’t be long before you’re kicked off,” he said.
Molly nodded and moved to swipe the top screen away, then noticed it was Palan’s planetary homepage. The weather forecast was being displayed, showing the projected hour for the next rains. She glanced up at Walter, who was looking back over his shoulder at a political dispute in the alley. She felt a sudden pang of sadness for him as she realized he must be feeling homesick.
Swiping the page to the side, Molly dragged up a new one from the bottom. The few times they’d been connected to the Net in the past two weeks, the datastream had been too thin to do even the most rudimentary of tasks. The remote Lokian villages had suffered from poor connectivity and bandwidth, even when they were lucky enough to find an available signal. A seemingly countless number of items had built up over the past weeks that she really wanted to check on, but first there were a few she had to.
Using the virtual keyboard, she typed: “Molly; Fyde; Navy,” and hit enter. Hundreds of hits registered, but she could see most of them were junk. Lots of false positives and a ton of spelling suggestions for “mollified.” She sorted the results by date, looking for something recent, but there wasn’t anything within the last two months.
She swiped that away and tried: “Parsona; Ship; Navy.”
“You looking for newss about thosse sshipss?” Walter asked. “The oness from the bright light?”
“No. I probably know more about them than the Bel Tra do. Not that that’s saying much. I’m actually looking for news about us. Trying to find out how much trouble we’re in.”
Walter pushed up from his chair and leaned forward. “You ssearching on Latticse?” he asked.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about—”
Walter leaned over the table and snatched the computer away from her. He pecked furiously at the keys while Molly tried to snag it back. “I said not to worry about—”
Walter relinquished the computer. Molly glanced at the screen and nearly dropped the device. She looked behind herself, scanned the crowd, then moved the tablet to her lap and stared at the screen.
It showed the welcome page for the GN Naval database.
“How did you do that?” she whispered.
“Eassy. I already had the passsword.” He slurped through ice cubes for the last of his drink, then looked around for their waitress.
“Is this how you hacked the missiles?”
He frowned at her as if the question didn’t merit answering. “Completely different,” he said.
The waitress came up from behind. Molly moved the computer under the table and threw her napkin over it. Some more water was sloshed in their glasses—their one free refill. Walter was told the gelate top-up would cost. He demurred, peering at the pads of his fingers. Molly glared at him, jerking her head to the side to let him know she needed some privacy.
He finally said “no thankss,” and the waitress moved on. Molly placed the computer on the table as the Wadi munched on her napkin. She looked over the welcome page for the Navy database, the appearance of the familiar site filling her with memories of the Academy. The only difference was the tall stack of red bars running down one side of the screen, indicating her current clearance level. She had no idea it even went that high.
Pulling up the keyboard display, she repeated her search query from Lattice and hit enter.
Classified. Zebra Log. 2148.08.12.2214.
Today, at precisely 1934 UTC, the 12th of Eight 2148, two prisoners (Molly Fyde and Ensign-II Cole Mendonça) escaped from Star Carrier Zebra with the aid of an informant (Walter Hommul) and a suspected Navy accomplice (Captain-III Jason Riggs). Along with their escape, Zebra command suffered the theft of a loaded and armed Firehawk (s/n 492857295-F) and an impounded craft (GN-290 Parsona). The latter had already been deemed both a C-8 High Target and an L-10 Object of Interest.
Memo: Escape was effected by the use of a high-level hack of StarCarrier Zebra’s mainframe and the re-routing of personnel. All, repeat, ALL Navy admins should change their login and password information immediately and begin cycling them according to Navy regs.
Memo: Whereabouts of both craft unknown at this time, but hyperspace signature for stolen Firehawk was found and traced by the science team on the Cruiser Sagan. Whether or not the result was a case of negligent navigation, a suicide mission, or an attempt to cover their tracks remotely, has yet to be determined. The hyperspace signature led straight to the core of Delphi’s primary star, leaving a trace strong enough to drown out Parsona’s exit coordinates. A deeper analysis of the trace will be performed, as will further scans for Parsona’s trajectory.
Memo: All targets and personnel in this case have been upgraded to L-15 Objects of Interest. Zebra command takes full responsibility for the loss, but gladly accepts the High Admiral’s confidence and charge of reclaiming the Navy’s property.
Memo: Please reference Palan Log 2148.06.23.0715 for more on Mendonça and Fyde. The same suspects were involved in the death of three Navy staff and the destruction of Navy property. They were subsequently assigned L-5 ratings, each.
Memo: Please reference Earth Log 2148.07.18.1640.3 for even more on Mendonça and Fyde. The same suspects were involved in the death of Rear Admiral Lucin and an attack on other Navy personnel. They were both upgraded to L-10 Objects of Interest following the events detailed therein.