Month: December 2020

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Narrative

Finding a Way to Fix It

Normally Lou Corlin did his troubleshooting in the room right behind IT’s hardware help desk. He wasn’t an actual bench tech, although he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d get tabbed to train for it. But today he’d gotten nabbed and brought down to work on some equipment deeper in the IT department, where only authorized people were supposed to be going.

At least he was working directly under one of the senior repair techs, which meant getting told stuff like “hold this wire” or “hand me the #0.0 Torx screwdriver.” Stuff that was well within his present capabilities, even if he’d rather be doing any of several other tasks up front.

But he’d been the one called down here, probably because they knew a Chaffee wouldn’t argue or give them any static. He recalled Juss Forsythe telling him about being given the task of sorting out an entire tool kit that had been returned from an EVA dumped into three buckets coated in moondust. Juss was pretty sure Ken had given him that task for pretty much the same reason: he was an agreeable sort of guy who would do the job and do it right.

They were just winding up whatever they were supposed to be accomplishing and closing the machine back up for tests when Steffi Roderick walked in. “Looks like you’re coming right along there. At least we’re not trying to repair a forty-year-old line printer that’s been out of production so long you can’t even find spares.”

Before he could even consider whether he might be speaking out of turn, Lou said, “That sounds like an interesting one.”

“Oh yes, it was interesting all right, in the sense of the proverbial curse.” Steffi’s mouth quirked into a wry grin. “I was a junior by that time, and I was working in the computer rooms. We all wondered why Purdue was still running that thing, considering this was well before eBay, so you couldn’t just do a quick search and find a used part someone halfway across the country was selling. But that thing was still printing up jobs for several of the mainframes, which was where a lot of the science and engineering stuff was being done. And that meant we’d have some senior professors seriously unhappy with us when they’d come in and discover their printouts weren’t available because the line printer was down again.

“I can imagine. I’ve had to deal with people from the science departments here when their equipment was down. Some of them can be really, really cranky, especially when you tell them it’s going to take a few days and they’re trying to beat a deadline on paper submissions for a big conference.”

“Oh, yeah. If anything, it was even worse, because they sort of understood when their equipment wasn’t working properly, but they expected the university’s stuff to just work. The last year I was working there, we were getting pretty creative working out solutions to hold it together and coax a little more work out of it. A couple years later, someone told me that they got rid of it right after I graduated.”

“Figures. Just figures.”

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Narrative

Evaluating the Data

By the time Cather Hargreaves got home for the evening, he was exhausted. Which was strange, since Grissom City was extraordinarily quiet right now, with all the tourists evacuated, and movement between sectors being kept at a minimum for safety reasons. He’d spent most of his workday sitting at his desk, going over reports or talking to security personnel elsewhere. Things had even been so boring for a while that he’d decided to get some extra exercise in and pulled out a set of resistance springs.

When he opened the door to their apartment, he found Toni hunched over her laptop, examining data. Best to tread lightly as he walked over to see what she was doing. At least the Moon’s lighter gravity helped with that.

What he saw was completely different that the sort of thing he was used to. Along the left side of the screen, one window had very dense data that had a lot of IP octets in it. The rest of the screen was occupied by some kind of visual presentation. Not exactly a map, but some kind of graphic.

Toni looked up from her work. “Steffi wanted me to take a look at Internet connectivity and how it correlated with other indicators of strain on the infrastructure as a result of the pandemic. I sent her some initial data, but what I’m finding interesting is how it changes over time. In particular, which nodes are staying down, and which are coming back up. And how long it takes before a given node is brought back up.”

Cather considered the possible implications. Not just the obvious security issues, but broader ones. “Which would give you at least some idea of whether a given area is losing a lot of their technical people to this pandemic.”

“And how comfortable people in any given area are about doing their own work on equipment. I mean, there are some places where a hotel desk clerk or an administrative assistant in an office isn’t even allowed to reboot a router or WiFi hotspot that’s gotten wedged. No, they have to get the official network technician to come up and flip the switch, and if that person can’t be found, the network remains unavailable.”

Cather recognized Toni’s tendency to be cavalier about formal rules. “And there may be good reasons for restrictions like that–“

“In a hospital or a secure military installation, sure. But I’m talking your typical business setup, where you’ve got a router perched on top of a file cabinet or behind a desk, wherever it’s closest to the cable or phone line. It says a lot about a culture, whether people who aren’t technical specialists feel comfortable about working on equipment.”

Cather recalled a story his ur-brother had told him when he was young. “Which was why American military units have been so flexible. Every soldier has enough experience as a shade-tree mechanic to do at least some basic repairs on a jeep or a truck.”

“Exactly. A lot of the nodes that are bouncing right back up are in the US. But what’s interesting is how it varies within the US. Some regions seem to have a lot more people who feel comfortable doing their own network maintenance. It may also indicate where there are more businesses that are heavily micromanaged, where ordinary workers are strongly discouraged from showing initiative. But I’m thinking that this data may be very predictive of how well different regions recover once this pandemic finally burns itself out.”

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Narrative

Assessing the Damage

Steffi Roderick wasn’t sure when exactly she started becoming alarmed about the reports coming in from Earth — or the lack of reports from some areas. Not just the news reports, or the various confidential reports from various government agencies, but the reports that were logged on the various network devices in the process of managing the flow of information on the Internet.

Dropped packets were such a common phenomenon that it was hardly worth the bother to log them. Especially on radio links, there were so many forms of interference that you just built a certain amount of capacity into your systems to resend dropped packets.

Of more concern were the logs of e-mail bounces, 404 errors on websites and the like. You always had a certain amount, although a lot less than when she’d been working in one of Purdue’s computer rooms. Back in those days, almost every e-mail provider and webhosting service had hard limits on the resources you could use. She still remembered what a big thing it had been when several of the big commercial e-mail providers had upped their mailbox limits from 10 megabytes to 100. Suddenly she wasn’t constantly dealing with kids all upset because important e-mails kept bouncing.

And now she was getting more failure messages in a day than she typically got in a month. Some of it was mailboxes or URLs not responding, but an astonishing amount of those messages were one or another version on “too many hops.” Which meant that the routers were having a lot more trouble making connections, to the point they hit limits that were intended to prevent infinite loops.

Yes, a lot of them were in countries where Internet connectivity had always been thin on the ground. But it wasn’t just the remote village where Internet connectivity meant the bus that came through every day, which had a WiFi hotspot and some basic store-and-forward capacity, or maybe even actual broadband equipment to provide a brief moment of live Internet. No, some of these problems were cropping up in areas where industrial civilization was old. Parts of Europe, for instance.

So she’d contacted Toni Hargreaves. They’d talked about the possibilities, and worked out a way to do an assessment of connectivity issues in the global Internet.

The data, both visual and numerical, that Toni had just sent over was not reassuring. Yes, the Internet was continuing to route around damage — it was originally designed to degrade gracefully and maintain as much connectivity as possible in the case of a nuclear war between the US and the old Soviet Union — but there was an awful lot of damage out there. Just what was going on that it had become that severe?

Was the toll of the diablovirus bad enough that there weren’t enough technical people to maintain the Internet backbone in some areas? Or were other things going on that she wasn’t hearing about, that were being brushed under the rug, even forcibly censored. She’d heard rumors of fighting over food, over medicines, over gasoline, but so far she’d never gotten any definite reports — and no, she didn’t consider fragmentary video from Third World countries to be definite reports.

Which meant she now needed to give some really hard consideration to finding out just what the situation was on the ground. Who could she even contact, who would be able to give her straight answers if the government were putting a cone of silence on things?

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Narrative

A Quick Visit

Things had gone more smoothly than usual this morning, and Lou Corlin got down to the station with almost half an hour to spare. Since there wasn’t really any use sitting around the front office waiting for Brenda to wind up her air shift, he decided to drop in on an old friend in the robotics shop.

Spencer Dawes was hard at work on a basic robotic arm, small enough that it could be brought down here instead of needing to be repaired in situ. Parts were arranged across the workbench, presumably in the order they had been removed.

But Ken Redmond was always adamant about keeping an orderly workspace as the best way of avoiding stupid mistakes. More than once the Chief of Engineering had bawled people out for returning tool boxes in disarray, especially if they also needed cleaning.

Of course he had good reason to, especially with the team that brought their tools back after an EVA in three buckets and coated with moondust. That stuff’s dangerous.

As Lou approached, Spence looked up from his work. “What brings you down here so early?”

“Just one of those days when things actually go right for a change. Hit every airlock when it was ready, that sort of thing.” Lou made a point of looking at the clock on the far wall. “So I figured I’d see how things are going down here.”

“Pretty well, all things told. How much are you doing on the programming side of things any more?”

“Not as much as I’d really like, but right now Steffi’s got me doing hardware troubleshooting for help desk. It’s always interesting, mostly because of how we’re having to keep stuff running that we’d just replace if things were more normal.”

“Tell me about it.” Spence gestured to the disassembled robot. “I’ve got half a dozen pieces that would normally be replaced, but we have only so many spares, so it’s going to be a repair job.” He paused, then looked over his shoulder in the direction of the Engineering office. “By the way, I hear Ken Redmond’s getting the new main board ready to be installed at the station.”

“Then I’d better get over there, just in case he wants me helping.”

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Narrative

Dance of Avoidance

At first Autumn Belfontaine wasn’t sure whether Brenda Redmond was avoiding her, or if it was just her imagination. By the second newscast, she was certain of it.

Yes, Brenda was unfailingly polite and professional in her every interaction. But there was also a certain closedness about her manner that made it clear that no, she wasn’t looking for casual conversation.

And just yesterday she specifically wanted to talk to me about what her husband had told her.

Even as Autumn recalled their conversation, she realized that might be the reason Brenda was so tense and closed-in today. Maybe she really wanted to know what Autumn had found out, but didn’t want to ask and put her in an awkward spot.

Having been raised in Minnesota, Autumn could appreciate that reticence. And given what information Brenda had entrusted her with, Autumn could understand the eagerness for news.

Which I don’t have at the moment. Autumn had sent some cautiously worded e-mails and texts to old friends dirtside, but so far she hadn’t gotten any responses. Given the chaotic situation down there, it was quite possible that the recipients simply weren’t able to reply, for any of a various number of reasons.

Especially if someone is descending a cone of silence over the whole affair, whether for opsec reasons or to shield agencies from embarrassment for letting part of Chicago effectively become a miniature failed state.

Sitting at her desk in the newsroom, Autumn considered who else she might be able to ask. There was a certain amount of risk involved in discussing these sorts of things, given that one had to assume that any e-mail or text might be read, any voice communications might be recorded. Although she felt reasonably confident that she was on good terms with command and Security, she certainly didn’t want to do anything that could get Drew Reinholt into trouble. Especially considering that he was over at Slayton Field, and Grissom City’s commandant was tight with the Flannigan Administration.

The door opened and in walked the program director. “Just got some good news from Engineering. They’ve got the main board completely rebuilt, and they’re bringing it over now.”

“That’s wonderful.” Even as the word were out of Autumn’s mouth, she wondered if she would wind up sounding sarcastic instead of excited. “How long has it been now that we’ve been making do with the remote broadcasting setup?”

“Long enough that I’ve stopped wincing every time I hear the DJ’s come on. I’d never realized just how much lower the sound quality was on that thing.”

“And according to what Ken said when this whole thing started, they’ll have to go over it with a fine tooth comb as soon as the new main board is back online. The remote broadcast system was never designed for continuous use, and we don’t want to discover that it needs a major overhaul just when we want to use it for an important event.”

Categories
Narrative

Keeping Mum

All the previous day, Brenda Redmond had waited, wondering when she’d hear anything further from Autumn Belfontaine, but not wanting to ask. As alarmed as Autumn had been about Drew’s news, it did not sound like a good idea to say or do anything that might draw attention to their private meeting.

Equally, she wasn’t sure if it was wise to try to contact Drew to find out if he’d learned anything further. The more she thought about it, the more she could see that satisfying her curiosity wasn’t worth the risk. Especially given that he was stationed over at Slayton Field, and Grissom City was under the command of a man who regarded Captain Waite as being out of line.

The worst problem was how the kids picked up on her tension. She was trying to act as if everything was completely ordinary — as if there’d been such a thing as an ordinary day since this whole mess started — but they’d kept peppering her with a bazillion questions. Not quite what’s going on? but stuff like when they’d get to see Daddy again and why couldn’t they pull up their favorite TV program any more, all stuff they’d asked dozens of times.The answers weren’t changing, and she knew that they weren’t getting any more satisfying for children so young that next week was an eternity away.

Just getting them to bed and quiet had been hard enough that she was exhausted by the time she got to sleep. At least they slept through the night, so she didn’t have to go through endless repetitions of the process.

But all the same, she was glad now that she had dropped them off at their classes and gotten to work. Being a DJ was a high-energy job, but at least it was an adult job, which involved talking to grown-ups at a grown-up level.

And in her case, there was also the chance that Autumn might just have some new information for her. Except she couldn’t be too obvious about hoping. Even when Autumn came in to deliver the morning news reports, Brenda had to act as if everything were normal and unremarkable.

Midway through her air shift, Brenda put up a long set so she could get out for a little stretch. As she was walking down the corridor past the station offices, she heard the programming director talking on the phone. “…can bring it by any time. As long as we’re broadcasting on the location rig, we should be able to install and test without any disruption.”

Dad’s got the new main board finished. It’ll be so good to have it back again.

Except she also knew she couldn’t let on that she had overheard. Heck, she’d probably better show some surprise if her father came over here to supervise the installation.

Categories
Narrative

Catching Up

Now that Ken Redmond had given up on fixing the main board for Shepardsport Pirate Radio and was having his electrical people rebuild it from the ground up, Spruance Del Curtin had some time again. Except he also had a bunch of catching up to do because of the time he’d lost.

The biggest problem was all that data for Dr. Doorne. This was something he couldn’t skate through, or make look done. Every data set needed individual attention, and it all had to be right. Let something slip through, and the heavy iron down at IT might well choke on it — especially if it was a malformed argument, or data incorrectly recorded so that it looked like a command. Of course everything was done on copies, not the original data, but it still wasted time on some of the most powerful — and expensive — computers up here.

So Sprue had decided to come up here early and get started just as soon as he could get into the Astronomy department. It meant having his breakfast sent up here, and he couldn’t hang out with the guys or hit on girls, but at least he was making reasonable headway on clearing the backlog. And even if his scrambled eggs were cold, he could reheat them in the department microwave.

But he was making good headway on the backlog, to the point the end was in sight. Not just the light at the end of the tunnel, which might be an oncoming train, but actually getting the last of those datasets ready for the next step in processing. With a little luck, he might well have them done before he needed to head off for his teaching responsibility.

He was so focused on his work that he almost didn’t notice Dr. Doorne coming into the office, never mind that she was talking on the phone to someone. At least she wasn’t one of those people who considered it an important courtesy for student assistants to rise and greet her when she entered the room. But then she was from somewhere out West — not California, maybe Arizona or Nevada? — and had a laid-back attitude about those kinds of formalities.

On the other hand, he was just as glad he didn’t have to interrupt her phone conversation by formally greeting her. Talk about a double-bind…

Better to just keep busy with the data. Although it was hard not to overhear tantalizing bits and pieces of halfalogue. Something about being in grade school “then,” and about always being ready to help, but not sure how useful something would be right now. Whatever it was, it sounded like it might be interesting, or it might be unutterably boring, depending on what the other person wanted.

Not that it mattered, since he wasn’t part of the conversation, and by lunar social conventions, he wasn’t even supposed to acknowledge the existence of the conversation in his presence. In any case, Dr. Doorne was winding it up.

“Good morning, Mr. Del Curtin.” Was that use of formal address a warning that she was aware he was listening in, even just a little bit? “You’re certainly here early.”

“There was a lot to catch up.” Sprue gestured toward the data on the monitor. “Especially since we’re going to have some extra work down at the station once the rebuilt main board is ready to go in, I wanted to get on top of it.”

“That’s a good idea, because we’ve got a new batch of data coming in, and I’m going to have you heading up a team three other student assistants.”

Wow, that sounds big. Sprue hoped his face didn’t betray his astonishment at so much responsibility, so fast. He was a Shep, and it was important to maintain that Shep cool. “Thanks, Dr. Doorne. I’m glad you have confidence in me.”

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Document

The Officers’ Wives’ Club

Even before Roy and I became engaged, I had some awareness of what being a Navy officer’s wife entailed. Of course a good bit of it was dated, from reading about the early astronauts and their families, along with a ton of historical fiction set in World War II. So by the time we got married and headed off to Pensacola for his flight training, a lot of the stuff I read about was ancient history. No, I didn’t need calling cards, for the simple reason that formal visits were ancient history. I had some business cards made up when I started looking for freelance assignments, and those worked just fine for what few meet and greets we had down there.

When he got shuffled off into the reserves and put into an airlift squadron, I didn’t think a whole lot about it. He already had his civilian pilot’s license, and it wasn’t that hard to get the necessary jet endorsements to get a job flying for a civilian cargo carrier. In fact, what Roy was flying for them was fundamentally the same airframe, just without the military gear and with corporate livery instead of camo.

Except then the Energy Wars started and his unit got activated. Suddenly I got tossed into a very different situation than what I’d experienced in those last halcyon days of peace. Being based right outside Washington DC had been neat in peacetime, especially going to visit the museums and historic buildings that I’d seen so briefly during the 4H Citizenship Focus course the summer before my last year of high school.

Now we were all too aware that we were in a war zone, that the national capital would be a primary target. Which meant that the military community suddenly became a much larger part of my life.

Sure, I’d met the wife of Roy’s commanding officer when he first reported to his new duty station, so I knew she was an older woman and came from a multi-generation Navy family. But as long as his unit was still on the “one weekend a month and two weeks a year” program, it was pretty much a formality. I saw her a few times at family events for the squadron, but otherwise I had my own life, working for a local silkscreening shop.

Everything changed when Roy’s squadron got their orders to the Middle East. Suddenly I was pulled into the whole officers’ wives’ club thing far more deeply than even at Pensacola. So fast I nearly drowned at first under the rush of expectations.

I do want to make one thing clear: Mrs. Holtz never “wore her husband’s rank” or otherwise usurped authority that was not hers. But she most definitely expected all of use to do our part, and had no qualms about calling us at any hour of the day with a request (which was in effect a command) to go help the family of another member of the unit. There’s the typical “take a casserole over to so-and-so’s house” request, but she’d picked up that I’m an artist, so she didn’t send me a lot of them. My cooking wasn’t bad, but she had enough other women for that job. Instead, I got called on to set up for all the parties. A lot of birthday parties, especially for the younger kids, but we also had parties for the whole squadron’s dependents, especially on holidays.

And she instituted a system of meetings, where we all came over to her house every week to go over things. It wasn’t quite the level of the tea parties and bridge parties I’d read about, with everyone in gloves and those cute little hats you see in the old pictures. We’d dress up a little, but a lot of us wore slacks rather than skirts.

But we were all very definitely aware that we were part of the home front, of the tail that supported our forces on the fighting fronts. It wasn’t just how we’d always start every meeting with the Pledge and the “Star Spangled Banner,” and end them with “God Bless America.” There was an awareness that’s hard to describe, that you really have to experience.

—– Lily Correy, Memories of the Energy Wars, unpublished memoir.

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