Harrigan was sure Compton was nervous about the whole situation. Despite the admiral’s good poker face, that much had been obvious. There weren’t a lot of reasons to send a battlefleet to deal with planetary unrest, and none of the plausible ones would be very palatable to Compton. At the very least, they were going there to intimidate the colonists, which is not something Terrance Compton was likely to be comfortable doing. It was even possible they’d be ordered to bombard civilian targets. The fleet had enough firepower to lay waste to the entire planet, so the threat to the rebels was very real. Harrigan couldn’t quite imagine Compton attacking targets on the planet, but he couldn’t see him disobeying Garret’s orders either.
If Compton did disregard Garret’s directive and refused to obey the governor, that’s when Harrigan’s orders would come into play. Carrying them out might be difficult, and it would require careful planning - which was why he was risking this meeting. It was difficult to get all 8 of his co-conspirators together between duty periods, but he needed everyone to be well-briefed and fully onboard with the plan. There was no room for error. If they succeeded, Compton would be in the brig…or dead. If they failed he’d probably space them all as mutineers.
“Have a seat, Elizabeth.” Compton motioned to one of the chairs facing his desk. He forced a bit of a smile for her, but he doubted it hid his mood very well.
“I could tell it was important, so I rushed right up.” Compton hadn’t said what he wanted; he’d just asked her to stop by. He’d tried to sound normal and relaxed when he called…just in case anyone was listening. Elizabeth, at least, had heard right through it. He hoped someone who didn’t know him as well would have been better fooled. “I didn’t even take time to change. This is really no way to go see the admiral.” She had been off duty, about to go work out. She was wearing a pair of gray off-duty fatigues and a T-shirt with a small “Bunker Hill” patch. Her long brown hair was tied back in a loose ponytail.
“You’re very perceptive. I was trying to sound like business as usual.”
She flashed him back a smile; hers too was forced through a veneer of concern. If Terrance Compton was rattled about something, she figured it was probably worthy of being downright terrified. “Oh, I don’t think anyone else would have noticed. But I know you pretty well.”
There was a chemistry between the two, a close friendship at the very least, and definitely the potential for more. Neither of them would explore that while they served together, but perhaps someday. For now, they made an excellent team.
“I think we have a serious problem.” All traces of a smile were gone now. “And worse, I’m not sure exactly what it is.”
“That’s suitably cryptic.” She wriggled around in the chair, trying to get comfortable. She’d been badly wounded early in the war, at the First Battle of Algol. The doctors had put her back together and they swore she was as good as new. Everything worked fine, but she still had some pain from time to time, especially in seats that were too rigid or upright. She loved her ship, every centimeter of it, but she’d be damned if it didn’t have some of the most uncomfortable chairs in the fleet. “Care to elaborate?”
He leaned back in his chair – which was a bit plusher than the guest chairs, but still not terribly comfortable – and exhaled slowly, trying to decide where to begin. “You know I have been concerned about these orders. We can say whatever we want, but there is no external threat to Columbia, no danger to any supply ships or convoys. The only reason for a battlefleet to go there is to threaten the population.” He paused, his expression turning sad. “Or actually attack civilian targets.”
She was watching him, listening intently, and when he paused she said, “Yes. I’ve been thinking the same thing, of course. And wondering what you would do.” She hesitated, trying to decide how much to say. “I have a pretty good idea that you’re not going to start dropping nukes on civilians, even if Augustus Garret orders you to do it.”
“I’ve known Augustus since the Academy. He’s even less likely than me to bomb civilians.” He looked up at her and she could see in his eyes how deeply troubled he was. “Garret’s in some kind of trouble. I don’t know what it is, but I have a feeling it’s bad.” His voice was getting darker, grimmer. “Really bad.”
She sat quietly, listening. He was upset and confused, that much was obvious. Admiral Terrance Compton had no idea what to do, probably for the first time in his life. She was going to say something, but decided to wait and see what else he said.
“I verified the original order. It was Priority One, and the DNA encoding checked out. I don’t know how it could have been faked.” He slid his hand back through his black and gray hair as he spoke. “Then I found something – actually Joker did – in a batch of orders and directives.”
“Found something?”
“Yes. There was a file hidden in a routine report.” His hands moved to the touchscreen on his desk. “It took Joker almost a full day to decrypt it.” His fingers moved over the ‘pad, activating the large viewscreen on the wall, displaying a copy of the report they were discussing. “It was sent by Garret’s AI.”
“By his AI?” Elizabeth looked up, a startled expression on her face. She’d been wondering what Compton had to tell her from the instant he called, but this was certainly not what she expected. “You mean it sent a message independently? On its own?”
“Yes, it appears that Nelson – that’s Garret’s AI – sent the message himself. Listen.” He punched a key on his desk.
“Admiral Compton, this is Nelson, Admiral Garret’s virtual assistant.” The voice was Joker’s – Nelson hadn’t wasted storage space sending its voice patterns along with the file. “As I send this message I am under assault from a malicious program designed to erase my systems and backups. It is a highly sophisticated virus, and I have determined I will be unable to prevent it from completing its operation.”
Elizabeth looked up, the expression on her face pained, poignant. It was like reading the last journal entry of a doomed man. Nelson was just code and programmed routines, but the quasi-sentient AIs were more than that too. Not human, but not entirely non-human either.
“Given the limited amount of time I have to act, I have determined that the course of action with the highest probability of success is to send you a hidden message, a warning.” It was odd listening to Joker’s voice speaking unemotionally, relaying what were, in effect, Nelson’s last words.
“I was in the process of reviewing Admiral Garret’s orders and directives sent out over the past year, and I have determined that a significant percentage of those dispatched within the last 60 days were altered after the admiral approved them. I do not know how many were tampered with in total nor how the modifications were made. Unfortunately, I was not able to complete the analysis. Indeed, I assign an 88% probability that it was my review that triggered the attack on me.
“Clearly, Admiral Garret is in extreme jeopardy, though I have insufficient data to develop a meaningful hypothesis regarding specifics. Any of his orders, particularly those sent within the last 60 Earth days, must be considered suspect, and appropriate caution and judgment must be applied when executing these commands…or choosing not to obey them.”