“Fix and test?” John sounded distressed.
“Fix only,” interrupted Hinson.
“We need to change and rebuild the program, then upload it,” replied Sullivan. “Two weeks minimum. Some folks at Livermore are already off on Christmas vacation.” “Cancel vacation, damn it! Bring ’em back. How long?” Craven was relentless.
“Two weeks—and I stand against this quick fix idea.” “You can do better than that,” interrupted Hinson. “I think we could turn this around in two days. If you make the changes and rebuild the program today, we could upload first thing tomorrow.”
“That’s nonsense,” interrupted Napper. “I’m against it!”
“If our program fix doesn’t work we’ll put the original program back—nothing to get worked up over.” Hinson smelled a promotion.
“This crash approach to solving our problem is so senseless it’s frightening,” Mason insisted. He’d never felt Craven’s pit-bull tactics before but found them formidable. With the bit between his teeth, Craven wouldn’t let go until he got what he wanted.
“Da,” added Krol, shaking his head. “It’s a bad plan!”
Craven looked directly at Colonel Napper. “Sam, can you and John fix and build this program load in one day?”
“You can replace me any time you choose, General. I’ll do it if it’s an order, but I’m against it.”
Craven looked at Sullivan. “John, can you rebuild in one day?”
“I am against it, but we can do it.” He spoke softly with a tone of dismay in his voice.
On the War Room floor sixty feet below, chewing a new piece of Juicy Fruit gum, Shripod Addams listened to every word the generals said. The reason for his smile wasn’t obvious to the Air Force captain sitting at the console next to him. Laughing to himself, the captain concluded that Shripod’s gum must be mighty good. The bug that Addams had attached underneath the conference table was working much better than expected. He’d stuck the bug in a wad of gum when he was on call yesterday in the Video Conference Room. Allahu Akbar—God is greater than our enemies, Addams thought. Truly, this must be a sign from Allah.
Back in the Crow’s Nest, Mason spoke in a tone edged with ice. “I think you’re putting too much stock on Hinson’s input, General. What if there’s malice during the build? Testing’s the only way to detect it.” Mason stood and walked around the room—he couldn’t sit down any longer.
“Simply reload the software we’re running today,” Hinson quipped.
Shripod Addams almost laughed out loud knowing full well that PAM would protect itself no matter what. Their Iraqi Trojan horse would never allow the infidels to reload their software. With considerable satisfaction, Shripod Addams imagined what lay ahead for the Maronites (enemies of Allah). Allah had used him as an instrument of his divine will.
“These are complicated systems,” Mason insisted. “We can’t protect ourselves from a malicious act. We may get ourselves into big trouble rushing this test through before Christmas.”
Craven jumped to his feet and shouted in Mason’s face. “Listen, Slim! You’re barking up the wrong tree! The faster we ram this fix through, the better!”
“The ends don’t justify the means,” Mason replied softly. His eyes turned icy blue as he dug in. “It’s not worth the risk. I think . . .”
Craven interrupted Mason mid-sentence, cutting him off cold. “Organized sabotage takes political approval, and political approval takes time. The faster we ram this fix through, the less chance we have for sabotage.”
“What you say is true, General, but the gain is not worth the risk.” Mason surveyed the faces of the commanders in the room. “Recommendation, gentlemen?”
Colonel Napper, the defense force commander, spoke first. ‘Take the time to do it right!”
Sullivan agreed.
“Never underestimate your opposition, my General.” Krol reflected quietly. “Any worthy adversary would know our situation, would know our every move.” Krol paused, struggling to deliver his point using the most direct English language he could articulate. “Were we not comrades, my General—my country would exploit this situation and turn it against you.”
Excitement crept into Hinson’s voice. “General Mason, we can do it! I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it.” He’d found his ticket to promotion. Hinson interrupted Krol’s point before Craven could fully appreciate the consequences.
“I’m not convinced or impressed, Hinson.” Mason cringed, imagining the worst-case consequences. Napper, Sullivan, and Krol agreed.
Craven saw a way to get what he wanted and now spoke directly without emotion. “Gentlemen, you need to guard against being overly conservative. Ours is a profession of risk. This is a chance I believe we should take. If we win—we win big. If we lose, we’ve lost only two days’ effort and no one gets hurt. I insist this is a chance we should take.”
“Is that an order?” asked Napper.
“A direct order!” Craven barked testily. “Build today— test tomorrow.” Craven paused, then decided to make his orders absolutely clear. “We rerun these tests starting tomorrow at ten o’clock sharp! Hinson, have your forces ready to go.”
“They’re ready, sir. I’d expected this.” Hinson’s forces weren’t ready and hadn’t expected any additional testing until after the New Year. Hinson was a liar, but one of the best. During his military career, he’d cultivated and refined this skill to an art. He knew, with some arm-twisting and canceled vacations, he could pull this thing off and come out smelling like a rose.
To know the answer is not important, Hinson thought. It is only important to look like you know the answer.
Lunch, 12108/2014, 1918 Zulu, 12:18 p.m. Local
En Route To Shripod Addams’ Apartment,
Colorado Springs, Colorado
On his way home for lunch, Shripod Addams felt his heart pounding as he pulled into the Loaf ’N’ Jug food store. Watch your blood pressure, he thought. Try to relax. His hands trembled as he struggled to open his car trunk. “Just get the key in the hole!” he muttered to himself. His blood pressure had soared, his head throbbed, and he couldn’t control the shaking in his hands.
Addams was about to change the course of history and he knew it. Only the most important thing I’ve ever done, he thought.
Although hyperventilating, from a distance Shripod looked normal enough. He felt his shakes would improve after sending his message to Mother.
Shripod’s hunch had been right and his message was ready to go. He’d prepared an encrypted confirmation message for Mother before he’d gone to work and put it in his trunk. The translator leaned over his trunk and taped his message to his stiff Kodak gray card. He tucked the card under his arm, stuffed the fish-eye lens into his coat pocket, and walked into the food store. Inside, his cold lens clouded over, so he had pizza at the lunch counter. Once the lens cleared, he called his local Baghdad computer network.
Shripod Addams understood the importance of his message. He believed Allah was with him in his holy war against the infidels. Inshallah (God willing), the enemies of Allah would burn.
A Conversation with the Chairman, 12/08/2014, 2030 Zulu
1:30 P.M. Local
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado
Shortly after lunch, Craven and Mason placed their daily call to Washington. Craven cringed as Mason’s staff moved several notebooks filled with viewgraphs into the Video Conference Room. He looked at Mason. “Forget the view-graphs! The chief’s expecting this report, but I want it short. I’ll do the talking and I don’t want debate.”
Craven turned on the videophone, then called his boss on the direct line to the White House. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff answered immediately.
“Chief,” Craven barked. “We need to keep this short.” Assuming the worst, the chairman cut to the heart of the matter. “What’s the bad news?” For the past two years, he’d heard only excuses. Why should this report be any different?
“Overall, we’re in pretty good sha
pe. We tracked the stealth missiles start to finish, but had a software problem.” “There’s always software problems!” the chairman quipped in an acid voice.
“Yeah, but this bug’s easy to fix . . .just a software switch.”
“Nothing’s easy.”
Craven took him to mean that no part of the SDI program had been straightforward. Craven looked at Mason and reluctantly admitted the chairman was right. “We’re running this test again tomorrow beginning ten a.m. our time.”
“You say you tracked the missiles?”
‘That’s right, Chief. This last test is cleanup.”
“You’re sure you’ve got a handle on this problem?” “We’re ninety-nine percent there!”
“You’re turning this software change around in record time,” observed the chairman.
“Two days,” Craven boasted. “We’re wrapping this testing up before Christmas.”
“How will you get this new software installed?”
“Uplink earth station in Puerto Rico. The changes are minor. Centurion won’t be taken off-line ...”
Mason interrupted Craven in front of the chairman. “We’re still working the details, but Centurion will come off-line during the upload. We’ll place the satellite network under Hope's control while we test the changes.” Mason couldn’t keep quiet any longer.
Craven’s face turned fiery red, but he forced a calm appearance for the camera.
“Sounds like you’re working the bugs out and it’s just a matter of time. The President will be pleased. Call me tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
Immediately after the chairman hung up, Mason tied into Craven. “Centurion must come off-line tomorrow. Centurion can’t control our satellites running untested software!” Mason knew he was right. He knew that Craven knew that he was right! ... And this was important. “Standard procedure requires this safeguard when we load new programs. We won’t be ready to run this stealth test for at least one week and you know it.”
“Using conventional safeguards, you’re right,” Craven nodded agreement. “Standard procedure requires us to turn satellite control over to Hope . . . but we’re not going to do it.”
“What do you mean? We don’t have a choice!”
“That’s where you’re wrong!” The rise in tension was clearly visible on Craven’s face. His voice rasped at Mason. “I had a choice and I made it. The change is simple, so we’ll bypass the safeguards!”
“But...”
Craven interrupted. “The responsibility is mine alone.”
When Mason spoke, his words came slowly, each one edged with urgency. “The gain is not worth the risk.”
The ominous silence which followed drew out and became a test of wills.
Eventually, Craven spoke. “We have a fallback position if there’s any problem. Worst-case, we’ll simply reload the programs we’re running now.” Craven acted relaxed, but it was only an act and Mason knew it.
“With all due respect, General, I cannot support your decision.” Mason’s reply was polite, but his tone was now edged with ice.
“Just do it!” Craven groused. “You don’t have to respect me.”
Mason cringed, then emotionally disconnected. Tomorrow is another day, he thought. His eyes iced over, turning steely blue. Mason knew he would fight this battle again, but as for today, Craven had the bit between his teeth.
“Listen, Slim. You had your say ... you said it twice and I heard you dammit! Now get on with it!”
Below the Crow’s Nest on the War Room floor, quietly listening to their conversation, Shripod Addams endorsed General Craven’s decision to plow ahead. He finished his coffee ... his hands now steady.
Yearning, 12/08/2014, 2032 Zulu
Space Station Freedom
Weightless, Freedom crew commander Major Jay Fayhee advanced hand over hand across the overhead ladder to Centurion’s corner. Once seated alongside Centurion and Captain Depack McKee, he removed an old faded letter from his pants leg pocket, one of the last letters he’d received from Linda before their marriage went wrong. Quietly facing Centurion’s talking head, Jay read the letter one last time, hoping to work up the courage to call her. Caressing the tattered yellowed paper, his hands trembled slightly. Unthinkingly and quite out of habit, he loaded their old high school yearbook off CD ROM. Before he’d realized what he was doing, he found himself staring at Linda’s picture on screen, thinking nostalgically about the woman he’d loved and lost such a long time ago.
How long had it been since he’d talked to Linda? Over Five years now. It seemed like yesterday, a thousand years ago. He wondered how she’d sound. Would her voice feel as warm as he remembered? Would her tone perk up when she recognized his voice? Probably not. Would she even take his call? How would she respond? More than anything else, Jay wanted desperately to talk to Linda, really open up and talk to her the way they used to talk. He’d always been able to tell her anything. Interested or not, she’d acted interested. And she’d been so unbelievably trusting—gullible to a fault. She’d believe anything he told her or—Jay corrected himself—there was a time when she’d believe anything he’d tell her. No doubt, those happy, gullible times were ancient history now.
Moving to the observation window, facing all heaven and earth, Jay gazed in wonder at the vastness of the universe. The immenseness was awe inspiring, yet he felt so small, so... lonely. Raising his eyes toward the heavens, Jay prayed a short prayer, then rallied his strength in hopes of fulfilling his dream, a dream his heart wished for, a dream his soul prayed for, but a dream he feared could never come true. From the depths of his soul, Jay hoped against all hope that Linda would welcome the sound of his voice.
Well, Jay thought to himself, faint heart never won this lady, and she darn sure won’t call me—so get on with it.
Returning again to Centurion’s comer, still contemplating Linda’s picture on screen, he looked away to meet Centurion’s camera eye.
About that time, Captain Depack McKee spoke from his control console near Centurion. “Commander, you appear distracted, lost in your thoughts.”
“I suppose I am,” he responded quietly, staring at Linda’s picture. “I’m a little uncomfortable expressing this out loud—in words, I mean—but off the record, my heart’s online again and I’m afraid it’s going to get broken. It probably sounds ridiculous, but that’s how I feel.”
“Well, I’m no expert on relationships, Jay, but rejection is a risk of living. If you want to talk to her, put your heart on the line, open up, and this time try like hell to think about her feelings. If you don’t, you’ll go to your grave regretting it. You screwed up big time—it’s written all over your face, but you’ve got the rest of your life to make it up to her, so give it your best shot. I mean it, Commander. Take the initiative.”
“The way you put it, it sounds almost possible, even likely.” After a few moments’ thought, Jay shook his head in disbelief. “Allowing my marriage to fail was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life. I made us both miserable, but honestly, all those women ... I don’t know what came over me.”
“Listen, Jay, you screwed up, now get over it. Life goes on. People make mistakes, so quit kicking yourself. Take a chance and call the woman. What’s the worst that could happen? She’s married again or hangs up. Best-case, she’s glad to hear your voice. Maybe she wants you to call; maybe she wants to talk; maybe she’s been thinking about you.”
Jay looked once again into Centurion’s camera eye. After taking a deep breath, he spoke quietly. “Centurion, establish a secure voice link to Space Station Hope. I need to speak with Major Linda Scott. And it’s important.”
A Voice from the Past, 1210812014, 2037 Zulu
Altitude: 22,300 Miles In Geostationary Orbit,
SDI Space Station Fortress Hope
Hope crew commander Pasha Yakovlev manned his watch station facing Guardian, a work space which reflected a homey personality all its own. Interestingly, most of the gadgets adorning Pa
sha’s high-tech office area were covered up, hidden behind pictures of his family. Scott, Mac, and Gonzo found Pasha’s work space delightful, bringing a feeling of humanity to the oversized tin can designated Space Station Hope. Of all Pasha’s personal items he brought onboard, the most interesting was a poster-sized montage showing pictures of his wife and three small children. Once Hell Fire's repairs were complete and the time was right, Scott planned to get more details from Pasha about these pictures. But for now, Hell Fire's communication antennas required her attention. Outside, with an array of floodlights and camera in hand, Gonzo and Mac were surveying the damage, covering every square inch of Hell Fire's skin.
“Commander,” Guardian spoke plainly through the intercom speaker by Hope crew commander Pasha Yakovlev. “Centurion has established a secure comm link from SS Freedom. Commander Major Jay Fayhee requests to speak with Major Linda Scott.”
“Video link?”
“Secure voice traffic only, sir.”
Pasha threw a series of switches providing link redundancy.
“Guardian, patch him through to her headset. She’s suited up, about ready to start prebreathing. He caught her just in time.”
Listening to the conversation between Guardian and Pasha, Jay found himself holding his breath. There was a popping sound over the voice link followed by a click, then Guardian spoke again.
“Major Scott, we have established a secure voice link between Space Stations Freedom and Hope at the request of Commander Jay Fayhee. He asks to speak with you. Should I complete the connection or take voice mail?”
“Guardian, hold one minute.” Caught off guard, Scott surveyed the control room for someplace she could talk, someplace private. There was none. Then she remembered their sleeping quarters nestled among the missile tubes near the airlock on Hope's red face. Wearing her extravehicular activity (EVA) suit, Scott found maneuvering about the station cumbersome. Bulkier than her regular pressurized suit, even the simplest task became a clumsy chore. Once inside her tiny dorm room and free of distractions, she instructed Guardian to connect Jay’s call.
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