The Romulan War_ Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Book 1) - Michael A. Martin [106]
Heck of a job, Vulcan, Hernandez thought, wondering for perhaps the thousandth time how the Romulans had been so consistently successful over the past several weeks in piercing the grid—and whether the measures taken today by Columbia’s crew and Altair VI’s finest engineering minds would succeed in patching whatever vulnerabilities the Romulans might have been able to exploit.
“I expect the final installation and testing operations very soon to be ganz vollständig,” Graylock said. “Totally complete before lunchtime tomorrow.”
That was indeed better than she’d hoped, by more than a full day. Still, a lot could happen in only a day.
“Will the system still be up and running in the meantime?” Fletcher asked, as though she’d read Hernandez’s mind.
“Ja, Commander. Like a Risan jackrabbit.”
Hernandez was impressed by Karl’s acumen, as usual, though her curiosity wasn’t yet entirely satisfied. “But don’t you have to have the system at least partially shut down to change out and test components?”
“We’ve identified the minimum number of subspace-linked nodes necessary to maintain complete network coverage of the system periphery,” Graylock said in tones fairly bursting with pride. “We determined that number by figuring out exactly which nodes were completely key to the system, and therefore had to be the first ones hardened against jamming and other types of outside attack.”
“So the network never falls below the minimum number of nodes,” Hernandez observed.
“Absolut richtig, Captain. Correct. And the Altairians have even tied their preexisting civilian communications satellite network into the system to provide additional backup coverage and processing power. But...” The confidence that had lofted the engineer’s words mere moments earlier seemed to fail him.
“What’s wrong, Karl?”
After a brief pause, he said, “Well, Captain, the Romulans have gotten past some early-warning systems that are even finer-grained than this one over the past few weeks. Heaven help me if I can figure out how they’ve been doing it.”
And heaven help us all if it turns out you can’t.
“You’ve done great work so far, Karl. Just keep on doing what you’ve been doing. Hernandez out.”
An alarm suddenly began to blare. Hernandez got to her feet.
“Report!”
“It’s the warp-field detection grid,” Lieutenant Kiona Thayer said as she worked the tactical console.
“Incoming hostiles?”
Thayer scowled at the data displays before her. “No, Captain,” she said, her speech tinged with a melodious Quebecois accent. “It’s the network itself. The key nodes along the periphery appear to be failing, one by one, in a kind of cascade effect.”
Hernandez returned to her chair and called back to the engine room.
“Karl, are you getting this?”
“We’re already on it down here, Captain. Twelve key subspace-transmitting nodes have gone gebrochen so far.”
“The warp-field sensors still show negative for Romulan incursions,” said Lieutenant Commander Kalil bin Farraj bin Saleh el-Rashad from the main science station. “At least that much is encouraging.”
But Hernandez found the Syrian science officer’s report anything but encouraging. After all, the last few Coalition-allied worlds the Romulans had annexed had enjoyed perfectly functional warp detection systems—at least apparently. The Romulans had surprised them anyway, as though their victims had left a key for them under the front doormat.
“Our instruments are telling us stuff that I don’t feel comfortable accepting on faith,” Hernandez said. Turning toward the helm, she said, “Lieutenant Akagi, plot a course parallel with the pattern of node failures. Take us out to edge of the system, maximum warp. Lieutenant Thayer, place the ship on Tactical Alert status and polarize the hull plating. Sidra, send a coded secure-channel advisory to the Heinlein and the Kon-Tiki. The local