Jimjoy eased into the vacant console, tabbing the proper entry and access codes. His bored appearance and gray-flecked hair matched the rating stripes on his tunic sleeve. Another not-too-bright, but technically skilled, file follower, with the intelligence to ensure that the records of all the officers under his care were complete, that they had current physical examinations and training schedules that matched their promotion profiles, and that they met all the other bureaucratic requirements.
He, as the most recently arrived technician, accessed a series of files, profiling physical examinations. The senior duty tech noted the screen coming on line, nodded, and returned his attention to the problem before him, the question of how to schedule the senior Commander performance review-board interviews within the operational and deployment requirements.
The senior technician did not notice the subfile called up by the technician, nor the immediate split screen, since he was supervising from three cubicles away. Not that he really knew any of the horde of personnel technicians other than by their files and his reviews of their data-handling capabilities.
The graying rating with the youngish face accessed another file, this time adding an item on various positions, subtracting others. He checked the cycle times, the times at which current masters would be updated with present file information. At that point, the changes would be relatively permanent.
He returned the second file to storage, then called up five files consecutively, nodding minutely as he did, and as the supporting information was added to each.
In time he returned to the tedious business of transferring and editing, satisfied that Commander Allen’s records now showed all his physical examinations as having been performed by the same physician in the same Intelligence clinic.
That had been the hard part, reflected Jimjoy, finding a good Service physician at Headquarters who had recently died of sudden causes. But he had had three options—debriefing officers, dental officers, or medical officers. Finally he had located a medical officer, and, not surprisingly, the late Major Kelb had actually examined Commander Allen after one mission.
Getting to the actual medical records had been the easy part, for him.
The major difficulty had been finding the people to impersonate.
He shrugged, touched the console again, and forced a frown.
“System four beta inoperative.”
He tapped another access code, and was rewarded with another set of files. He glanced around to see if the senior technician were nearby. But the senior tech remained locked in his own cubicle, still wrestling with the promotion board schedules.
Jimjoy stood, eased back the swivel, and headed down the corridor toward the fresher facilities, leaving his dress beret beside the screen. Once around the first corner, he took the left-hand corridor back to the security desk, pulling another beret from beneath his belt.
“Leaving a bit early, aren’t you?”
“Not leaving,” he mumbled. “Beta four’s down. Need to get a debugger from Tech-Ops.”
“Personally?”
“Syndar says I have to explain personally. The authorization is on the screen.”
The thin-faced Marine at the shielded console nodded sympathetically at the thought of one personnel technician’s having to explain how he had scrambled an entire system.
“Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. Let’s see your card.”
Jimjoy handed over the plastic oblong.
The guard checked the screen codes and inserted the card into the verifier.
“Handprint.”
The verifier, after a moment, flashed green. The Imperial Marine did not remark on the slight hesitation, which could not have been avoided, but handed back the card and touched the portal release, opening the barrier that separated the closed personnel section from the rest of the facility.
“See you later. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“You’ll need it.”
Jimjoy nodded as he stepped through the portal, then continued his even pace until he was around the next corner, where he entered the public men’s fresher.
Shortly, a heavyset Major of Supply waddled forth, proceeding toward the main security gate.
The pair of Marines at the main gate, male and female, passed the Major with bored looks, logging the screen pass into the console and dismissing his average muddy looks and brown hair as soon as his waddling gait had carried him out of sight.