by JE Gurley
“If the Javelin fails to stop any of the Kaiju, I am to assume complete authority of the mission.”
The announcement was a hammer blow to his ego. “I see.”
“I did not ask for it,” Sakiri added. “The Joint Chiefs added it as part of their agreement. I do not wish to dictate terms to you or your team.”
“Unless you feel it is necessary.”
“Yes.”
Walker let the tension flow from his body. He could not afford a confrontation under any circumstances. He had to trust that Sakiri would keep his word. The news about Budapest hit him hard. The team leader, Wilson, was a family man from Leeds. Another entire team was gone, this time killed by the Russians, their supposed allies in the war against the Nazir. He considered the bombing of Budapest a betrayal of humankind, even if they wished to place the blame on Ukraine. The world knew who pulled the strings.
“When this is all over, we’ll have to do something about the Russians. If they refuse to play nice, we need to kick them off the playground.”
“One enemy at a time,” Sakiri said.
Walker appreciated Sakiri’s attempt to defuse the situation. He was right. “One enemy at a time.”
“Then let’s do it.” Sakiri turned to Costas. “What about you, Sergeant?”
From his hammock, Costas growled, “Yeah. Anything beats sitting in this damn coffin.”
Sakiri reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out a small silver flask. When he sloshed its contents, Costas opened one eye and stared at him.
“How about a drop of Ballantine’s?” He handed Costas the flask.
“Ain’t this against regulations?” Costas asked, holding up the flask and caressing it with his gaze.
“I always keep a bit of Scotch handy to celebrate a victory.”
“Isn’t this celebrating a bit early?” Costas opened the flask, took a deep swig, and smacked his lips. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
“I thought perhaps we might celebrate before our victory, just in case.”
Costas’ face darkened. “Yeah, good idea. What about you, Major? Does the Koran make allowances for victory drinks?”
Walker smiled and shook his head. “None for me, but my spirit is with you.”
Costas lifted the flask. “Here’s to good Scotch spirits.”
Walker decided to let Sakiri and Costas celebrate alone. “I think I’ll inform Gate that his wish has been granted. He should be pleased.”
“I’ll bet he’s already figured out a worst-case scenario,” Costas said.
“Sergeant,” Walker said, “this is the worst-case scenario.”
* * * *
After three days in flight, the pilots and copilots had settled into a routine closely akin to normalcy. Except for the fact they were in an enclosed environment in space 450 million miles from Earth, the compartment very much resembled an aircraft carrier’s ready room. However, there was no board showing flight movements, the ubiquitous Ouija Board. When the time came, they would all be in their Lances reporting directly to Sakiri. Men and women reclined in bunks, sat on benches or chairs, played cards, read magazines or Kindles, had bullshit sessions, joked, argued, and complained. A poster taped to the wall written in black marker declared the compartment “Ready Room KA” for Kick Ass. Walker admired their enthusiasm and hoped it was as high on Day 10 as it was on Day 3.
Threading his way through the crowded galley, the aroma of baked chicken greeted him. Four crewmembers had decided to avoid the miasma of so many different foods heating in the microwaves by choosing the same meal. It reminded Walker of the chow line at Fort Irwin in California on chicken potpie day, one of his favorite meals. The pre-packaged meals provided by NASA supplied the proper balance of nutrients and caloric intake. The taste was acceptable, nothing fancy, but palatable. However, the cacophony of aromas from so many different meals mixing in the air muddied the individual flavors. Each bite absorbed a minute trace of someone else’s meal. Most of the crew did not notice or else ignored the slight discrepancy between smell and taste. He could not. In spite of his love of chicken, for some indefinable reason, the smell repulsed him. He blamed the tension of the mission, that ever-present viper hissing constantly in his ear, “Failure.”
He walked onto the bridge in the middle of an argument. Gate and Blivens faced off inches apart, the tall astronomer towering over Blivens, whose face was a bright shade of coral. Gate stood with his right hand balled into a massive fist at his side. Walker had never seen the astronomer strike anyone, but he presented an intimidating figure. Goodman and Worthen sat silent at their consoles, looking as if they had rather be anywhere else, glancing up only occasionally. When the pair noticed Walker enter, both their faces flooded with relief. Gate and Blivens stopped yelling and turned to stare at him. Feeling the heavy tension in the room, he almost turned around and left, but he figured the disagreement had something to do with the proposed course change. He needed to step in to prevent further escalation. He looked at Gate and raised one eyebrow.
“Blivens here has changed his mind,” Gate blurted.
“I didn’t change my mind. I formulated better data, that’s all.”
“You’re saying it is impossible,” Gate countered.
Walker stepped between the two men and led Gate to the wall a safe distance from Blivens. Blivens relaxed his stance, but the angry expression on his face did not waver. “Start at the beginning,” Walker said.
Blivens spoke up first. “I reran some numbers on the drive. It has been a learning curve. There are still things we –”
Walker stopped him. “Just the pertinent facts, please.”
Blivens sighed. “I can’t overload the drive with sufficient accuracy to assure an explosion within the vicinity of the Kaiju pods.” He shook his head and shrugged. “It’s impossible.”
Gate glared at Blivens. “His original estimate from build up to explosion was .08 seconds. Now, it’s almost double that.”
“New factors, new data.”
Walker cut short Gate’s retort to Blivens with a shake of his head. “Does a tenth of a second make that much difference?” Their concern puzzled him.
They both stared at him as if he had spoken gibberish. Gate answered. “It’s a matter of celestial mechanics. You’re a sniper. It’s somewhat the same principle. With two objects approaching one another at the speeds we’re talking about, tenths of a second could mean a hundred thousand miles.”
“I see. The Kaiju could pass the Javelin before the explosion. They approved your plan, by the way, so we have to come up with a workable solution soon. Earth depends on it.”
He expected a look of triumph on Gate’s face. Instead, the lanky astronomer looked appalled. “They agreed?”
“Look, why can’t we disembark everyone to await the Assegai, and then move the Javelin a few million miles toward the Kaiju and stop it? Make it a sitting target for the aliens.”
“Same problem – timing,” Gate replied. “The aliens might continue to divert a single pod. They might change speeds or ignore it entirely. We need to meet the entire group to do as much damage as possible. Otherwise, we’re wasting a ship for very little gain.”
As much as he hated it, Walker could think of only one option. “Someone will have to remain with the Javelin to initiate the overload.”
“Are you crazy?” Blivens shouted. “That’s suicide.”
Gate stared in stunned silence at Walker’s suggestion of a suicide run. Walker ignored Gate and turned to Blivens. “Can you teach me the process? Not everything; I just need to know enough to trigger the explosion. The rest is automatic, right?”
“Yes, but –”
“No buts. We have to stop the Kaiju. This is the only way. It’s my job.” He glanced at Gate and smiled. “I’ve been killing Kaiju since Day 1.”
Blivens threw his hands in the air and shook his head. “It’s impossible. You can’t pilot the ship.”
“Okay. Then you and I go. Two lives to save Eart
h. It’s a bargain.”
Blivens stretched to his full height and thrust out his chin in defiance. “No! I won’t do it. I’m not stupid!”
Walker was at his wit’s end. He had tired of Blivens blustering, but he couldn’t order him to go. “Then show me what to do.”
“It’s useless. You have no idea –”
“I’ll go,” Gate said. He spoke quietly, and his voice cracked on the last word. His Adam’s apple fluttered up and down in his throat as he swallowed several times. “I can do it, I think.” He shook his head. “I mean, I can do it. I’ll go.”
Blivens raised his hand and pointed at Gate with a smirk distorting his features. “He’s not qualified.”
Beads of sweat dotted Gate’s forehead, eliciting a pang of sympathy from Walker. Clearly, his friend was afraid, but he had volunteered anyway. Walker gave him credit for courage. He flicked a smile at Gate. “He’s more qualified than I am.”
Blivens put his hands on each side of his head and moaned. “This is insane. You’re both crazy.”
“Someone has to do this. Unless you wish to volunteer …”
Blivens glared at him and stalked away facing the bulkhead.
“There’s the magnetic bottle,” Worthen said; then, looked stricken, as if he had spoken aloud what he had been thinking.
Blivens whirled on him. “We discussed that earlier. It would never work. The field is too weak. It will cause a cascade effect in the drive.”
“It might, but we can’t be certain.”
“I’m certain,” Blivens stated with defiance, daring Worthen to challenge him.
“What?” Walker demanded.
Worthen stared at Walker and licked his lips. He had the look of a deer startled by headlights. He did not like the attention focused on him. “It might be possible to allow the drive to go near-critical but contain it within the magnetic bottle surrounding the unit. Collapsing the bottle will initiate an immediate explosion.”
Walker looked at Blivens. “Is this true?”
“Theoretically, but there will be seepage – gravity distortions, magnetic anomalies.” He shook his head. “We don’t know how much seepage. It could affect the ship and cause a cascading systems failure. I doubt anyone could survive long enough to initiate the collapse at a given time.”
“Someone will need to do the math,” Gate said. “The physics of two moving objects is complicated. Neither Worthen nor Blivens is qualified.” He grinned at Walker. “For sure you can’t.”
Walker understood where Gate was heading. “No way are you coming. You’re too vital to the mission. They might need you on the Assegai in case of an emergency. You plot an intercept course and program the ship. I’ll do the rest.”
“It’s not that simple.” Gate shifted his weight on one foot. “Besides, it was my idea. I can’t allow someone to take my place.”
Walker understood Gate’s dilemma. He attempted to soften the blow to Gate’s conscience. “I’ve sent men on missions knowing full well they might not survive. It’s all part of assuming responsibility. You’ve done your bit. It was your plan, but that’s as far as it goes.”
“No, I must be the one to do this, Aiden. My reason for coming was the necessity of making course corrections en route to avoid the Kaiju. By destroying them, we’re eliminating that problem, thereby negating my original purpose. Your job is to fight the Kaiju on Haumea. I can’t do that. We each have our specialties. Yours is being a hero. At heart, I’ve always been a numbers nerd. I’m not looking forward to dying, but I fully understand the risks involved.”
A glimmer of an idea began to form in Walker’s mind, a way to save Gate. They were essentially turning the Javelin into an Improvised Explosive Device. Walker understood IEDs. Terrorists triggered them by cell phone. “Can we do it remotely?”
Blivens hesitated, but Worthen spoke up. “Yes, but only within a limited range. The spatial distortions will increase exponentially with distance instead of the inverse. The waves gather momentum as they expand.”
In spite of the jargon he did not understand, Walker perceived a slight glimmer of hope. “How limited?”
“It would depend on the local gravity fields of nearby planets. Mars is closest and will have the most influence. I’d say a few thousand miles. Any farther, and you risk stray gravity waves initiating the sequence.”
“Good. A Lance can do that distance in minutes.”
Gate looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“We send a Lance with the Javelin. You initiate the gravity drive overload, bottle it up, and detonate it by remote control from the Lance, running like hell. You can rendezvous with the Assegai.”
Gate shook his head. “I appreciate what you’re attempting to do, but there are far too many variables to your plan. We risk a Lance and a pilot.”
“It’s a chance. There are more Kaiju coming after these,” Walker reminded him. “We’ll still need you to avoid them.”
“No, by then, the Assegai will have moved too far from their course to matter. We can’t do anything about them, and they can’t stop the Assegai. This first group is the problem we must deal with, for Earth’s sake.”
He hated to admit it, but Gate was right. In spite of Gate’s persistence, he did not feel right allowing him to assume full responsibility, but he could think of no alternative.
Gate was silent for a minute, as he paced the room. Finally, he faced Walker. “I can do this, Aiden. I don’t need you to hold my hand.”
Walker wouldn’t give up. “We still have a few hours, right? Maybe you four geniuses can come up with a better plan before then.”
Gate collapsed on his bunk. “It’s doubtful. Now, all I need is a Lance pilot as stupid as I am.”
It was unlikely they could stumble upon a better solution in the limited time remaining. To save Earth from the first onslaught of Kaiju, someone might have to place himself or herself in harm’s way. He just didn’t like the idea that it might be Gate.
15
August 14, USS Javelin –
Gate could not believe what he had done. He had backed himself into a corner from which he could not escape. When he had volunteered to make the journey to Haumea, the director had placed him in just such a corner. He hadn’t fought then; he could not fight now. Considering all the factors involved, he was the best man for the job. If anything, Walker had taught him that the right tool or weapon sometimes made all the difference. In this instance, he was both. When the idea had formed in his head, he had not expected that he might have to sacrifice himself. He hadn’t expected anyone to die. Now, he regretted having conceived the plan, but it was too late to back out.
No, that’s wrong. Saving countless lives on Earth is worth the risk, even with the certainty of my death. He found ironic humor in the fact that he had thought himself finished with facing death after his ordeal with Nusku. He wasn’t a natural-born hero like Walker, or a cynical, but dedicated soldier like Costas. Both men had trained to face danger and kick ass. Courage flowed through their veins as mathematics and probability flowed through his.
He could use a little of their courage. He had faced death and discovered a spot deep within himself he had hoped never to again revisit; a dark place like a cancer that needed little encouragement to grow and devour him – fear. It did not help that it was his idea. Sacrificing the Javelin had been a bold gamble he thought worth taking to spare Earth a portion of her coming misery. Now, the full horror of his proposal had come to rest on him. It was his onus, his albatross.
Maybe I should create a catastrophe probability flow chart with all the permutations that lead to a disastrous outcome. No, why tempt the devil?
He, Blivens, Worthen, and Goodman spent the next few hours brainstorming and arguing over trivial points until he thought physical violence would erupt, but they found no alternative to Worthen’s original plan. They agreed that Walker’s remote detonation scenario offered at least a slim chance of his surviving. Gate would guide the Javelin on an
intercept course with the inbound Kaiju, adjusting his trajectory to keep them bunched together for a viable target. When the Kaiju pods were within range, he would abandon ship aboard a Lance, remotely release the spatial fury magnetically bound within the gravity drive, and hope he and the pilot could outrun the resulting blast.
It seemed simple on paper, but numbers never lied. They might mislead, but they never lied. A thousand things could go wrong – okay, fifteen really, he admitted – any one of which doomed the plan to failure and him to death. One slight miscalculation created a cascade of failures that ended in catastrophe. He understood because that had been his field – catastrophe analysis.
The moment he dreaded finally arrived. The planning stage was over. It was time to implement his plan. Taking the gravity drive off-line brought the Javelin to a standstill in space within minutes, something that would have taken days with a normal rocket-powered ship. They offloaded nineteen of the Lances, as well as the rear habitat module and oxygen tank #1. NASA engineers had designed the detachable rear compartment to land on Haumea with the strike team. They had not foreseen the need for the larger forward compartment to be easily detached. Because of time constraints, it would remain with the ship. Fifty-four bodies crammed into such a small space elicited cries of outrage and strings of colorful curses, but Colonel Sakiri ignored them as he oversaw the transfer.
Costas decried his dismay for anyone within hearing. “We’re packed like sardines in here. I didn’t sign up for this.” Many voices rose in agreement. To Walker, he said, “Unless one of the female pilots wants to share my hammock, I’m officially pissed. I want to file a complaint.”
“This ain’t a union,” Walker replied. “Suck that gut in and make room.”
Costas looked down at his stomach. “What gut? This is all man meat.”
Gate felt sorry for Costas. He reached out a hand and laid it on the sergeant’s shoulder. “It’s only for a few hours, Costas.”
Costas did not look convinced. “Yeah, if our taxi shows up. If not, this is going to be one crowded coffin.”