“Take option 6,” Wade said. The chief entered 6, and various satellite communications protocols appeared. After exploring for a bit, Kuntzelman found an active link via Sipper using, of all things, the Iridium Satellite Telephone Network.
The chief continued, entering access codes and establishing a data connection with the ship’s systems. When he was done, he had opened a single channel of communication though the military SIPRnet. The formerly dead screens came alive, albeit slowly, with status readouts.
“Well, look at that,” Kuntzelman said and pointed. One of the monitors showed a ready icon. “Just one channel?”
“I was hoping for more,” Wade admitted. “But now that one works, I can see about others.”
“No, don’t fuck with it. Sanchez, inform the XO we have comms back.”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Mr. Watts, please come with me. I have another job for you.”
Wade made a face, remembering the screen with all the cryptic options. Heptagon? Project Genesis? He desperately wanted to go back in. Kuntzelman was standing by the watertight door, waiting impatiently. Sanchez was busy typing in commands related to the ship’s status reports through the newly established network. She didn’t notice him slip a notebook into his pocket as he got to his feet.
Out in the hall, Wade had to ask the chief a question. “Did you tell me to go ahead because you thought it would work, or because you wanted me for the other project?”
The older man looked at him, and Wade could have sworn he saw the man give the barest of winks. “You did us a favor; that’s good enough for now.”
They went down several decks, then though several more compartments. In his time aboard the Ford, he’d largely kept to a few areas. Nobody seemed to care where he went as they were too busy doing navy shit. However, he got lost the first couple of times he started exploring, so he quit venturing out.
Following Kuntzelman, Wade quickly left the familiar areas behind. He thought he was in one of the hangar deck work areas, though he wasn’t certain. The walk only took five minutes, and then they passed through a pressure-tight door into a workshop full of electronics. A pair of navy techs in coveralls were leaning over something on a workbench, deep in conversation.
“Gentlemen,” Kuntzelman said, clearing his throat. Both men turned to look at him.
“Yes, Chief?” one of them answered.
“I’ve brought someone to help you. This is Mr. Watts.”
They both examined Wade, quickly taking in his coveralls without any insignia, patches, or name tab, as well as the way his girth stretched the ‘XL’ to its limit.
“Civilian?” the other asked.
“That’s right, Seaman. He’s officially a contractor.”
“Am I getting paid at some point?” Wade asked. He’d meant it as a joke.
“You get fed and have a bunk,” Kuntzelman said. “If you’re smart, you’ll call it even.” He left him with the two navy techs. Wade gawked.
“Don’t let Chief Kuntzelman get under your skin,” the first one said.
“When they make you a chief petty officer, they remove your sense of humor,” the other said. “I’m Seaman Bond, this is Seaman Apprentice Dodd. Watts okay?”
“Just Wade is fine.”
“Wade Watts?” Dodd asked. “Like in the movie?”
“Please don’t go there,” Wade said and walked between the two. They were no more than 20 or so years old, around 10 years his junior. They looked at each other and exchanged grins. “What can I do to help?”
“We’ve got this key drive,” Bond said and held it up.
“Encrypted?” Wade asked.
“Yup,” Dodd agreed.
Wade took the drive and looked at it. Other than the letters OOE printed on it in gold, it was a nondescript key drive. It didn’t even have the storage size printed on it.
“Can you get into it?” Bond asked.
“Well,” Wade said, “it doesn’t look like an IronKey. So, unless they’ve got some crazy floating-point encryption, sure.” Both men grinned. “I need my laptop.” Wade glanced back at the hatch, frowning as he tried to remember the route Chief Kuntzelman had led him on. “Uhm…” he said.
Dodd laughed. “Tell me where your billet is, and I’ll go get it.” He pointed to a section of workbench. “You can set up there.”
True to his word, Dodd was back before Wade finished organizing his section of workbench. Sitting between Dodd and Bond was a partially disassembled machine. Wade didn’t think it was military. His biggest clue was the Nintendo controller wired into it.
“Here you go,” Dodd said as he handed Wade the computer bag.
Wade removed his laptop and equipment pouch. He took out his discreet logic analyzer and hooked it up via USB before booting up the PC.
“Aren’t you just going to plug the drive into the computer?” Bond asked.
“No,” Wade said. He looked up at them. “I thought you two were computer experts.”
“Experts?” Dodd said and laughed.
“Give him a break,” Bond said, “he’s a civie.” Dodd grunted.
“This device isolates the USB from the laptop.”
“Why?” Dodd asked.
“Virus, stupid,” Bond said.
Wade snorted and nodded. “USB key drives are awesome, but they’re like a conduit to your computer’s brain. Load the wrong drive…” He mimed an explosion. They both gawked. “It won’t literally explode; that’s movie bullshit.” He patted his computer. “This is custom built. I’m not burning it up for your secret porn files.”
“It’s not porn,” Bond said, a grin on his face.
Wade wasn’t convinced.
He used his equipment to examine the drive. It was encrypted, like they had said. However, it wasn’t encrypted at the directory level, just the files. He checked one of the files, then blinked. “It’s encrypted with BitLocker?”
“Is that bad?” Bond asked.
Wade snorted and grinned at him. “Only if you’re in the military.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dodd asked.
“Nothing,” Wade said, “chill out.” He ran the first file through his decryption tool. The computer turned its considerable power toward a brute force assault on the file. It cracked in 12 seconds. “Got the first file,” he said. The two men leaned in to look at his screen. “It’s a text file, some notes on a…drive cluster?”
“So, you can get the rest?” Dodd asked.
“Sure.” Wade fed the other files into a buffer and set his computer to work. Quite a few were image files. The encryption on the image files was broken in seconds as they were easier; the rest took just under an hour.
While they waited, the pair of sailors left and returned with food. Rice flavored with soup and some canned chicken. Wade was sure it was all packaged before the outbreak, or they wouldn’t be serving it. The three ate while his computer tore the data apart and put it back together.
They piled the empty plastic plates on the bench with the computer once all the files had been decrypted.
Wade transferred the data onto an SD card from his bag and gave it to the men then examined the files. They took the SD card over to their own computer as he looked at the files. Quite a few were text and audio files—notes on research. Others were schematics and diagrams and, he thought, theoretical physics. Then, one of the images suddenly clicked.
“OOE,” Wade said. “Oceanic Orbital Enterprises.” The other two men weren’t looking at him. “This is the spaceship they were going to fly, but never did.” Wade looked at more schematics. “This drive, though?” He tapped the screen. “It’s an add on. New. All this data centers around it. Where did it come from?”
“Aliens,” Dodd said.
“Bullshit,” Wade said.
“Remember the floating C-17?” Bond asked.
“Yeah, but…” Wade let the thought taper off. Kathy Clifford had been mumbling stuff about aliens yesterday after the president’s pla
ne went down. The fucking virus, like nothing on Earth. While they were looking over the files, he slid his chair down and looked at the weird machine with its Nintendo controller. He took the top off and saw a glowing, blue, crystalline cylinder. It looked like a sci-fi prop, surrounded by electrical components and obviously improvised wiring.
“Is this what flew the C-17?”
“Yup,” Dodd said.
“So, why did you need all this data?” Wade asked.
“They cobbled together the controller,” Bond explained.
“Who?”
Wade listened as the two men explained how the OOE people, after their helicopter crashed on the Ford, finally explained what they had with them—an alien ship—then used parts of it to MacGyver a drive and get the C-17 off the ship. Afterward, the drive was removed and given to the two seamen to figure out.
“We couldn’t quite figure out what they’d done,” Dodd admitted. “We finally got it working. At least the machine comes on and the lights glow. But we hooked it to a fighter, and nothing.”
“So, we asked for copies of their work,” Bond said, gesturing at the drive still in Wade’s computer.
“They gave you an encrypted drive?”
“We didn’t say they gave it,” Dodd pointed out.
They stole it, Wade realized. Then he shrugged; it was no skin off his back. “You said it doesn’t work?” They nodded. “Have you connected it to ferrous metal?”
“What difference does the type of metal make?” Dodd asked.
“I don’t know, but the documents mention ferrous.” The two stared at him in amazement. “The docs also mention that you can increase sensitivity by coupling a signal booster with a potentiometer.” Wade pointed to the contact points on the breadboard. The techs grabbed some components and started wiring them in.
“How did you find the info so fast?” Dodd asked as they worked.
“I learned speed reading techniques years ago,” Wade explained. “They really help in computer game competitions.”
“The table over there is ferrous metal,” Dodd said, pointing.
Wade glanced over and nodded. It was an older style, heavy, steel table, probably meant for holding batteries or other heavy gear. “That should work,” he said and picked up the module.
“We’re not sure about the interface,” Bond said, stepping over. “It wasn’t calibrated right when they moved the C-17. Took them all day to get it back onto the deck.”
Wade walked over to the other components. There were star-shaped, blueish, metal pieces. He grabbed two of those and a hexagonal black module. Stopping to read a section of the documents, he returned to the machine. “This is the power module,” he said, holding up the black hexagon. Then indicated the star-shaped items. “These are the interfaces. With these we don’t need the cobbled power supply to operate the drive.”
“How much of the documents did you read?” Dodd asked.
Wade ignored him. “We’ll float the table,” he said. “Worst case, it hits the roof, or something.” He wired in a Bluetooth adapter. “Now, we don’t have to be near it.” He looked at the two navy men. “Okay?”
They stared at each other for a second, then looked back at him and shrugged. “You’re the expert,” Bond said.
“Right,” Dodd agreed.
“Okay.” Wade grinned. “Let’s make something fly.” He attached the drive to the table with a single sheet metal screw, then taped the power module and controller on. Finished, he examined his handiwork. “Should be fine,” he said half under his breath. “But let’s stand in the doorway, just in case.”
The navy men retreated quickly, but Wade simply backed up. He looked above the—only some light fixtures and bare metal. No worries there. Behind the table was bare bulkhead, and under it was the painted deck. Nothing vital if this goes sideways. He turned on the controller.
The blue, alien drive module’s glow became a deep azure, and the star-shaped interface seemed to shimmer like hot concrete on a summer day. He moved the controller up. The table moved backward and clanged into the wall. It didn’t hit hard or fast, but the sound seemed to resound though the ship. “Oops.” Both men looked alarmed. “Must have the controls mixed up. I’ll try again.”
“Yes,” Dodd said in an affected Jewish accent. “This time without the oops?”
Wade examined the control pad. If the one he’d pressed was sideways instead of up, then the one below it must be down. So, he pressed the other. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. Each press should have yielded a foot of measured movement. Nothing.
“Calibration must be off,” he said and popped open the cover, examining the potentiometers.
“We didn’t build it,” Dodd pointed out.
“The guys from OOE set it up,” Bond added. “It worked fine on the C-17.”
“Maybe it was bumped?” Wade wondered. The sound of running feet outside made them look up. A pair of seamen rushed past. The three looked at each other. Wade shrugged and used a precision screwdriver to increase the control calibration increment a step. “Okay,” he said, “let’s see if this works.” He pressed up this time. Nothing. He pressed it several times, the last one in frustration. “What the fuck is wrong with this?” He looked at the alien components, wondering if they were hooked up properly. Just as he reached for one, an alarm blared.
“General quarters! General quarters!”
“We better shut it down if something is happening,” Dodd said. Bond nodded.
“Okay,” Wade agreed and reached for the off switch.
“STOP!”
Wade jumped and spun around. Chief Kuntzleman was standing in the hatchway, a look of mixed horror and rage on his face. “What—” he started to ask.
“Don’t touch it.” Kuntzleman growled. Both the seamen straightened up and looked alarmed.
“Why?”
“Come with me,” Kuntzleman said, making a stilted ‘come here’ gesture with his index finger.
Wade got up and followed without comment. Dodd and Bond fell in behind.
It was slow going. The alarm continued to blare, and crewmen were running around like crazy. Many looked panicked. Wade was getting a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.
“I told you to help them,” Kuntzleman said. “I didn’t say fuck with the blasted thing.”
They reached a bigger hatch, and the chief moved through and to the side. It was one of the carrier’s hangar decks. Dozens of seamen were standing around, their duties forgotten as they stared. Wade blinked, uncertain what was going on.
“What’s your explanation for this?” Kuntzleman demanded and pointed.
Wade looked in the direction the chief was pointing, toward one of the big elevator openings. Only, instead of a view of the Pacific Ocean, there was an unmistakable view of the Earth…from orbit.
“Oops.”
* * *
“Jeremiah!”
He ran out of the office where they’d been assessing the missing data when Alex West yelled from just outside. Jeremiah cleared the door and came up against the ship’s rail. It didn’t look like anything was different. Lots of civilian ships, a few military ships, some of both burning. It looked like the Flotilla was coming apart at the seams.
“What am I looking at?” he asked as other crewmen ran out behind him.
“The carrier,” West said, pointing.
Jeremiah spotted it at least a mile away, maybe two. He thought it might be the Gerald R. Ford, the one he’d landed on after retrieving the second alien ship. They’d dumped his damned helicopter over the side. He noticed a wave washing away from the carrier. A big one, at least 20 feet tall. He looked around—the surrounding waters only had low whitecaps.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
West explained. “I was standing here, watching the carrier. They’ve been shuttling helos between ships, fighting outbreaks. Seemed like a losing battle. Then, suddenly, the Ford kind of jerked sideways.”
“Huh?” Jerem
iah asked.
“Yeah, I know, but that’s what happened.”
Jeremiah opened his mouth to comment when the carrier jumped up. He tried to guess how far—maybe 20 or 30 feet? A considerable number of his people were gathered nearby, and many gasped in surprise. The water around the carrier was sucked inward, then exploded out again.
“I think we know where the stolen data went,” Maria Merino, his rocket propulsion specialist, said.
“They hooked the damn thing to the carrier?” Jack Coldwell asked. “Are they crazy?”
“If they mess with the calibration…” Alison McDill warned.
Jeremiah nodded, and a second later the USS Gerald R. Ford shot straight up so quickly it became a blur. He tried to track it, but by the time he lifted his head, the 1,100-foot long supercarrier was a retreating dot. The shockwave, however, was still there.
“Cover your ears!” West yelled as he crouched and jammed his hands over his ears.
Jeremiah did the same thing. He could see the shock wave distortion—a rapidly advancing white line tearing over the water—moving toward them, just like the ones in those old nuclear bomb tests. He had a fleeting image of the obliteration of a small sailing ship, its mast ripped free and the sail flying like a leaf caught in the wind. Then the shockwave hit his ship.
The wind was like a hammer blow, causing the ship to list at least 10 degrees. It was a seconds-long hurricane. Then, as quickly as it started, it was over. “Is everyone okay?” West asked. They weren’t. Two of the techs who’d come out to watch were down. One was unconscious.
“Idiots!” Jeremiah yelled. His ears were ringing, despite his having covered them.
“What was that blast?” someone asked.
“Air rushing in to fill the void created by a supercarrier going from zero to multiples of Mach in a fraction of a second,” Patty Mize explained.
Jeremiah saw West nodding in agreement. “Like a thunderclap,” West added.
“Where do you think the carrier is?” Jeremiah asked.
“Mars?” McDill asked.
West shook his head. “No, if it went faster than light, we’d all be dead.”
“Yes, I agree,” Coldwell said, nodding. “It wouldn’t have been a blast of wind; it would have been a nuclear blast—a damned big one.”
Turning Point (Book 3): A Time To Live Page 5