Either Abbot’s lying through his teeth, or he’s got his communications working again. Outwardly, Titus just nodded as if it were old news. “The secessionists want this station dead and kept quarantined. If they win, it’ll be a long dormancy for you.”
“I doubt that. You mustn’t underestimate your father.”
Really? Watching H’lim putter about, he was certain the luren had no idea of what he’d just revealed.
Noticing how Inea’s log showed Abbot’s attention focused around the observatory and the Eighth Antenna Array’s console, Titus had searched the console and all connecting installations clear to the edge of the station looking for any way Abbot had of getting the Eighth to transmit his message. It had never before been a top priority because the Eighth hadn’t had a window into the volume of space H’lim had come from. But now, with his old theory returning to haunt him, and with just such a window coming up, Titus went through the hardware again, found nothing, and rechecked all the software.
They had used the Eighth to communicate, via relays, with Wild Goose as well as several other experimental stations. It had been built to serve the manned exploration program, which had been abandoned for lack of funds again. But the Eighth was still equipped to be linked to its seven other counterparts around the moon, providing global coverage of the entire firmament.
A good deal of Titus’s department’s computing power had been designed to link the Eight Arrays with the satellites and mobile observatories, forming what might have to become Earth’s first global defense network communications system.
It had never been used, or even tested. The nearest they’d come was Abbot’s being ordered to use the Eighth to break into the blockaders’ communications. To date, he had reported only sporadic successes, with recordings that had revealed little. He hadn’t even been able to give warning of the attack on the probe. Did Abbot know and just not say anything? Is that why he wasn’t concerned about the humans finding his transmitter? Would he have knowingly sacrificed the device? Or maybe, since Titus hadn’t heard of the increased use of anti-hypnotic conditioning and rechecking of work, perhaps Abbot hadn’t heard either? Perhaps he hadn’t known how close his transmitter had been to being discovered. Or if he had known, perhaps he wanted the probe destroyed in the attack.
Fruitless speculation, Titus told himself. But one thing seemed obvious. Abbot must have been using the Eighth to communicate with Tourists among the blockaders to set up H’lim’s escape. He might even be able to communicate with his control back on Earth, Connie’s opposite number. In any case, when the window opened, he’d be ready to send the Tourists’ message to the stars.
If he was planning to have such a stunt go unnoticed, then ne must have a way to prevent Maintenance from noticing the power drain. Ah, but that’s Abbot’s department. He could gimmick all the monitors and nobody would ever know.
Renewing his study of the Eighth’s console, Titus figured a way to configure his black box to use the Eighth’s transmission capability to contact Earth. It was an absurd use of an Array, like swatting flies with a baseball bat, but it could be done. Since it was possible, if not feasible, Abbot had probably done it. But Titus couldn’t see how to hide his transmission without an official transmission from Colby to hide it under.
What little official traffic went in and out of the station now went via moving ships in space. Their news came audio-only, or with black and white video at the most. Personal mail was totally cut off. And in the attack on the probe, they’d lost one of their last transmission masts. Though a crew was working on reconstructing it from the debris, there was little hope it would last long. The land line to Luna Station had been cut and repaired, debugged and retapped so many times nobody trusted it.
During one of the interminable committee meetings on the subject, Titus brought up one of his earliest suggestions. “We could use the Eighth to guide an unmanned supply ship in to a hard landing out on the mare, then go out and truck the supplies back. It’s dangerous, but it could be done.”
They kicked the idea around, and in the end decided that though it was technically feasible, the military types wouldn’t go for it because of the danger of interception. “The blockaders need supplies, too. They’ve been getting most of theirs by stealing ours. If they heard us pulling a supply vessel in, they’d just outshout us and bring the supplies to their doorstep. Or if we kept control and landed it, they’d be there first. It’d be hand-to-hand combat for possession. Are we ready for that?”
Colby decided they weren’t and tabled the idea. But it was only two days later when she called Titus into her office, wrapped the place in security shielding, and told him, “This is for your ears only, a job for your hands only. You were chosen out of your whole department because you’re the only one whose background check shows no ties with secessionist countries. Do I have your word you won’t confide in a soul?”
Mystified, he nodded. Background check!? Oh, Connie, sometimes you’re too thorough. “Darrell Raaj” had relatives in every one of the seceding nations. Titus kept his lips from twisting at the irony. “I take security seriously.”
“The secessionists have Goddard. They destroyed, captured, or crippled the other installations that can do these computations. Your computer is the last fully operational, wholly trustworthy, completely secure facility we have capable of this kind of precision.”
“What do you want me to calculate? Shimon-”
“No! You must do this with your own hands and wipe out all trace of its having been done. You must say not one word to anyone. All our lives may depend on it.” Titus saw the circles under her eyes, the aching fatigue dragging her down. “Besides, the whole thing was your idea to begin with.”
“My idea? I don’t understand.”
“When our first supply ships were hit by the blockade, you suggested unmanned ships, and you’ve been pushing for it ever since. I passed your idea on, but I thought it had been discarded. Only it hasn’t.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist and ironed the frown off her face. “World Sovereignties is losing this war, Titus. We’ve lost so many computers we can’t fly orbital missions properly, which is why the blockade is nearly impenetrable. We can’t threaten them with the probe anymore. H’lim is doing all he can to supply us with proof of his value, but it will all be for nothing if the station dies.
“We need supplies, Titus. I haven’t let people know just how desperate we are, but I’m telling you. This is our last chance. This consignment must arrive or we’ll all die out here. And everything depends on you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Cargotainers, not ships-unmanned missiles, launched from Earth’s surface and aimed at us. If they hit us, they’ll act like bombs and will destroy the station. If they land close, but not on us, the W. S. will win the war because the secessionists are at the end of their resources, despite their victories. You can do it, Titus. It’s an elementary ballistics problem. The ”tainers will have simple correction jets for use in space, to compensate for unpredictable atmospheric effects on launch. They’ll be controlled from here by the Eighth Array.“
It was a simple problem. He had the programs. “I’ll need data-mass.”
She clapped a cassette onto the desk before her. “It’s all here. The timing-everything.”
He took it, hand trembling as he realized Connie would probably have blood aboard for him. By now, she had to be inside their security. He had been vomiting up the orl blood so violently, he’d begun to think seriously of accepting Inea’s offer of blood, which she repeated every time he had trouble. He gripped the data cassette in both hands and told Colby, “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”