Ocampo’s PDA, on the other hand. I knew all about that software and hardware.
Official Colonial Union PDAs were manufactured by lots of different companies but all had to run the same software. They all had to be able to talk to every other PDA, and any computers the Colonial Union used for official business. When you have that level of standardization across a government spanning trillions of miles, every other computer, operating system, or piece of technology is either standardized to it, or is able to communicate with it.
Oh, I knew Ocampo’s PDA, all right. Once he opened that connection to the Chandler, I knew how to access it, how to look around it, and how to extract files.
And I knew how to do it without him knowing.
Not that I expected him to know; he didn’t exactly have the “programmer” look to him, if you know what I mean. He’d be the programmer’s boss. The one they hated. The one who made them work on holidays.
I also knew that Ocampo would have all sorts of interesting files on his PDA. Because simply put, where else would he have them? That’s the computing and storage unit that he left the Chandler with. He would be even less familiar with Rraey technology than I would be. Makes sense that he would keep it, and that he would keep his own information on it. I remembered the exchange Ocampo had with Tvann about Vera Briggs. That poor woman was kept in the dark about a lot of things. Ocampo was used to keeping his own counsel about his business.
The longer I kept Ocampo talking, the more I could find out about his business.
Not that I was trying to sort through any of it while he was talking to me. I had to stay attentive and keep him talking. If I gave any indication he was boring me figuratively out of my skull then he’d drop the connection.
So I kept him talking and had a program make a copy of his PDA. All of it, right down to the communication program he was using to talk to me. I could sort out all of the data later, including the encrypted files.
All of which, it turned out, were keyed to the PDA, so opening them in a virtual copy of the PDA would open the files just fine.
Sloppy.
Three cheers for sloppiness.
The entire copying process took just a little under two hours. I kept Ocampo talking the whole time. It required very little prompting.
Ever heard of “monologuing”? The thing where the captured hero escapes death by getting the villain to talk just long enough to break free?
Well, this wasn’t that, because I was still a brain in a box and likely to die the first time I was sent on a mission. But it was something close. And Ocampo had no problem talking and then talking some more.
I don’t think it was sheer megalomania, or, if I wanted to be nice about it, him taking pity on the guy he’d caused to be turned into a naked brain. I don’t know how many other humans there were where we were; I only knew of Ocampo, Vera Briggs, and whoever the woman was who helped supervise reimplanting weapons systems on the Chandler. Of the other two, the weapons systems supervisor looked sort of busy whenever I saw her. As for Vera Briggs, I imagine at this point she might not be feeling especially friendly toward Ocampo.
In other words, I think Ocampo just plain might have been lonely for human contact.
Which I could understand. I had been lonely too.
The difference being, of course, that one of us had made the choice to be lonely. The other one of us rather unexpectedly had the choice thrust upon him.
As it turns out, Ocampo’s desire to monologue lasted about fifteen minutes longer than the time I needed it to. I knew he was done when he said “But I must be boring you” to me, which is narcissist-speak for “Now I’m bored.”
You’re not boring me, I thought at him. But I understand how much of your time I’ve already taken up today. I can’t really ask for more of it. Thank you, Secretary Ocampo.
“Of course,” he said, and then his face got a look. I thought it resembled what the face of someone who felt guilty about something, but didn’t actually want to be troubled by doing anything to deal with that guilt, might look like.
I waited and eventually I think Ocampo’s vestigial sense of moral obligation kicked in.
“Look, Daquin, I know I’ve put you in a bad spot,” he said. “I know they’ve promised to return your body to you, and I know they will. They’ve done this before. But between now and then, if there’s something I can do for you, well…” He trailed off here, letting me imply that he’d be willing to do something for me, without actually saying it, which I think he thought would give him an out.
This guy was a treasure, this Assistant Secretary of State Tyson Ocampo.
Thank you, sir, I thought. I can’t think of anything I need from you right now. On the monitor, I could see Ocampo visibly relax; I had just let him off the hook. Which gave me the space to say what I really wanted to. But there is one thing you can do for me in the future.