“I regret,” said Oyamo, “that I am unable to help you. None of my technicians seems to have the offending computer disk in his possession.”
Tighe thought that Oyamo was choosing his words as carefully as a lawyer speaking into a tape recorder.
“The power-down will have to remain in force until I am certain that the bug will not infect our life-support program,” he replied, equally stiffly.
Oyamo bowed again, nothing more than a dip of his chin, actually. “I understand your concern. However, it would not be advisable to continue the power-down indefinitely, would it?”
“No,” said Tighe, “Certainly not.”
“Therefore, perhaps the best that can be hoped for is the assurance that whoever copied the American files will learn of the virus implanted in them and will refrain from attempting to read the files.”
He’s telling me to go stuff myself, Tighe realized. Very politely, but the message is loud and clear.
“Furthermore,” continued Oyamo, “even if someone should hand you the offending disk, it would be impossible to know if it actually was the one with the copied data on it. Any attempt to read it would cause precisely the disaster you are trying to forestall, would it not?”
He’s got me there, Tighe admitted to himself. “Yes,” he replied aloud. “It would.”
Oyamo’s face betrayed no hint of emotion, not the slightest flicker of triumph or even satisfaction. “Indeed, even if someone did hand you such a disk, there would be no way to know if he had made another copy of it.”
Tighe smiled grimly. “It can’t be copied without activating the bug.”
“Ah so. Of course.”
Out of the corner of his eye Tighe saw Jeffries watching like a spectator at a particularly intense chess game. Behind Oyamo’s thick frame the Japanese technicians huddled together like a bunch of school kids, not daring to move.
After long moments of silence, Tighe finally said, “I guess you’re right. The best we can hope for is that whoever copied the files won’t be foolish enough to try to download them.”
“I will do my best to make certain that everyone is made aware of that fact,” said Oyamo.
“Thank you.” Unconsciously, Tighe made a stiff little bow.
“It is my pleasure to help you, Commander.” Oyamo bowed in return.
“What the hell was that all about?” Jeffries asked once they were back in the connecting tunnel.
Tighe huffed a humorless laugh. “Oyamo just as much as told me that one of his people swiped Nutt’s file, but now that he knows there’s a bug in it, he won’t download the file. At least, not here aboard the station.”
“You’re sure?”
“Nothing’s sure, Jeff.” Tighe could feel a sullen anger welling up inside him as they floated back toward the command module. “Except that we can’t keep the power-down going forever. The bastard’s got me there.”
“Then whoever stole the files is going to carry them home, after all.”
“Right. I hope he chokes on them,” Tighe said with real fervor.
Hisashi Oyamo ran his right hand across his burly chest as he watched the two Americans duck through the hatch and leave Jasmine. His fingers pressed against the computer disk in the breast pocket of his smock.
Typical American impetuousness, he thought. Power-down the entire station! Does the commander truly believe that someone clever enough to break into another scientist’s files would be so stupid as to attempt to access the stolen material while still aboard the station, where anyone might catch him simply by monitoring the computers?
Still, Oyamo had not expected the files to be bugged. It was kind of the commander to inform me of that fact, he said to himself. It would have caused great unhappiness in Tokyo if one of our mainframes were ruined by the Yankee virus.
Turning back to his technicians, he barked an order. They sprang into instant activity.
Oyamo nodded to himself. It is well. What we cannot buy from the money-mad Americans or the bickering Europeans we can steal. The warrior uses whatever means come to hand; there is no shame in seizing opportunity. Japan’s destiny is to lead the world out of the morass these Westerners have created. It is the duty of every Japanese to use every atom of his strength and intelligence toward that goal.
Dan Tighe shut down his communications console after completing his official report to Tom Henderson at ground control in Houston. The time was 1130 hours, CDT. Three hours of emergency power-down and twenty minutes’ explanation to the Earthside brass. He hoped the rest of the day would be less eventful.
Henderson had been just as unhappy as Tighe about the situation.
“You mean whoever stole the data still has the disk? With the bug in it?”
Tighe had nodded sourly. “Not much more I can do about it, Tom. Can’t keep the station powered down forever.”
“Yeah, I know, but…”
“Whoever’s got the disk knows that if he tries to run it he’s going to jam the mainframe.”
Henderson had been silent for a moment. Then, “Better pop an unscheduled CERV test.”
“Right. Good idea.” But Tighe pictured in his mind the bitching the scientists would do if he called a surprise emergency evacuation drill on top of the power-down.
Tighe let his feet slide out of the restraining loops and floated toward the ceiling of his cubbyhole office. The bonsai bird circled on its tether in an eddy of air. Tighe noticed a twig springing out from the bird’s belly. He pulled the bird to the floor, secured himself, and carefully snipped the offending twig with a pair of shears from his toiletry compartment. He had requisitioned tiny scissors, the kind suitable for trimming a mustache or beard. But the cretin in the Trikon supply depot ground-side had sent him heavy-duty shears. His bonsai bird hadn’t suffered from an errant snip. Not yet, anyway.
There was a knock on the bulkhead.
“Just a minute,” said Tighe. He inspected the bird carefully, then nudged it back toward the ceiling.
Kurt Jaeckle slid the folding door back. The office was not big enough for two people to fit comfortably, so he hovered in the doorway.
“I want to apologize for my behavior in the connecting tunnel,” he said.
“Sure you do. That’s exactly what Jeffries told me you intended.”
“I was angry.”
“A lot of people were angry,” said Tighe. “I would have been angry if I’d had time to think about it. Bugs on a space station, as dependent as we are on computers. Some people are crazy.”
“That’s part of the reason I’m here. I think we need a set of ground rules for emergencies.”
“We have ’em. I followed them.”
“Then we should rethink them. Abruptly shutting down power to the science modules has its consequences.”
“I know all about them,” said Tighe. “Unfortunately, the only way to cut off the computer terminals from the mainframe was to go to auxiliary power.”
“That is entirely my point,” Jaeckle said slowly, carefully. He seemed to be planning each word as he spoke. “Your only move was to disconnect the terminals which, through no fault of your own, necessarily cut off power to the science modules. That being the case, you should have warned us.”
“There was no time for any warnings.”
“Dr. Ramsanjawi informed me that the download occurred at two A.M. and was discovered at eight. That’s six hours, Dan,” said Jaeckle.
“Dr. Ramsanjawi, huh?” said Tighe. It wasn’t the first time that Jaeckle had proposed a novel way of running the station after consulting with the Indian scientist.
“We both decided that an extra few minutes would not have been critical. It would have saved a month’s work in his case and my television broadcast.”
“Your goddamn show,” muttered Tighe.
Jaeckle put on a diplomatic smile. It made his gaunt, high-domed face look almost like a death’s skull. “Look, Dan. I know you were dead set against the Mars module becoming a part of the station. And I know you hate the idea of my TV broadcasts.”