Tag: Reginald Waite

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Narrative

Lonely at the Top

In the years since he’d taken command of Shepardsport, Reggie Waite had became reasonably adept with teleconferencing. Not that he’d really gotten used to it, because he still felt a measure of awkwardness whenever it was necessary. But he could handle even an hour-long teleconference with multiple people in different locations and not wind up feeling exhausted.

However, the teleconference he’d just completed had left him feeling far more worn out than usual. Perhaps it was just having to deal with several participants whose native language was not English. Even a slight accent or subtle differences in the ways of signalling when one was finished speaking created far more difficulty in a teleconference than in face-to-face conversation. In fact, sometimes it seemed like having the little image of the person’s face on the screen made it harder than a pure telephone call — and that was in a one-on-one teleconference. Trying to keep track of ten or fifteen faces in tiny little frames on your monitor could be actively painful.

But the real issue right now was the leaden dread that filled these meetings. Day after day, week after week, they had been talking about nothing but the diablovirus and how to keep it away from the lunar settlements. Twice now they’d had terrifying close calls, and there was always that unspoken dread will the next one be found too late?

And now there was the wait for an incoming solar storm, with no certainty that it would be the only one. While the understanding of the Sun’s inner workings had improved greatly in the decades since the Zond 12 disaster, none the least as the result of much better solar observation technology, the Sun still surprised even solar astronomers on a regular basis.

On top of it all, Reggie needed to go straight from this teleconference to the dining commons, where he needed to make a presentation to the entire community. Usually he would have at least a little time to talk privately with Steffi, or with one of the other department heads. But there would be no time for such reflection today.

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Narrative

A Change of Assignment

All the way to the Astronomy Department, Spruance Del Curtin battled a sense of dread. Last night’s confrontation had been unpleasant, particularly since he’d had to choose between discussing how he’d been noticing patterns in the data for this project and admitting that he’d listened in on his boss’s phone conversation with her husband. If he’d thought about the possibility earlier, he could’ve prepared a plausible reason to be using the newsroom computer at that hour. But he’d never expected the commandant and head of IT to pick right then to meet Autumn Belfontaine in the newsroom. And once Captain Waite was bearing down on him, trying to think one up would only ensure he got suspected of lying.

Which meant that now he was going to have to face Dr. Doorne with the admission that he’d allowed his curiosity about the patterns in the data to get the better of him. She’d been quite clear on the importance that he not know what the data represented, so that he could approach it purely as numbers and avoid inserting his own biases into it.

He did not like the thought of being kicked off the project. This was real science, as real and important as his work as a DJ for Shepardsport Pirate Radio. If he’d been able to stay out of trouble, he would’ve had the recommendation of a major figure in the field, someone whose talents and skillsets were sufficiently unusual that it was considered worthwhile to actually bring her up her to do hands-on work with the telescopes, not just handle the data once it got down to Earth.

But there could be no avoiding the issue. Even if Captain Waite hadn’t told her about last night, it was only a matter of time before he did. In the meantime, Sprue needed to be on that data. Worst case, Dr. Doorne would decide those data sets needed to be re-sanitized by someone else. If he didn’t show up at all, there’d be no escaping a serious blot on his permanent record.

As usual, the Astronomy Department was quiet at this hour. But then it was relatively small, since almost all astronomy these days was data. The days of glass photographic plates was long gone — even optical telescopes used imaging technology to digitize the starfields for transmission and analysis. Anyone who was actually up here either was doing essential hands-on work like Dr. Doorne, who was also an electrical engineer, or was married to someone with a Writ of Expulsion against them.

Sprue had expected to find her in her office. Instead, she was in the main office, talking to her son. “Daddy’s going to be OK, Rusty. Now it’s time to go with Miz Lizzy.”

Some times it was hard to remember the kid was only four years old. But kids up here grew up fast. A four-year-0ld was already old enough to help the older kids with simple jobs like wrangling floorbots, and to help teach the twos and threes basic skills.

With her son handed off, Dr. Doorne turned to face Sprue. “Ah, Mr. Del Curtin, we need to talk. Come with me to my office.”

Sprue’s guts clenched, but he kept his face expressionless as he walked beside her. At least this way you get it over and done with.

The computer on which he’d been working for the last several days was now pushed against the wall. He took the indicated seat and prepared for the dressing-down.

But Dr. Doorne didn’t loom over him and yell, just sat down at her desk and looked straight into his eyes. “Captain Waite has told me about your independent investigations. While your initiative would otherwise be commendable, it puts me into an awkward position. Obviously, I can no longer have you doing this job now that you’ve noticed patterns in the data and took it upon yourself to find out what they mean.”

She paused to let him stew. How badly would it hurt him to get dismissed? Would it put his regular work in danger, or his future training units? More importantly, would it imperil his position at Shepardsport Pirate Radio?

Just when he wondered if he was expected to say something on his own behalf, Dr. Doorne’s stern expression softened. “On the other hand, your independent research shows that you are definitely ready to participate in the next stage of this project. I do have two other students of mine beginning the data sanitization and verification process, and they can double-check your work for the last few days just in case your interest in its meaning introduced any unconscious bias.”

By force of will Sprue kept his mouth from falling agape like a fish out of water. He wasn’t being fired, or even disciplined. Instead, he was getting a promotion.

More importantly, why did he have this gut feeling that it was not necessarily a good thing?

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Narrative

A Quick Conference

“Reggie, we’ve got to step on that kid, hard.” Even over the phone, Ken Redmond’s voice had that gruff-Gus growl that brought back nostalgic memories. “I’ve seen this kind of shit again and again. He thinks the rules don’t apply to him.”

“He’s a Shep, Ken.” Reggie Waite didn’t like to belabor the obvious, but he could tell Ken was thinking in terms of the average difficult kid. “Punishing him will only make him focus on avoiding getting caught in the future.”

“And you’re just going to let him break rules and get away with it? What happens when someone gets hurt because of him?”

Reggie could see Ken’s point. The Moon wasn’t a safe place, could never be a safe place — but so were a lot of places on Earth. On the other hand, he was thinking like a Grissom, not a Shepard.

“Ken, I know he works for you down in Engineering. Has he ever broken any rules that have actual safety consequences? As opposed to administrative rules?”

“Goddammit, Reggie, it’s the principle of the thing.” Ken paused, took a deep breath, then started again. “You’re a military man. You understand why the military trains new recruits the way we do in boot camp. It’s not just the specific skills we’re trying to instill in them. It’s the habit of obedience, of attention to detail, of following procedure even when you don’t know why it’s important. That kid’s the very model of the barracks-room lawyer, and if we don’t step on him, hard, we’re going to have no end of trouble with him. And damn likely, half the other Sheps in this place.”

Yes, Ken was riled up. He’d completely forgotten he was talking to a clone of Alan Shepard right now.

But remarking upon that fact wasn’t going to be productive. “But he’s not a recruit at boot camp. Making him do busywork as punishment is just going to reinforce the problem instead of resolving it. And the real problem is that he’s not being challenged. Most of his work is so easy it just occupies his time, not his mind. I’d be ready to bet money that he does absolutely no studying in that stats class he’s taking right now. Just reads through the text, then plugs and chugs on whatever stats package Dr. Doorne’s got them using, and still gets A’s. And how much actual problem-solving is he doing in his work for you, and how much rote work?”

No, Ken didn’t like to have to admit that he’d decided to punish Sprue’s attitude issues by keeping him on very basic work, the stuff that wasn’t done by a robot only because it needed just a little more executive function than could be programmed into one. For most genesets it would have brought about the desired change in attitude, but a Shep would just see it as the boss having it out for him.

“We’re going to have to find something that actually makes him work hard, not just busy. Something that actually makes him have to stretch to meet the mark, instead of just mailing it in. Until then, he’s going to view the rules as a technical challenge instead of boundaries he needs to respect.”

“Reggie, you can’t reward this shit of his. He’s got to be punished.”

No, Ken wasn’t getting it. He was a top-notch engineer, and a great organizer, but he just didn’t get Sheps. “Ken, how about we just plain take him out of Engineering. If he likes playing hacker so much, maybe it’s time we move him to IT. Or if that doesn’t work, I’ll take him on myself.” Although that could be risky, since Sheps tend to set each other off.

Ken grumbled, but he agreed that his approach wasn’t working. Maybe it was time for some kind of interdisciplinary approach — give him work that bridged several different departments. Especially if they could get Dr. Doorne on board, since they might be able to involve whatever project she was having him do on the side.

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Narrative

An Unwelcome Surprise

Spruance Del Curtin was winding up his search when he heard voices in the front office of the radio station. For a moment he wondered if it was just some of the late-night people from Engineering walking past, but no, they’d definitely come in.

And from what he could overhear, they were talking about whatever was going on in Schirrasburg. Yes, that was definitely Autumn Belfontaine. He’d recognize her voice anywhere.

He glanced around the newsroom in search of somewhere to hide, then realized that it would only make him look even more suspicious. Better to just have something innocuous up on the monitor and pretend that he was just preparing for tomorrow’s air shift.

And then the overhead lights came on, catching him completely by surprise. He blinked, his cheeks warming with the embarrassment of being caught by surprise.

“Now this is a surprise.” Reginald Waite looked down at Sprue. “I hadn’t expected you to be putting in extra hours tonight.”

Whatever line he’d been planning to say went straight out of Sprue’s head. He probably could’ve fast-talked his way past anyone else, even Ken Redmond, but Waite knew exactly what buttons to push.

“Just doing some research.” Damn if that didn’t sound defensive.

“Would it have anything to do with your recent communications with Chandler Armitage?” Reggie leaned forward a little. “I’m hearing that you’ve been texting him quite a bit about some data you’ve been working on.”

That rat! Sprue had to fight down an upwelling of incandescent rage at the thought of being betrayed by a brother.

Except Chandler was a Navy officer, an Academy graduate — and thus would have a lot more in common with Reggie. Small wonder he’d decide that the big Shep should know that little brother was nosing around.

“Um, not exactly.” Technically true, since it wasn’t actually part of the data he’d been asking Chandler about, but he would’ve never overheard Dr. Doorne talking to her husband otherwise.

“But it’s still something you’re just a little too curious about.” Reggie’s lips curled upward in a smile that seemed to belong better on a shark. “Very well. Since you seem to be determined to get into matters above your pay grade, you’re going to be accepting the responsibility that comes with that knowledge. I’m officially adding you to this meeting, and we’ll determine how that will change your role here at Shepardsport Pirate Radio.”

Somehow trying to find out what the heck was going on no longer sounded like so much fun. No, it looked like a lot more work, and a lot less he could brag about at the dining commons to impress his buddies.

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Narrative

Of Family and Fear

Steffi Roderick was at the settlement’s small library, talking with one of the resource specialists. Although as an IT specialist, she would normally do her own searches, today she wanted to touch base with someone who would have a different perspective — and some specialized knowledge.

She was just winding up the conversation when she realized that her son had come into the room. Although Howie was staying along the periphery of the room, quietly looking at one of the databases, she could tell he was looking for her. Call it a mother’s intuition.

Finished with her business here, she walked over to him. “Are you looking for someone, Howie?”

As he looked up at her, she was struck afresh by just how much he was looking like his dad as he grew older. Although he’d inherited her red hair, he was definitely showing that long Shepard face, the long-lipped mouth capable of a big grin.

“Just wondering what’s up with Dad. He seemed kinda upset when I saw him.”

“It’s hard to say.” Steffi knew she was temporizing, since she had a good idea of what had probably upset him. “He’s carrying a pretty heavy load right now, and that kind of stress brings out the Icy Commander.”

Sheps all seemed to share their ur-brother’s peculiar temperament, which Big Al’s contemporaries had called “mercurial,” but which she preferred to term bimodal. It alternated between two basic modes, “Smilin’ Al,” a sunny side famous for that big grin, and “The Icy Commander,” grim and always on the verge of flaring that notorious temper that Gordon Cooper had written about.

Right now, Steffi knew that her own people had been entering a lot of dirtside databases, trying to find out just how bad things were going on down there. And while they were working under command authority, it didn’t necessarily mean that the agencies whose systems they’d entered would approve of it.

Ever since the Kitty Hawk Massacre, Reggie had been doing his best to fight this battle as a military officer sworn to “protect and defend the Constitution of the United States of America from all enemies, foreign and domestic.” No matter how carefully he sought to balance things, there would always be those who saw him as a rebel for demanding accountability from the Administration.

Now Shepardsport was beginning to take on local and state agencies who were either grossly incompetent in the handling of the crisis, or were using it as a way to consolidate power and settle old scores. Which may well have just made the settlement and its commandant even more enemies.

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Narrative

What’s So Civil About War Anyway?

The old Guns ‘N Roses song “Civil War” was playing now, just loud enough for Reggie Waite to be aware of it. It brought back memories of the Naval Academy, of his midshipman cruise aboard the old aircraft carrier John F. Kennedy, one of the last conventionally-fueled carriers in the US Fleet. War had been in the air that summer, although everyone had expected it to be a quick dust-up like Grenada back in Reagan’s day, not the long haul the Energy Wars had turned out to be.

It also made him think of his first trip south of the Mason-Dixon Line, of stopping at some little shop and the elderly shopkeeper sharply scolding him, “There was nothing civil about that war.”

Being all of eight years old and under the stern eye of his father, Reggie had held his tongue. But looking back with the perspective of his classes on military history at Annapolis, he now knew that, as such affairs go, the Late Unpleasantness of the 1860’s had actually been quite a civil affair, as compared to the horrors of the Russian Civil Wars — either the 1918 one between the Reds and the Whites, or the Red Resurgeance of the 1980’s — let alone the various uprisings and insurgencies in Africa and other parts of the Third World.

And if the current conflict with the Flannigan Administration was to be termed a civil war, it too was quite low-key. Of course having the two sides be 1.5 light-seconds apart did help keep things from becoming too kinetic, particularly when the dissenters were at the top of the gravity well and the Administration at the bottom.

He was even in contact with his nominal superiors within the space bureaucracy. Take this latest e-mail missive from the NASA Administrator. How often did a separatist leader anywhere else in the world get a sternly-worded letter from the boss, written in a manner that showed the writer clearly expected it to actually mean something?

It might have meant a little more if the new guy in the big chair hadn’t been a political hack whose chief talent seemed to be knowing how to tell Flannigan what he wanted to hear. Reggie had his differences with Aiden McAllister, but at least the man was a veteran astronaut, someone he could respect, not a professional brown-noser.

A brown-noser who was now whining about how Reggie needed to get his IT people back under control, because NASA couldn’t very well have them running around the Internet playing hacker. Reggie fought down the urge to laugh. Given that his wife was head of IT up here, and he himself had a EE degree from Annapolis, he knew perfectly well what was going on, and why. Some things deserved to be yanked out into the sunlight, which was why he’d greenlighted his niece’s idea of a pirate radio station when she’d first presented it to him.

Still, one could not very well appear too blatantly insubordinate to the man who was at least nominally running the agency to which one belonged. Which meant he needed to formulate a reasonably civil reply — and decide whether he wished to argue his case for the incursions, or play the plausible deniability card.

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Narrative

At the Highest Level

Reginald Waite read through the proposed news brief a second time, wondering why it was even on his desk at all. He’d pretty much let Shepardsport Pirate Radio operate on its own, and certainly had never attempted to exert any sort of censorship authority over it.

Yes, Autumn had submitted that initial news brief after the Kitty Hawk Massacre to him for review, but it had been as much a courtesy because at the time she was still his guest here, not a permanent part of the community. Once she’d come to him with the idea of establishing a pirate radio station to get the real news out, he’d trusted her judgment as news director and never tried to micromanage her.

On the other hand, most of what she had been covering fell into the category of partisan politics. After he’d run the helmet-cam videos of the Massacre on U-Tube for the world to see, the worst abuses had been reined in.

What Autumn’s news brief described was nothing short of gross malfeasance of duty, being systematically covered up. Unfortunately, it was not hugely surprising — with so many people falling severely ill, it was inevitable that children would be left with no parent at home, and no close relative nearby.

But why did government agencies in several states feel such an intense need to disrupt the informal care arrangements that a lot of these children had worked out with their friends’ families? Legally speaking, they would be on shaky ground, especially if the parents were incapacitated as Dr. Thuc’s sources were indicating, but as long as nothing happened, it made far more sense to leave well enough alone and save state resources for where they were needed most. Certainly a reasonably safe home was preferable to this business of herding all these kids into gymnasiums and classrooms filled with cots, more akin to an emergency hurricane shelter than a foster home.

And to think that it probably would’ve gone unnoticed if Betty Margrave’s niece hadn’t maintained contact with an old friend from Houston. Did someone force that girl to write that stiff, stilted message, or had they simply confiscated her phone and written it for her? However it had come into being, it was so off that it actually managed to be more suspicious than if they’d left well enough alone.

Having someone from IT hacking into state child welfare office computers was irregular. However, given that it was done under the direction of the head of Safety and Security, it wasn’t like the Mallory kid had taken a wild hair to do it on his own.

On the other hand, Eli was a Shep, Betty was married to another Shep, and Autumn was the daughter of a third Shep. This was getting pretty en famiglia here.

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Narrative

A Meeting of Minds

Reggie Waite was just finishing his first cup of coffee when the call came through. When he looked at the number, he thought he was looking at a system glitch, until he realized that the incoming call didn’t use the North American Numbering Plan.

It started with 8, which meant a Russian phone number. Up here the VoIP systems were supposed to filter out international numbers, thanks to the enormous number of scams that the Russian mafiya was running with autodialers. However, by agreement between NASA and the other spacefaring nations’ space agencies, numbers assigned to people in their lunar settlements and their space centers were supposed to be passed through.

Hoping he wasn’t making a mistake, he hit the accept button and answered. Any cosmonaut who was calling an American would know English, so there was no point fumbling with his admittedly rusty Russian.

“Good morning, Captain Waite.” There was something familiar about the timbre of the voice on the other end. “I apologize for calling you from an unfamiliar telephone, but we are experiencing difficulties with our office network and I was forced to resort to a personal device. This is Vitali Grigorenko, at Gagarinsk.”

Astonishment blew away any lingering brain fog. No wonder the man’s voice sounded familiar. Not surprising, given that Vitali Grigorenko was in fact a Grissom clone, kidnapped as a newborn by KGB agents in retaliation for the Kolya-Yozhik Incident and raised by parents who were involved in the old Soviet space program.

“Good to hear from you, Vitya. We’ve been having trouble with our Internet connection down here, but I hadn’t realized the problem was going around. It’s not like you guys are running a pirate radio station critical of your government.”

“No, we are not.” Was that a hint of regret in Grigorenko’s voice? A sense that he wasn’t pushing hard enough, never mind that he’d come up here by his own request, wanting to share his clone-brothers’ exile when he had been preparing for a comfortable retirement? “But we have Purificationists.”

Reggie recognized the term. They were a splinter sect of the Russian Orthodox Church that believed clones were soulless abominations, quite possibly animated by demons. Two Patriarchs had condemned their position as heretical, saying that it was inconceivable that God should refuse to provide a child with a soul simply on the basis of the child’s irregular conception. The current one had excommunicated the most prominent Purificationists, but instead of recanting, they had taken the attitude of screw you and the horse you rode in on.

Like his own ur-brother, Reggie had been raised Christian Scientist. Although the Church of Christ, Scientist did not have an episcopal hierarchy in the same sense as the Eastern Orthodox Churches, the Mother Church in Boston did have the authority to excommunicate members and practitioners whose teachings were not in line with doctrine. And there had been those who had rejected that corrective and gone their own way.

“And you’ve become just a little too prominent for their liking.”

Now that got a definite affirmative from his opposite number in Gagarinsk.

Reggie considered his response. “In ordinary times I’d send some of our IT people up there to help you straighten things out.”

“But these are not ordinary times. No doubt you have heard already about Indian astronauts having been exposed to diablovirus.”

“That I have.” This time yesterday the news would’ve caught him by surprise, for the simple reason that he had still been catching up with the enormous amount of e-mail that had been stuck on various servers all over the Earth-Moon system. By last night he’d read over a dozen accounts of the situation, including three separate official NASA advisories. “Do you think your IT people would be able to communicate with ours via videoconference well enough to be of any use.”

“I would have to ask, but I do not know why we should not try.”

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Narrative

Malware Solutions

When Spruance Del Curtin got Steffi Roderick’s voicemail, he’d assumed that would be the end of it. But about fifteen minutes later, he’d received a call from her: get down to the IT Department ASAP.

So here he was, doing his best to look the part of the hotshot Shep who wasn’t afraid of anything. He didn’t usually go down to IT, and when he did, it was mostly to drop off or pick up stuff related to the station for Lou Corlin.

But tonight it looked like Steffi had assembled most of her division chiefs on pretty much a moment’s notice. Not all of them — he knew from Lou’s descriptions that several of the hardware people weren’t. But the key systems analysts and network security people were all here — hardly surprising given they’d been working around the clock trying to restore Shepardsport’s network connectivity ever since this mess started.

Now he had to explain his theory to the real professionals, when he wasn’t entirely sure whether he was even using the correct terminology. He’d learned some of it in the course of his training on audio streaming technology, but he still wasn’t entirely sure of things like the precise difference between a gateway and an access point, or how a router differed from a hub. Not to mention that he might not even have the right term for the kind of malware he was envisioning.

However, all these people were listening to him with genuine attention. Not just the polite smile and nod he would’ve gotten back on Earth, but actually taking notes.

Of course it probably helped that Captain Waite himself was sitting at the side of the room, looking very much like Alan Shepard himself preparing for his moonshot. Being reminded that they were listening to one of the commandant’s clone-brothers, and that he had the favor of the boss himself, went a long way to keeping the adults from doing the old auto-brushoff.

Which is.a far cry from him calling me on the carpet — when was it? Already that awkward interview felt like another lifetime ago.

And then they were actually asking him questions, sometimes technical enough that he’d have to admit most of his background in networking came from his work with Shepardsport Pirate Radio. But they showed him no condescention for the admission, which truly astonished him.

However, it looked like they weren’t actually going to be pulling him into their team. Steffi reminded everyone that he was already committed to Dr. Doorne’s project, and needed his rest to be ready to meet with her tomorrow.

Oh well, you can’t have everything. Sprue did his best to look genuinely pleased as he thanked everybody. With luck, nobody would be sure whether any stiffness wasn’t just the Icy Commander peeking through.

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Narrative

For a Bit of Quiet

Reggie Waite didn’t usually eat meals in his office. Unless he was particularly busy, or had to squeeze lunch in between back-to-back meetings, he preferred to go down to the dining commons. Especially in such troubled times, it was good for people to see their leadership sitting at the head table.

Tonight he was enjoying a quiet, private supper with his wife. He and Steffi had agreed they’d keep business out of their conversation, just pleasantries and family matters. They’d even agreed to put their phones in a hush box so they wouldn’t be interrupted by incoming calls or texts. If a real emergency were to come up, Betty Margrave knew where they were and why, and her office was just down the corridor.

Even so, all good things must necessarily end. And as they pulled their phones out of the hush box, Steffi’s came on with an alert: missed call and voicemail. “What’s Spruance Del Curtin calling me about? Maybe I’d better check.”

Had it only been a few days ago that Reggie had called Sprue on the carpet right here in this office? The last few days had been so crazy that it seemed like another lifetime ago. “Put it on speaker. I want to hear what he’s up to.”

There was a buzz of background noise that made it difficult to hear Sprue’s words. “…have an idea … not what we think … different kind…. something something malware…”

Reggie looked at his wife. “Is it just me, too many years of jet and rocket engines battering the old ears, or is he coming through really badly?”

“It may just be having it on speaker. This is an older phone. With everything so tight, making it work a little longer with a bit of judicious application of a soldering iron has been one fewer resource we have to find.” Steffi woke the screen. “Let me take it off speaker and replay it for you to listen.”

This time it was a little better, although it also made it easier to hear a couple of younger kids passing through whatever room Sprue was in. Maybe preschoolers, using the module corridors as a playground — kids up here learned to keep their voices down young.

However, it did enable Reggie to follow what Sprue was saying, enough to tell the kid seemed to think he was onto something. “Steffi, I think you’d better listen to this a couple of times. If he’s right, the whole IT department may have wasted two days on a completely wrong strategy.”

It just took her one listen to be convinced. “I think he’s onto something. We’d better have a talk with him.”