the taller one, Armond, asked cautiously. “Even military ones?”
“Even military ones,” Charles confirmed. “Provided, of course, that you can get the sheath wrapped around the transmission line leading from the actual sensor to the computer or viewscreen.”
“If you’ll forgive me, this seems just a little too easy,” the shorter one, Miklos, said, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
But only a hint. Armond was the head of one of the Peeps’ most distinguished electronics firms, and Miklos was his chief tech, and Citizen Secretaries Rob Pierre and Oscar Saint-Just were breathing down their necks in the most ominous possible way. The Manticoran technological edge was slowly but steadily grinding away the Peep’s numerical advantage, and Haven desperately needed something to turn that around. A fresh infusion of Solly technology would be just what the doctor ordered.
And if Armond and Miklos could buy it under the table and pass it off to Pierre and Saint-Just as their own creation, so much the better.
“Of course it’s easy,” Charles explained, adjusting the level of patience in his voice to match the level of suspicion in Miklos’s. “The hard part is never the tech, but the execution. But as I say, if you can get the Redactor in place, you can put basically anything you want on the other person’s screen.”
“Including nothing?” Armond asked.
“Including nothing,” Charles assured him. “Your attacking ship can come right into energy range, and they’ll never even see it.”
Armond nodded, running his finger gently across the smooth plastic of the sample Redactor that Charles had brought to this particular session of show-and-tell. “A cloak of invisibility,” the Peep murmured.
“Or a hundred cloaks,” Charles said. “You can actually program the Redactor to erase everything within sensor range that’s running a PRN transponder.”
“Yes, but a hundred of them?” Miklos asked, frowning.
Charles shrugged. A hundred ships really was more than the Redactor could handle. But if he’d learned anything over the years, it was to never backtrack. “Or even more,” he said. “It all depends on how much money you’re willing to spend.” He gestured toward the device on the table. “Now, this model only has enough processing power to erase one or maybe two ships. But I know where I can get my hands on advanced models that can handle up to probably even two hundred.”
“Those are much larger, I assume,” Miklos said. Beside him, Armond pulled out his phone and quietly answered it.
“Not as much as you might think,” Charles said. “Our processors and storage are far more compact than anything you’re likely to find around here.” He gave the other a faintly mocking smile. “Even on Manticore,” he added.
Miklos’s expression changed subtly, and Charles knew that he had them. The Manties were the bugaboo in this part of the galaxy, respected or feared by pretty much everyone around them. And rightfully so. Their tech, particularly their military tech, was head and shoulders above anything else that could be had out here. Not as good as Solly stuff, of course, but the League was highly resistant to letting their tech leak out into these backwater areas.
Which was where people like Charles came in.
“Yeah, well, the Manties aren’t miracle workers,” Miklos said sourly as he picked up the general spec sheet again and began skimming down it. “Where exactly is the memory listing—?”
“Hell and fury,” Armond cut him off as he slammed down his phone and swiveled in his chair. Grabbing the remote, he tagged the big presentation video screen that took up most of the room’s east wall.
“What’s the matter?” Miklos demanded.
“Watch,” Armond growled.
The screen came to life, showing a scene from somewhere on Manticore. In the center, amid an array of flags and other Manty governmental and military embellishments, was a podium.
And standing at the
“Even military ones,” Charles confirmed. “Provided, of course, that you can get the sheath wrapped around the transmission line leading from the actual sensor to the computer or viewscreen.”
“If you’ll forgive me, this seems just a little too easy,” the shorter one, Miklos, said, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
But only a hint. Armond was the head of one of the Peeps’ most distinguished electronics firms, and Miklos was his chief tech, and Citizen Secretaries Rob Pierre and Oscar Saint-Just were breathing down their necks in the most ominous possible way. The Manticoran technological edge was slowly but steadily grinding away the Peep’s numerical advantage, and Haven desperately needed something to turn that around. A fresh infusion of Solly technology would be just what the doctor ordered.
And if Armond and Miklos could buy it under the table and pass it off to Pierre and Saint-Just as their own creation, so much the better.
“Of course it’s easy,” Charles explained, adjusting the level of patience in his voice to match the level of suspicion in Miklos’s. “The hard part is never the tech, but the execution. But as I say, if you can get the Redactor in place, you can put basically anything you want on the other person’s screen.”
“Including nothing?” Armond asked.
“Including nothing,” Charles assured him. “Your attacking ship can come right into energy range, and they’ll never even see it.”
Armond nodded, running his finger gently across the smooth plastic of the sample Redactor that Charles had brought to this particular session of show-and-tell. “A cloak of invisibility,” the Peep murmured.
“Or a hundred cloaks,” Charles said. “You can actually program the Redactor to erase everything within sensor range that’s running a PRN transponder.”
“Yes, but a hundred of them?” Miklos asked, frowning.
Charles shrugged. A hundred ships really was more than the Redactor could handle. But if he’d learned anything over the years, it was to never backtrack. “Or even more,” he said. “It all depends on how much money you’re willing to spend.” He gestured toward the device on the table. “Now, this model only has enough processing power to erase one or maybe two ships. But I know where I can get my hands on advanced models that can handle up to probably even two hundred.”
“Those are much larger, I assume,” Miklos said. Beside him, Armond pulled out his phone and quietly answered it.
“Not as much as you might think,” Charles said. “Our processors and storage are far more compact than anything you’re likely to find around here.” He gave the other a faintly mocking smile. “Even on Manticore,” he added.
Miklos’s expression changed subtly, and Charles knew that he had them. The Manties were the bugaboo in this part of the galaxy, respected or feared by pretty much everyone around them. And rightfully so. Their tech, particularly their military tech, was head and shoulders above anything else that could be had out here. Not as good as Solly stuff, of course, but the League was highly resistant to letting their tech leak out into these backwater areas.
Which was where people like Charles came in.
“Yeah, well, the Manties aren’t miracle workers,” Miklos said sourly as he picked up the general spec sheet again and began skimming down it. “Where exactly is the memory listing—?”
“Hell and fury,” Armond cut him off as he slammed down his phone and swiveled in his chair. Grabbing the remote, he tagged the big presentation video screen that took up most of the room’s east wall.
“What’s the matter?” Miklos demanded.
“Watch,” Armond growled.
The screen came to life, showing a scene from somewhere on Manticore. In the center, amid an array of flags and other Manty governmental and military embellishments, was a podium.
And standing at the
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