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The Security Dilemma
Posted By: Azrael<tondorf@bc.edu>
Date: 29 November 2004, 1:09 AM
Read/Post Comments
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The Security Dilemma
A segway in the "Minutemen" series
ONI Signals Intelligence Center
Location Unknown
Midway through the Covenant Invasion of Earth
In the dark recesses of an ONI facility, a mathematical equation was being pondered. The ONI signals intelligence center laid below blast doors, reinforced concrete and titanium, and secured by ODSTs of every rank and speciality. The war room of the facility was home to some of the most sophisticated human technology involved in the Human/Covenant conflict. Inside the war room, Commander Thomas Young stood at the head of a long oval table; red, blue, green, and purple lights glowed across the surface, flickering with streaming statistics, holograms of buildings, and transmissions of engagements on the ground. There's something about the darkness, Young thought, something that focuses the mind and yet keeps it in constant searching fear. The Commander shifted his weight slightly and observed in silence. Seven ONI analysts and technicians, all in black dress uniform, gestured and moved holograms and graphs closer, each trying to make their point. The debate, Young noted, was getting more animated.
One young analyst stepped back from the fray and, in the heat of the moment, loosened his dress tie. The knot loosened from his neck in a back-and-forth motion, the analyst glancing at each fellow, seemingly trying to make sense of the matter. The analyst turned suddenly and faced the wall, which contrasted the utter darkness with its numerous displays: the glow of information washing across the tired, strained face. In his sudden turn, Young noted that the ONI member also saw the escorts: one ODST at each corner of the room, each in urban camo BDUs, standing at parade rest. It was a subtle motivational tool. Foolish mind games, yes, Young conceded in his mind, but we have little time. Get back to work. As if the analyst had heard his commanding officer, he rejoined the debate. Young listened intently.
"...the risk on the ground is simply too great-"
"Which is exactly why we should execute the Protocol!"
"There's no time for evacuation, and we can't even be sure these counts are accurate."
Young closed his eyes and heard a flutter of paper, then the whirr of holograms being called up. "Don't you dare say we can't be sure! I lost two ODSTs to get those figures! I sent them in there, and I won't have a fucking technician insult their sacrifice!"
"What if there's a resource in there we aren't seeing? They have to be in there in those kinds of numbers for a reason."
"We can't re-take it. We can't spare the troops. Enact the Protocol, or we're losing out. It's only the north asian protectorate."
"ONLY the north asian protectorate? Do you have any idea how many-"
"Enough." Thomas' voice was booming and authoritative. The din was silenced. Young opened his eyes and stared at the ground, his head bowed and arms crossed across his chest. Even in the low light, his medals gleamed. He knew he had the room's attention now. "Show me what areas will be affected."
"Done, sir," a technician replied, and a map appeared, numerous shapes spinning and spreading on the hologram.
"I've seen enough," the Commander lied. "I have to consult with Command. Clear the room, I'll have your orders in a minute."
The seven ONI operatives filed out the door. "One last thing," Young said. The group stopped. "Excellent work with the reports. I asked for the best in quick order, and you delivered." A few hasty, "Thank you, sirs" was all the Commander needed. It's important to reward the good work Thomas remembered. It's hard enough finding talent like that so quickly, but keeping them motivated when some of their opinions get shot down is another matter. The Commander sat down in a large chair and removed his dress hat, revealing a head of full gray hair. He laid the hat on the sleek, smooth black surface and waved his hand slightly. All the relevant data slid toward him, and slowly spun around for him to observe. Young's austere face took in the information with little emotion, but his brain was laboring.
What is victory worth? What costs can we pay? We have fought each other for so long, when we finally unite, millions may die in our own brash plans...God, at what cost victory? In a soft swoosh of light and numbers, a small, bluish, rotund man appeared on the console on Young's right hand side. "Bismark," Young asked, "any luck retrieving those files?"
"Negative, Commander," The AI replied. "The Colonel's files are heavily encrypted. And if I may say, sir, your repeated attempts to access them without proper authorization may become dangerous soon."
"Noted." Young grumbled. "Any luck on your other search?"
"As a matter of fact.." The sudden good news perked up the Commander. He turned toward the AI. "I have been able to narrow my search to two locations."
"Show me."
In a blur, two cities appeared in front of Thomas Young. The ONI officer leaned forward and stared at each, as if the answers to his questions could be found by boring holes into the holograms with his eyes. Even with the moral choice before him, Young knew this recent development could end those choices, and soon. The Commander gestured for one of the guards.
"Give me detailed plans and orders," Thomas told the AI. As the ODST stood at attention by the Commander's left hand side, Young produced two data pads. "Keep one for yourself, and give the other to your partner. You leave immediately, all other orders at this point are void until your completion of this mission. I'll handle administrative issues." The ODST nodded in confirmation, saluted, and silently exited the room with his partner.
"Now, Commander," Bismark asked, "you're sure it was the term, 'Chawla'? I had a very hard time accessing the necessary coordina-"
"You were correct, Bismark." Young said. "Move on to Protocol. Give me hard facts, and send in the crew."
As numbers and data scrolled down quickly in front of Thomas' face, the seven ONI members walked back in. They stood at attention as the last of the numbers passed by.
"Gentlemen, well analyzed," the Commander congratulated. "Your orders are to initiate the Protocol. Terminate communication with the area, I don't want any of the bastards intercepting our comms. The final communcation with the area should be the order for recon units to mark optimal targeting spots. I repeat, execute the Protocol."
In a flurry of activity and instructions, analysts queued up a giant hologram and illustrated areas, while technicians activated and severed communcations. Young stood, donned his cover, and walked out of the room, the door to the war room sliding open silently and closing behind him. The relative brightness of the outside offices and rooms comforted him, but he lamented the constant darkness the ONI placed their divisions in. So much damn darkness, he thought. Always in the dark. Standing on a walkway and leaning against a railing that overlooked the monitors and observation work stations, Commander Thomas Young watched the division leaders in charge of the north asian protectorate. Suddenly, their monitors burst to life, and Young tried to imagine the confusion going on down there, the helplessness, the frustration as they tried to raise their men on the ground there. The technicians did their job. Hand-picked, the best. Sorry, guys. The north asian protectorate would have had no idea what transpired no more than a minute ago. There was no way to prepare.
Thomas turned from the confusion below and headed for his office. In less than half and hour, a division leader would walk into Young's office, sad and confused, yet masking those feelings with a stern, official tone. The division leader would report on the sudden event that had happened in his region of responsibility, and Young would give him, and only him, the truth. It was policy.
Thomas Young walked into his office and began drafting the release. As he wrote, his pen began to shake, and the Commander banged his free hand against the desk. Damn you, Matthew Cronin.
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