Episode 3 - A Fantastical Vacation
The person who'd called me was the lab's internal affairs officer. I knew the agents dispatched from the National Security Agency were all buried in investigations, so even the team leader was holed up in the interrogation room right now.
"Report from the eavesdropping unit."
"Thanks."
The officer handed over the documents, said he had something to take care of, and stepped out. I stayed in the conference room, flipping through the papers.
It was a standard communications intercept report. Dawn. Transmission duration: 9 minutes 51 seconds. Two transmissions. Roughly 500 characters per message. I committed a few keywords to memory and turned the pages slowly.
Scanning for anything that might aid the investigation, I hit the last page—the intercepted comms content—and let out an involuntary sigh.
"Haa…."
A white page crammed with black numbers.
"…Now industrial spies are using ciphers, huh."
It was an encrypted message.
Episode 3 - A Fantastical Vacation
The military and intelligence agencies use ciphers for critical communications. It's to prevent enemies from deciphering the content if intercepted. Code phrases and call signs are primitive forms of encryption, in a way—since only we know what they mean.
In that sense, an industrial spy's transmission could be seen as a numerically encrypted message.
"No matter how I look at it, this is a one-time pad…."
One-time pad. A cipher system linking numbers to words. 001 - return. 101 - orders. They'd broadcast random numbers like "001 101," and the agent receiving it would decode to "return orders."
A foundational system used worldwide from World War II through the Cold War. Without the pad, it's unbreakable—which is why militaries and intel agencies loved it. Hell, you could even make one with just two ordinary books. Broadcast page and line numbers, then take the first letter of that sentence.
My grandfather, a KCIA counterspy vet, said the North Koreans used it a ton. We did too.
Anyway. The problem? Decoding it is a nightmare.
I sat in the conference room chair, lost in thought for a good while.
"Ah, you're already here, sir."
"…Team leader."
"Sorry, the interrogation ran a bit late."
"No problem."
The door swung open suddenly, and in walked a guy in uniform. The team leader from National Security.
I handed him the report I'd finished reading as he took the seat across from me.
"This from the eavesdropping unit?"
"Yeah, give it a look."
He pulled specs from his pocket, slipped them on, and started reading. His face soured in real time.
"…One-time pad cipher."
True to form for a counterintel guy, he nailed the cipher type instantly. He let out a faint sigh, took off his glasses, and rubbed his weary eyelids.
I passed him a bottle of water and kicked off the convo.
"Looks like a one-time pad to me too. Numbers are the classic giveaway."
"If it's a true one-time use, decryption's impossible."
He frowned, dead serious.
"We'll run it against every cipher system we've collected so far, but if it's new… could take months."
"Cipher-breaking's always a pain, right?"
From what my past-life prof said, it pulls in linguists and mathematicians by the dozen. Classic example: the Brits cracking the Nazis' Enigma in WWII with a dedicated team. They pulled it off eventually.
"How's the investigation going?"
"Smoothly now that we've narrowed the suspect pool."
"Good news."
We killed time with shop talk. Had to wait for internal affairs to get back for the meeting.
"Coffee doesn't seem to be doing shit anymore."
"Ease up. Chugging it nonstop without sleep'll wreck your health."
"Lately my chest's been tightening up—probably need a doc. You holding up, Major?"
"Me? Still managing."
I rubbed my bloodshot eyes and forced a grin. Sitting still was making me antsy, so I grabbed a water bottle and paced the room. On vacation, hit the hospital or find a healing priest. Beg Lucia for a quick heal once she gets here.
"…Something's off, though."
The team leader muttered vaguely, staring at the report.
"Pardon? What's off?"
"Why would an industrial spy use an encrypted message?"
Huh? Now that he mentioned it…
"Spies usually meet assets only at prearranged spots, right?"
"…Yeah."
"They keep comms reports short and sweet, save details for debrief back home."
"…."
"But this industrial spy sent two 500-char messages over 9 minutes. In Morse code, no less."
I cracked open the water bottle, mulling his words.
This world's comms were modern-ish. Long-range ones, anyway. Short-range could use basic magic, but cross-border? Needed tech assist. Just riding mana waves instead of radio waves.
"Lab staff free to go out or overnight?"
"Overs? Need lab director approval, I hear."
Can't just wander.
"No casual agent meets, then."
Hmm.
"So only comms for contact…."
"Impossible. Internal affairs monitors and logs all calls per regs."
Logged in the system? No way for covert reports.
"So lab staff contacting outside? Long-range only option."
I took a swig, pondering. This world's go-to long-range? Radios. Not voice—signal-based, Morse-like.
"Can mana waves reach outside these mountains?"
"If output's strong enough, theoretically anywhere. Even weak signals work if the receiver picks 'em up."
Morse-style comms. In modern terms, 150-year-old tech. But battle-tested from WWI through Cold War to now. Militaries and intel still swear by it—works even if base stations or sats go dark. Special forces deep in enemy lines, spies—they love it. Airborne SF signal specialists lugging transceivers are prime example.
But Morse has fatal flaws. Takes serious grind to learn and master. Hard to even hear the dots/dashes right, let alone transmit clean. Plus jamming, spoofing, triangulation tracking, solar flares, geomagnetic shifts, weak signals—the works.
A love-hate tech tangled in pros and cons.
"Everyone knows the regs, and they know about the eavesdropping unit nearby?"
"Unit's exact location's classified."
"They wouldn't know, then."
Biggest comms risk? Enemy intercepts. Multiple receivers triangulate the source pinpoint.
Grandpa the counterspy said '70s North Korean agents got nabbed radioing home a lot.
This world's militaries and intel know it too.
"Industrial spy commed for a full 9 minutes."
"Yes."
"Possible to send two 500-char messages in 9 minutes?"
"Trained operators hit 100 chars per minute. Not impossible."
Lab infiltrator tried Morse. Makes sense if output works anywhere. Any degreed scientist or mage knows that.
Nothing weird.
But two 500-char blasts in 9 minutes? Trained pros do 100/min. Some lab drone banging out 1,000 chars in 9? Bullshit.
Maybe a ham radio hobbyist—but that's niche even in modern times. Here? No internet tutorials. Civilians can't learn Morse or radio tech.
Plus, industrial spies are usually recruited civilians. No formal mil training.
So this lab transmission? No amateur work. And numerically encrypted, likely one-time pad.
Meaning…
"…Fuck, this guy's a real spy."
Not some hired gun for cash. A professionally trained operative.
There's a spy in the lab.