Deep Crossing

Saturday began with the doldrums. The flight sim was shut down so they could load and align the new star charts that would give us beyond-orbit simulations. Danica took the day off, saying she had not had a chance to see any of the sights yet. I sat memorizing the procedures for wing extension and aerodynamic flight in the Griffin, maneuvers that promised to be challenging and enjoyable. The V-speeds were atrocious. In atmospheric flight mode with the wings fully deployed, the spacecraft would stall and fall out of the sky at one hundred and eighty knots. Recommended final approach speed was two-ten. It only made me love her more.

  As I pored over the flap, air brakes, and gear speeds, a call came in; Mary Walski, letting me know that there was a courier-secure delivery at the front gate. The courier could not be allowed in. I would need to go out there and sign for it. It seems a stark irony that printed material has become more secure than electronic documentation these days. If a text exists only in printed form, it can never be easily hidden, easily copied, or illegally transmitted. If there is only a single copy made, it can be controlled much more closely, and tracked much more carefully. Maybe RJ is right in his aversion to technology.

  I gladly dropped my studies and headed for the guard shack. The courier was arguing football with the guard, something about the Jets being overdue. He stopped as I approached, went to his van, and came back with a fancy clipboard and strange-looking pen. I took a hard look at it. The damn pen took my fingerprint as I signed. The courier handed me a small black briefcase with digital combination locks on either side of the handle, and security seals on the locks.

  Back in my office, I tore off the seals and sat looking at the combination locks. Five digits each. Was I supposed to know these? As I wondered, my computer beeped incoming message. It was from the agency's human resource division. The message read:

  Commander Tarn,

  The employee numbers you requested are as follows:

  L.L. Cummings, 73841 R.L. Anders, 62915

  I dialed up 73841 on the left and the lock popped open. 62915 in the right lock, same result.

  As I opened the case, the first sheet made me laugh. Orange plastic with ‘TOP SECRET’ emblazoned across it. Under that, a cover sheet followed by brief instructions;

  TOP SECRET

  EYES ONLY

  DO NOT RETAIN FOR FILES. DESTROY

  EXTRANEOUS MATERIAL AFTER READING