He turned to see one of his former students, a sophomore, he thought, offering him a friendly wave as she walked into the Baker Science building. He returned the gesture with a genuine smile but continued to his destination without another thought. She wouldn’t feel slighted by his response. It was just his way.
He turned into his building at the southeast corner of Dexter Lawn and took the stairs down to his basement office. Most of those who had shared the level with him were either away on sabbatical or had moved to more comfortable spaces with windows that looked out on the beautiful campus. But David never saw the need because he spent so little time there.
He unlocked his office door and reached in to flip on the light before stepping inside. He didn’t bother locking the door behind him and walked across to his desk, where he sat down in the uncomfortable office chair and turned on his computer monitor. As expected, the results were waiting for him, and he quickly scanned through the program’s output, looking for an obvious reason why the first iteration had failed.
“Ahhh… there you are.”
He saw it almost right away and chastised himself for missing something so painfully obvious. He had designed the weapon to target the JSF’s Autonomic Logistics Information System, known as ALIS, the first-generation cloud-based information exchange that was designed to allow the jet to transmit performance data back to those who maintained it. But after fielding several iterations of the flailing system, the US military had adopted ODIN, the Operational Data Integrated Network.
The results from the previous night’s mission showed that the waveforms still targeted much of the older system’s architecture and hadn’t been adapted for its replacement. Of course, he should have predicted that, but with the pace at which the Navy and Marine Corps upgraded their fleets, he didn’t see how he could have known which environment they were operating in. But with this latest waveform, he was certain they would be able to complete their mission.
He packaged the results in an encrypted compressed file and transferred it to a device he kept locked in his drawer. It wasn’t one the university had provided, but it also wouldn’t draw too much attention since the faculty often worked on experiments in their free time. The Ministry had provided the device to him for the sole purpose of transmitting the software update to a dedicated satellite in geosynchronous Earth orbit where it would broadcast to the weapon’s operators.
Once the software package had been uploaded to the device, David shut down his computer and locked up his office. It was a short walk to the Engineering building, where he had access to the Cal Poly CubeSat Lab that had been established over the last several years to develop a complete X-band transceiver to support deep space missions. The device the Ministry had provided him integrated seamlessly into the student project and allowed him to transmit his software updates without even leaving campus.
David ascended from the basement and stepped once more into the fresh air, feeling instantly rejuvenated by the sunlight. Even with his budding excitement, his gait was still relaxed and measured as he walked across the courtyard into the Engineering building. Within ten minutes, his software patch would be uploaded, and his role in the operation would be over. It deserved a celebration, and he decided on a bike ride around campus to commemorate the occasion.
Colt sat in the back of the C-2 Greyhound and blinked his eyes against the stinging jet exhaust as it wafted over him. The cargo plane’s upgraded eight-bladed propellers spun in violent arcs on either side of the fuselage in preparation for the flight deck crew to break them down for taxi to the catapult after the event’s fighters launched. Through the open hatch at the rear, Colt saw the air wing’s Super Hornets and Joint Strike Fighters moving under the guidance of plane directors, and he felt a pang of disappointment.
Fighter pilots belonged strapped into ejection seats, not forced to sit facing backward in a cargo plane. He gave a little shake of his head to clear away the negative thoughts, then froze when he saw a sailor in a white float coat leading another passenger onto the COD. She looked odd wearing jeans and a red hoodie with an olive drab horse collar flotation device around her neck and ill-fitting cranial and goggles over her long, black hair.
His heart raced with fear as he wondered if she had come to arrest him for taking the maintenance data without permission. It wasn’t exactly classified but was sensitive enough that he knew he would be treated the same as if it had been. But other than Smitty and the Marines in maintenance control, nobody knew he had it; certainly, nobody who could have tipped off the NCIS with enough time to send an agent out to the boat.
