Common Meeting Space
“Another one,” Tocohl said, placing the data-pick in the workspace she shared with Joyita and Bechimo.
“We’re amassing quite a collection,” Joyita said, eyeing the pick, and the analysis scrolling beside it.
“It’s the same as all the others,” Tocohl said, irritably. “Whoever is creating these hasn’t learned anything about improving the tool, increasing its utility, or—”
“There may not be any need,” Bechimo said.
“No need? Is it a game, then?”
“Not a game,” Joyita said. “A distraction. Is that what you meant, Bechimo?”
“Exactly. The operator continues to deploy the picks, which fall into the traps, which must be cleaned. In the meantime, with the traps full, and our attention on the captured picks, the operator is free to explore other avenues of access.”
“That,” said Tocohl, “is unsettling.”
“We’ve strengthened the perimeter, and detected no signs of intrusion. We may want to build a shield wall, with additional traps,” Joyita mused.
“What do we gain by increasing the size of the game board?” Tocohl asked, rather sharply.
“An excellent question,” Joyita said.
“What is the operator’s goal?” Bechimo asked. “The distractions seem to serve no purpose.”
“They acclimate us to the picks,” Tocohl said.
“And account the traps, their number and location,” Joyita added. “Here’s my proposal: Increase the number and sophistication of the traps. Bechimo has just forwarded something to me from his own defense archive that may be adapted. First, though, Pilot Tocohl, I propose that we increase your personal armor.”
“And yours,” said Bechimo.
“Yes, and yours. We have to assume that the increase in the number of picks signals our operator is working toward producing a real threat. It’s not impossible that the real attack, when it comes, will target—all of us.”