InterstellarNet: Origins by Edward M. Lerner Page A
Authors: Edward M. Lerner
Tags: Science-Fiction, Sci-Fi
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the top of Arlen’s desk. The call window on Arlen’s PDA froze. “End of transmission.”
“Save that call,” Justin ordered his PDA. “Every last bit of it. And change your default setting for directory lookup to a public server.”
“Will that matter?” Arlen’s eyes were glued to Michael’s PDA, on whose tiny screen Justin Matthews stared into space in shock and disbelief. Creaking noises from the PDA were synchronized with Justin’s squirming in his leather chair.
“Not really.” Zhang reclaimed his PDA, insulted by the question. “Matthews is obviously without a clue that his office and home are bugged.”
■□■
What the hell was going on?
Justin sat tipped back in a kitchen chair, his shoulders propped against a dinette wall. The call from his boss and the Security guy made less sense each time he replayed it. All that he had gained from the final few viewings, as nuances of posture, concentration, and very controlled anger had penetrated, was a scarier and scarier impression of Zhang. A very chilling fellow.
Technomics was a difficult topic; xenotechnomics was even tougher. Mastering the subject, however, had ingrained a useful skill in Justin. When he couldn’t make sense of something, he knew to mentally step back and look at the bigger picture.
Or maybe that discipline was Dad’s doing. He knew what Dad would say.
So what was the bigger picture here? TSC had retained Alicia to identify the mysterious purchaser of what Justin now knew were ultrasensitive radio receivers, items a well-funded radio astronomer might buy. She had traced the sale to ISI, whether or not she recognized the fact, although his appointment as executor and the current ISI org chart in her archive suggested that she had. She was dead in what might truly be an accident—joyriding with a car’s automatics turned off was not unheard of—but the timing was suspicious. The subsequent disappearances of her PDA and workstation were certainly suspicious. Then came the apparent theft of her billing records for TSC and ISI, as though to remove any suggestion that she had ever had an involvement with either megacorp. Finally, Zhang’s comments notwithstanding, Justin didn’t accept that ISI would be monitoring every employee for possible access to the TSC ’net site. That meant that Justin personally was under ISI surveillance.
Through metaphorical mists a pattern was emerging, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. Could he seriously contend that ISI, where he had been happily employed since university, was involved in something so nefarious that it would kill to cover its tracks?
He brought the beach snapshot of himself and Alicia into the kitchen. They were a study in contrasts. She was short and wiry, with cascades of brown hair framing a delicate, tanned face. Her dark eyes were intense. He towered over her and was built like a moose by comparison. He was black-haired with pale blue eyes and an open, trusting expression.
Maybe too trusting. Picking up the picture, he told her. “I will get to the bottom of this.”
She wasn’t impressed. Maybe one of the reasons they had become such good friends was that she didn’t impress easily. Most of his college acquaintances had not known how to deal with the near-celebrity of his modestly famous parents or his excess of competence, but Alicia had understood. “Bad luck,” she had once told him. “ Two parents who played key roles in first contact with the Leos. What are you supposed to do for an encore?”
There was never any question that Alicia would be successful, if only in the tight-knit community of hackers: the only group whose opinion seriously mattered to her. She had never approved of his decision to switch majors from computer science to technomics. “You’re on the slippery slope to xenotech, and back into the family’s alien business.” She’d been right about his direction if wrong about his motivation—or, at least, so Justin still
“Save that call,” Justin ordered his PDA. “Every last bit of it. And change your default setting for directory lookup to a public server.”
“Will that matter?” Arlen’s eyes were glued to Michael’s PDA, on whose tiny screen Justin Matthews stared into space in shock and disbelief. Creaking noises from the PDA were synchronized with Justin’s squirming in his leather chair.
“Not really.” Zhang reclaimed his PDA, insulted by the question. “Matthews is obviously without a clue that his office and home are bugged.”
■□■
What the hell was going on?
Justin sat tipped back in a kitchen chair, his shoulders propped against a dinette wall. The call from his boss and the Security guy made less sense each time he replayed it. All that he had gained from the final few viewings, as nuances of posture, concentration, and very controlled anger had penetrated, was a scarier and scarier impression of Zhang. A very chilling fellow.
Technomics was a difficult topic; xenotechnomics was even tougher. Mastering the subject, however, had ingrained a useful skill in Justin. When he couldn’t make sense of something, he knew to mentally step back and look at the bigger picture.
Or maybe that discipline was Dad’s doing. He knew what Dad would say.
So what was the bigger picture here? TSC had retained Alicia to identify the mysterious purchaser of what Justin now knew were ultrasensitive radio receivers, items a well-funded radio astronomer might buy. She had traced the sale to ISI, whether or not she recognized the fact, although his appointment as executor and the current ISI org chart in her archive suggested that she had. She was dead in what might truly be an accident—joyriding with a car’s automatics turned off was not unheard of—but the timing was suspicious. The subsequent disappearances of her PDA and workstation were certainly suspicious. Then came the apparent theft of her billing records for TSC and ISI, as though to remove any suggestion that she had ever had an involvement with either megacorp. Finally, Zhang’s comments notwithstanding, Justin didn’t accept that ISI would be monitoring every employee for possible access to the TSC ’net site. That meant that Justin personally was under ISI surveillance.
Through metaphorical mists a pattern was emerging, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. Could he seriously contend that ISI, where he had been happily employed since university, was involved in something so nefarious that it would kill to cover its tracks?
He brought the beach snapshot of himself and Alicia into the kitchen. They were a study in contrasts. She was short and wiry, with cascades of brown hair framing a delicate, tanned face. Her dark eyes were intense. He towered over her and was built like a moose by comparison. He was black-haired with pale blue eyes and an open, trusting expression.
Maybe too trusting. Picking up the picture, he told her. “I will get to the bottom of this.”
She wasn’t impressed. Maybe one of the reasons they had become such good friends was that she didn’t impress easily. Most of his college acquaintances had not known how to deal with the near-celebrity of his modestly famous parents or his excess of competence, but Alicia had understood. “Bad luck,” she had once told him. “ Two parents who played key roles in first contact with the Leos. What are you supposed to do for an encore?”
There was never any question that Alicia would be successful, if only in the tight-knit community of hackers: the only group whose opinion seriously mattered to her. She had never approved of his decision to switch majors from computer science to technomics. “You’re on the slippery slope to xenotech, and back into the family’s alien business.” She’d been right about his direction if wrong about his motivation—or, at least, so Justin still