Fallout 5

Personal log: Veronika "Ronnie" Grau, officer commanding USS Virtue NCC-92780
Datarecord: 2/12 2ndry adjunct unimatrix 07 (pending reassimilation/reclassification)

Tallasa has that look again.

I'm sitting comfortably in the centre seat of the Virtue, and my Andorian */*species 4464*/* first officer is being all brisk and efficient */*efficiency 56%---suboptimal---introduce cybersystems, cerebral cortex, visual sensorium---optimize*/*

Oh, do shut up, Two of Twelve.

Anyway. Yes. Brisk and efficient and thoroughly Starfleet like she always is, and she has that look she always gets, the look that says you are my commanding officer and I am your loyal crew and it is not my place to criticize, but, boy, do you need some criticism right now.

"We have eighteen hours before we rendezvous with Admiral Gref and the rest of Sixth Fleet," she says, in her oh-so-reasonable soft Andorian tones. "Sir, shouldn't you get some rest?"

"I'll rest when I'm dead," I snap at her, and then say, "Sorry." But I'm not. Andorians don't even have a fixed sleep cycle, where does she get off criticizing mine? Blue meanies. */*species designation not recognized*/*

In fairness to her, the Virtue does seem to be humming along pretty nicely. She's a good ship, possibly better than I deserve, what with her being an ultra-modern Chimera class heavy destroyer, and me being a time-displaced ex-cyborg with a list of negative psych evaluations that makes War and Peace look like a bus ticket. I'm good in a scrap, though. Don't let anybody ever tell you Ronnie Grau isn't good in a scrap.

Fighting is one thing, though. */*tactical functions offline*/* Spook stuff is another, and this situation is fraught with spook stuff. Spooky, spooky spook stuff.... I see Tallasa and her sister Jhemyl exchange meaningful glances. "Aw, cripes, was that my out-loud voice again?"

"I really think you should rest, sir," says Tallasa.

"Yes," I say. "No. Maybe. I'm fretting, I don't mind admitting it. Fretting. Whole damn situation doesn't add up right. Don't expect me to sleep when I'm fretting, little Ronnie would have bad dreams." Bad dreams is right. Little Ronnie has two heads, one inside the other, and both of them are full of bad wiring, and right now the sparks are flying.

*/*---inaccurate---no electronic/electromechanical failures detected*/*

"There's nothing you can do about it at the moment," says Tallasa in soothing tones. She's right, of course. I'm lucky to have her - her, and Jhemyl, and the rest of my loyal crew, amazes me how loyal they are, sometimes, I'm pretty sure I don't deserve it. Loyal, but on this occasion, wrong.

Tallasa has stopped exchanging glances with Jhemyl, and has started sharing them with Saval, instead, my Vulcan */*species 3259*/* science officer. Last time they exchanged those sorts of glances, I woke up in sickbay twelve hours later. Saval, who is actually no slouch at the science stuff, had rigged up some sort of cortical suppression field, turned me right off like a TV set. It shut Two of Twelve up for days, so I guess I ought to be thankful. Of course, what he doesn't realize is, she adapted. She does that.

I look around the bridge. "You. On comms. Face-ache." It's a new ensign, and he looks flustered. "Get me a subspace channel, band delta, frequency 23861.2." He looks more flustered, but he starts tapping away at the console.

Tallasa is frowning. "I don't recognize that frequency, sir, and band delta hasn't been used by Starfleet in years."

"Decades, probably," I say. I beam at her. It makes my mouth hurt. "Before your time. It's the frequency for the phase two space navigation grid, whole lot of subspace beacons chatting to each other. Obsolete now, but it's still there as a backup in Sirius and Alpha Centauri space. Has a whole lot of spare bandwidth, too, and we used to use it for, you know, back-channel chat. Like ham radio."

"What do you expect to find on it now, sir?" Tallasa asks. You daft old bat, she doesn't add, but her body language speaks volumes.

"Not a lot. But if we're dealing with spooky spooky spook stuff, I want more information. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data." Since Tallasa only reads slushy Andorian romances about tragic love pentangles and such, that literary reference flies over her head like the daring young man on the flying trapeze. Never mind. "Know what else is obsolete, but still working? The duotronic computer core at Memory Alpha. They still use that for backup, and it's got a subspace linkup we can reach through that back channel." I pull over my armrest console, and start tapping away. "Oh, how it all comes flooding back."

"We can query Memory Alpha through regular channels," Tallasa says.

"Yeah, but this way's more fun," I say. "Besides, queries only get back answers if you know what to ask. This way, I can get in and root around for a bit, follow up links, maybe get a peek at stuff they wouldn't release through regular channels."

"It is illogical to assume," says Saval, politely, "that you will be able actually to access the content of the duotronic core. You would need appropriate user permissions."

"Oh, but inappropriate ones are so much nicer. Did I ever mention I was there when they put that duotronic core in? Did I ever mention I saw the systems admin choose a password for it?"

OK, Two of Twelve, says I to myself... to my other self. Time to earn your keep.

*/*organic memory---local storage---long term---accessing
---building heuristic index
----18%
----34%
----67%
----93%
----complete
---adaptive mnemonic enhancement engaged
----7%
----15%
----26%
----57%
----73%
----95%
----complete ---converting sensory to symbolic memory
-----24%
-----68%
-----complete
---retrieval completed*/*

I type in the access code while Saval is still bleating about biometric ID. "They set up a text-only code to bypass the biometrics," I tell him. "In case they ever needed remote access in a hurry. A back door to the back door, which we reached through another back door. Now, then. I've got root level access to Memory Alpha, shall I format it, or are you going to let me browse in peace?"

They shut up. I start looking at the data structures as they come through on the console screen. The thing about old-fashioned backup devices is, people never expect to have to look at them. So they're perfect for putting stuff on, when you don't want people coming looking for it. You'd be amazed what you can find in archives, sometimes.

"I'll get some rest," I say, and actually I do feel easier in my mind, somehow. "The old lady's going to get her head down, don't you worry. Just want some bedtime stories before I nod off, that's all."

There are intelligence digests, here, that I'm pretty sure will repay closer investigation. Bedtime stories, yes. And maybe a side order of Boris Savinkov to go with it.