“I have a subprogram that logs every use. Somebody went into our module at two a.m. and downloaded my goddamned files!”
“I’d better take a look,” said Tighe, mentally postponing his date with the doctor.
Stu Roberts was still in The Bakery when Tighe and Nutt arrived. Now that Nutt had taken the extreme step of actively involving the station commander, Roberts decided to lie low and let the scientist embarrass himself. He hovered on the edge of audibility as Nutt gave Tighe a fevered explanation of the messages appearing on the computer monitor.
Tighe had only a general idea of the work being conducted in the three Trikon laboratory modules. He knew that the project involved microbial genetics: the scientists were trying to engineer a bug that would eat pollutants or toxic wastes or something like that. His interest in the bug was purely practical. As station commander, he constantly worried about containment of all the potentially toxic agents used by the scientists in their research. Accidental release of bacteria, caustic chemicals, or pollutants could wreak havoc in the delicately controlled environment of the station. In space you cannot open a window for fresh air. One mistake with chemical or biological materials could kill everyone aboard very swiftly.
Tighe had worked with many scientists during his years in the Air Force and with NASA. He was accustomed to competing philosophies because scientists and the military usually were at odds. But on Trikon Station there were cliques within cliques. The Americans stayed with the Americans. The Japanese stayed with the Japanese. And the Europeans, true to their history, fought among themselves as well as with all the others. While the corporations that employed them trumpeted the benefits of cooperative research in slick brochures and television specials, the scientists were more competitive than Olympic athletes. They never traded information willingly and regarded each other with the warmth of professional assassins. The situation was particularly tense just prior to a rotation. Every ninety days a third of the scientific staff was replaced by new people from Earth. That was when a successful industrial spy could take his loot back home.
“That’s what happened,” said Nutt, winding up his explanation.
Tighe leaned close to the keyboard as if scrutinizing it for fingerprints. He realized how ridiculous he must have looked and pushed himself away.
“What do you want me to do about it?” he asked.
“Search everybody on the station! Force whoever downloaded the files to turn them over.”
“I’m not a policeman.”
“This is very sensitive material! It’s…”
“And I’m in a very sensitive position. I’m not just dealing with an international contingent of scientists. There’s a couple of dozen governments who view these scientists as diplomats. If I start strong-arming people without good cause, the shit will fall on my head, nobody else’s.”
“You’re saying I should work for six months, have my results stolen, and do absolutely nothing about it?”
“The files are still in your computer, right?” said Tighe. “They’ve been copied, not stolen.”
Nutt reluctantly nodded.
“Then consider yourself a benefactor of mankind.”
“The hell I will!”
“You’re supposed to be working cooperatively with all the others, aren’t you? Why the panic?”
“I want the credit!” Nutt snarled through gritted teeth. “I did the work and I want the credit for it. The work’s got to be published in my name. A scientist’s reputation depends on his publications, his discoveries. Don’t you understand that?”
Roberts decided it bad gone far enough. Gliding over toward his flustered boss and the tight-lipped station commander, he interrupted, “Hey, there’s really no problem.”
Tighe looked at Roberts, then cocked his head toward Nutt. The scientist’s bearded, puffy face twisted into a grimace of exasperation.
“Explain yourself,” Tighe said to Roberts.
“Dave put that security subprogram into his PC because he was worried about theft. I had a suspicion that the subprogram could be fooled, so I played around with it. Sure enough, I was able to hack into the files and download them.”
Roberts produced a diskette from a pouch pocket of his pants.
“You did it!” screamed Nutt. He pushed himself at Roberts and knocked the diskette out of his hand. The diskette skittered crazily in midair while the two men tumbled in a confusion of arms and legs. Tighe pried them apart.