by Chris Kuhn
Oh, hell.
The devices in question were SGM-47s - antimatter missiles with a variable yield. I couldn't remember the precise numbers involved, but it didn't matter. Destroying cities was for amateurs. These things could wipe out continents.
As I stared at the lethal gadgets, something clicked in my brain, a fact left over from the half-dozen missile drills I'd been forced to take part in.
The launch codes aren't on the ship.
As far as I knew, the only people with the codes were in a command center back on Earth. Wiley didn't have them. Neither did Byers.
So what the hell?
The three minions moved toward the missiles.
"No," Udo said, motioning to Grenade Boy. "Not you."
The man turned around, and Udo pointed to a sealed hatch on the far wall of the bay.
"Blow that lock, Mr. Pullings."
Pullings. Okay. Grenade Boy's name is Pullings. Pullings blinked, clearly uncertain how to accomplish his task. Udo's expression soured.
"Use the C-99 from the armory." He clarified.
Pullings still didn't move, and a look of desperation appeared on his face.
"Jesus," Udo said. "Do you not know what that is?"
The man shook his head. Udo snatched the hexagonal box off the deck and shoved it into the man's arms.
"This is C-99,” Udo began, bouncing back to his French accent, which I was starting to think was his real one. “Explosive putty. Put a big chunk on that fucking lock over there, plug the wires from the detonator into the putty, and then press the little red button labeled 'detonate'. Before you press that button, you will issue a verbal warning to prevent ruptured eardrums. Questions?"
"No sir," Pullings said quickly.
"Then dooooo iiiiiit!" Udo screamed, almost cartoonishly.
The other two men began unloading missiles. The devices were - presumably - quite heavy, but they seemed able to manage it. I suspected that Testosterone Girl could have tossed them around with her pinkie, but she was off in the corner not giving a shit. Pullings managed to rig up the C-99 on the specified hatch. He stared at the detonator, then looked back at Udo. His face twitched slightly.
He doesn't know what to say. I realized. This is almost freakin' comical. He raised his hand so everyone could see his finger on the button.
"Fire in the hole!" Pullings bellowed. A half second later, he pressed the detonator.
I shoved my hands against my ears just in time. A shockwave filled the room, and the noise was deafening. Udo and Testosterone Girl also covered their ears, but the two men moving missiles were not so fortunate. They'd have had to drop the weapons in order to do it, and had chosen not to.
Commendable, but not good for long-term auditory health.
A screeching siren filled the bay, and overhead lamps flashed red.
"Secure that alarm," Udo ordered, pointing to a panel on the other side of the room. Testosterone Girl shot out of her chair to comply. Damn, she's quick, I observed, watching her bolt across the open bay, dropping to all fours like a gorilla in the instant of her sprint. Within seconds, she'd arrived at the panel Udo had indicated and slapped a large green button in the middle to quiet the alarm.
Udo strolled up to Pullings now, whose face had transitioned from uncertainty to terror.
"In the future," Udo said softly, "it might be advisable to leave a longer delay between the announcement of a detonation and the detonation itself. Va te faire enculer."
"Y-Yes, sir," Pullings replied.
Testosterone Girl seemed mildly amused at the situation. The other two men did not. They were staring at Pullings, and he turned to meet their gaze.
"Sorry," Pullings said awkwardly. "I didn't-"
"No," Udo interrupted, shaking his head with a forced smile akin to a parent who wants to end an argument, "the error was mine." He turned to face the other two men. "Understood?"
They nodded, but I got the sense that they didn't concur.
The two missile minions had finished moving the weapons onto the bay deck, exactly where Udo had specified. I suspected they were a tad more experienced than Mr. Pullings.
"Ça me fait chier," Udo said, "sleds, please."
The men moved to the hatch Pullings had blown open and stepped inside. They reappeared moments later, pushing a train of six metal cargo sleds across the bay. The surface of each cart was flat, save for a series of recessed tie-down points. They placed a sled in front of each of the missiles, then lifted the weapons onto them and started strapping them down.
Yeah. I realized, observing the efficient work. These guys aren't figuring it out as they go.
They had help.
Almost on-cue, the door to the missile bay slid open to admit Michael Byers. He looked very different, I noted. He'd exchanged his uniform for a sweater and loose fitting pants. He'd also shaved his lumberjack beard.
"Ah, Mike," Said Udo, walking up to him and extending his hand. Byers looked at him, apparently surprised at the gesture. They stood awkwardly for a moment. Finally, Byers extended his own hand and nodded curtly.
Udo started to speak, but he'd lowered his voice. It was hard to make out the words, and I struggled to hear them.
"Last week... three were absent... prudent.. unfortunately... monkey."
Monkey?
I frowned. Maybe not. Money? Monday? Something else? I gave up.
Byers was shaking his head in apparent frustration as Udo spoke, and when he responded I had no trouble hearing him.
"There's literally nothing I can do about that," he said. "Do you understand? The math isn't negotiable. When you add it up, you get eight hours. Slightly under. Unless you have a way to expedite things?"
Udo's eyes snapped open at that, and his body tensed up. A full few seconds passed before he responded.
"Not my area of expertise."
"But it is mine," Byers retorted, clearly missing – or not caring - about the effect of his words. "So let's get them down there and I'll get started."
Udo nodded slowly, and Byers whirled around and marched out of the bay.
As they'd been speaking, the other Free Traders had finished loading the weapons onto the sleds and were now strapping them down.
I still didn't get it.
The weapons were useless without the codes.
Right?
Apparently, I'd established a telepathic link with one of the missile minions. He'd stopped working and was now approaching Udo.
"Adjani," the man said with hesitation. "You are aware that we still can't-"
"I've very aware, thank you," Udo snapped, turning away.
Udo Adjani...
"I'm talking to you," the man said, more sure of himself this time. "We had a deal. We need the codes if we're going to..."
"Not now," Udo said absently.
The man hesitated, then moved directly in front of Udo and crossed his arms. The gesture wasn't hostile, but neither was it particularly friendly.
Udo looked over at Testosterone Girl, who slowly rose to her feet in anticipation. Tiny quills began to emerge from parts of her head and shoulders, usually a sign that a Rogga was about spread some of its religion.
"Perhaps the situation has not been made clear," Udo said coolly, locking wide eyes with the man and getting an inch away from his face. "I will divulge details of this mission as I see fit, and to whom I see fit. At the present time, I choose not to share them with you. Are we going to have an issue?"
As Udo had been talking, the other missile minion's hand eased toward his side arm. I couldn't tell which side he'd be on if a fight started, but both men were staring at Udo now as Testosterone Girl popped her knuckles.
Interesting.
In the Navy, this would have been considered extremely insubordinate behavior. But these guys weren't in the Navy, and I suddenly realized how little I knew about them. Did they have similar rules of conduct? Udo seemed to think they did. Were they volunteers? Mercenaries? Something else?
Udo surv
eyed his men's faces. Apparently he didn't like what he found, because he nodded toward Testosterone Girl.
With the same blinding speed she had demonstrated moments before, Testosterone Girl launched herself at the missile minions. The one closest to Udo didn't even have a chance to turn around before her hand wrapped itself around his head. With a twist of her hand, a loud squish-pop let me know he probably wouldn't be home for Christmas. The second minion drew his weapon and fired three shots into her as she closed the distance. They had no discernible effect. She reached him quickly, and I closed my eyes as his screams filled the bay.
When I opened them again, Pullings was standing there in shock. The whole confrontation had probably lasted a matter of seconds. Testosterone Girl wiped the gore off of her hands, and shook like a wet dog coming out of the water. All of her quills shed off of her head and shoulders to the bay floor, and she popped her neck loudly. The fact that she was bleeding didn't seem to make any difference to her at all.
"You," Udo said, pointing at Pullings as though nothing had happened. "As a former soldier, I assume you're familiar with the concept of guarding a door?"
"Yes, sir." Pullings said, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.
"Good," Udo said. "Now suppose I put you in charge of guarding this room. People are only authorized to enter when they provide the proper code. If they fail to do so, your orders are to shoot them twenty-seven times in the head. Do you think you could do that?"
"If I had enough ammunition," Pullings replied flatly.
"Let's do it, then," Udo said. "Stand at the door."
"Sir?"
"Allez pied par la fucking porte!" Udo screamed in French.
Grudgingly, Pullings moved to the doorway. Udo walked through it into the corridor and turned with a flourish to face Pullings inside the bay.
"Now here I come, skulking down the hallway," he said, walking like a cartoon character sneaking. "I ask you to let me in, and I tell you that the code is one-seven-nine-three. Do you grant me access?"
"Sir, you haven't told me the-"
"Aha!" Udo said dramatically. "So you'd need to have the code yourself in order to verify or reject me. Fascinating." He paused, looking around the room. "The codes are in those weapons, Pullings. Make no mistake. They are guarded by multiple layers of security, but they are in there. What we need to do is extract the chips onto which they are coded and bypass any inconvenient safeguards. To some people, that might sound like an impossible task. But imagine for a moment that we had detailed schematics of the triggering mechanisms, access to the appropriate cryptography, specialized tools, and a facility specifically designed to perform component-level maintenance on these devices. That might improve our odds of success, no? Now, what kind of person aboard a destroyer might have access to such things? Would it be the ship's cook?"
Pullings shook his head.
"No, I tend to agree." Udo said. "Probably not the cook. Any thoughts on this matter?"
"I wasn't the one questioning your orders..." Pullings said grudgingly, but Udo rambled on.
"Aha!" Udo shouted. "The Chief of Maintenance. Luckily for us, we have just such an individual at our disposal. Do you think that's a coincidence? Or do you think I might have considered that ahead of time? Do you think, perhaps, that it might even have been central to the planning effort before I borrowed the ship I gave you for this little joyride?"
Pullings looked terrified by the exchange, especially with Testosterone Girl still looming, but seemed more afraid to stop the madman from his monologue.
"Yes sir."
"And you'd be correct. Now pretty please, with sugar on top... strap the missiles to the fucking transport sleds, Captain Pullings."
My mind was racing, trying to process what Udo had just said.
Could Byers really pull it off?
Surely it wasn't that simple. Surely there were many complex parts involved. I didn't know what any of them were, but I assumed they existed. I assumed they'd been designed to prevent tampering.
I bit my lip, thinking about the problem.
And it was a problem, I decided.
Certain technologies had inherent vulnerabilities. Like reactors. Any reactor, not just Anna. The whole point of a reactor was to make large quantities of power. By definition, this required a shitload of potential energy to be in a confined space. You could come up with all the safeguards and reassuring words you wanted to. The vulnerability was there.
Warheads were the same way. No matter how sophisticated the safeguards, how elaborate the cryptographic security, at the end of the day it would come down to something simple. A voltage across two pieces of metal. A flash of light down a fiber optic line. Something, some signal, that conveyed the simplest message in the world - fire. If you wanted to arm a weapon, you started with that thing - whatever it was - and you worked backwards. You asked yourself what the easiest way was to get that voltage, that flash of light, that contact between two pieces of metal. It wasn't always easy - the Navy had people whose job was to make it hard. But the SGM-47s, like the reactors, had vulnerabilities. Those vulnerabilities were inherent. There was always a chance they could be exploited.
So could Byers pull it off?
Yeah. I decided grudgingly. He probably fucking could.
I had several regrets at that moment, chief among them being that the whiskey was still in my quarters.
Okay. Missiles are being armed. Stolen. Not good. What are they going to do with them?
Launch them? At who? Assuming these guys had come from Dakarta, that didn't seem rational. The only things in range of the missiles were a few stray asteroids and Dakarta itself, which had been mostly evacuated by the Melbourne.
Unless they weren't going to launch them. They might have been planning to steal them.
You know, with a cruiser or something.
The missiles were strapped down now, and Pullings – still unnerved - looked at Udo Adjani expectantly. Udo nodded, and they began moving the devices toward the door. Udo shot Testosterone Girl a look. After a moment's hesitation, she moved to help. Pullings joined her, and Udo took the last two sleds himself - one in front of him and one behind. They moved the weapons out of the missile bay, and I waited for the door to close.
It didn't.
Instead, Testosterone Girl reappeared. Her eyes wandered carefully around the room, a curious expression on her face. Her eyes moved toward me and settled right onto the floor grate under which I was hiding.
My skin went cold.
No way. No fucking way she knows I'm here.
"Is there something I need to be aware of?" Udo asked, appearing at her side.
She frowned, gave the room one final glance, and shook her head.
As they left the bay, I became aware of my rapid breathing.
Log 010: Ratatouille
I waited a good five minutes before I even thought about moving. Instead, I thought about missiles. The RATU. And plans. It was a lot to process.
I knew more than I had before, but I still didn't know enough. Specifically, I didn't know whether escaping was worth the risk. I knew - or strongly suspected - that they were going to steal the missiles. The question was what they would do afterwards. Destroy the ship somehow? Leave it? Gut it? Something else I hadn't considered? In the absence of solid data, I decided that doing something trumped sitting on my ass.
It was time to go.
Unless, of course, I cared about the missiles.
I couldn't prevent the theft while rocketing away in the Felix. I probably couldn't prevent it at all, but the question was whether to try... and how much I was willing to risk in the attempt?
It was a hell of a question.
I didn't want the missiles to get stolen, but I didn't feel like martyring myself in a symbolic attempt to prevent it. I ran through the possibilities in my head. I'd have to destroy or deactivate all of the missiles - not just the six they'd already taken, but the ones still resting in their bays. Either that, or I'd have t
o find and kill Byers before he could crack the launch codes.
What were my honest chances of success? Not good, I decided eventually. Not good at all. Part of me felt compelled to try. I told that part to shut up. Once I was out of this shitty predicament, I'd gladly fill the Navy in on my adventures. They could deal with the scary, not-so-secure missiles that they'd managed to lose control of.
Not my freakin' problem.
Not now.
But something else was bothering me. Something that was my problem.