by J. N. Chaney
"I think I found something," Elise said, backing away from a table I couldn't quite see from where I was standing.
"I'm coming," I said. "What are you seeing?"
She pointed. "That."
Stepping around her, I saw the improvised device. It was about a pound of industrial explosives with wires running to a crude analog timer that displayed three seconds.
"Is that a bomb?" Elise asked.
"It is," I said. "And we're not going to touch it. Let's back out and we will review what X-37 recorded."
21
Elise, a breaching shotgun in each hand, stood guard while Tom and I conferred with X-37. The lights from her helmet cast harsh shadows each time she swept her vision across the corridor. I slipped out a handheld flashlight then attached it by magnet in a corner facing upward. The beam reflected off of the metallic surface, bathing the area in enough light to see by.
"Lay it all out for me, X," I said. "Is that a viable device?"
X-37 took longer than normal to confer with Jelly due to the distance involved. Before we had the ship, it was just me and my limited artificial intelligence embedded in my nerve-ware. Now that we had access to the much more powerful ship AI, they worked together more often than not.
"There is no evidence that the explosive charges are inert or disabled at this time," X-37 said. "However, they failed to trigger when we entered. This suggests the ignition device was set to the frozen timer and nothing else. Since the timer is analog, they must have anticipated a loss of power. Even so, I don’t believe the device is dangerous, so long as we avoid contact with it," X-37 said.
“What caused the timer to stop? It looks like it's been there a while," I said. “Months or even years.”
Improvised devices weren’t my specialty, though I was familiar with breaching charges. They were overlapping skillsets and similar tools, but when I built a device, I wasn’t planning on disarming it.
“Processing available data,” X-37 said.
I knew what he meant. “You could just admit you don’t have a clue.”
When we had been wrestling with this problem for several minutes, I started to worry about making mistakes due to mental and physical fatigue. It was slow, tedious work that we couldn’t afford to rush. I was distracted by the familiarity of the ghost station. The images I’d seen after using the Reaper mask had been indistinct, focusing on a female form moving through an unknown place. I never actually saw the hallway or the figure clearly during these nerve-ware induced visions.
After unfolding a multi-tool from my utility belt, I carefully touched wires, nudging them just enough to see if there were other ignition mechanisms beneath them—maybe a pressure plate or secondary connection point just waiting for my wire cutters to complete the connection as they sliced through multiple contact points.
There had been Reapers who preferred to commit assassination or other acts of terror with improvised explosive devices. It wasn’t my thing. I’d always thought it was a cowardly and imprecise method of attack, and that it too often endangered innocent bystanders.
The eerie feeling of déjà vu wouldn’t leave. To my already paranoid way of thinking, everything was a trap. I thought about Nebs and his hostility toward the program he'd founded. Had he been here at the end? Was he the one who ordered this place to be abandoned and scuttled? Did he order his best demo team to leave this bomb custom built for a Reaper like me? Had he kept my mother and sister hostage in this place hoping to lure me into a kill box?
Would he arrive with a strike team when I least expected it?
I pulled back from the device, then folded the small multi-tool and replaced it on my utility belt. Silence held the ghost station as I pondered my options.
"What do you want to do about this?" Tom asked, breaking into my thoughts.
"If I had my way, we’d just back out and leave. But we haven't found any answers," I said. “X, can you get into these workstations to retrieve data and images?”
"Absolutely," X-37 said. "If you could just turn them on, please."
“You’re such a sarcastic dick, X,” I said, realizing I was going to have to cross through the room and apply power to one of the workstations. We needed information from this laboratory. The terminals were too large to remove and I didn't want to tamper with the bomb in case it was resting on a pressure switch.
“Tom, hand me your tablet and cables,” I said.
He refused. “Sorry, Hal, this is something I need to do. It’s a technical process and will take some creative solutions.”
“Sure, but I’m not sending you in there to get blown up,” I instructed.
“Tom has the best chance of deactivating the explosive device,” X-37 said. "I may need to ask him mechanical engineering questions during the process, and you'll just have to call him forward anyway. Better for one person to go and make the connection."
“You have to let us be part of the team,” Elise said, still watching her zone as she spoke. “Why give us comms and helmet cams if you never allow us to do anything?”
“You’re not part of the team, you’re part of a field trip,” I blurted, instantly regretting the words.
She flinched, looking over her shoulder at me, but only for a second. What came next was possibly the most caustic stream of insults she’d ever delivered.
The problem was she was right, and I was being stupid. I liked to work solo except when I needed a team, and then I wanted a professional team, not people I cared about who had more good intentions than actual qualifications.
“All right,” I relented. “Tom can deactivate the device. Elise and I will provide cover and medical evacuation if needed. Don’t overextend yourself, Tom.”
“I won’t. I think it will be a simple fix,” Tom said confidently, sounding like he already had an idea of what he was going to do to render the device safe. “There are several ways to look for pressure switches and other spring mechanisms. Have I ever shown you my miscellaneous skills database?”
“No. Maybe we can talk about it at whisky and cigar time,” I said pointedly.
“Right. I’m stalling. Sorry,” Tom said.
I patted him on the shoulder. “Are we good, Elise?”
My tone probably could have been better, but I thought I was making progress. Managing a teenager was a lot harder than it looked.
“I’m not sure that’s exactly what I’d call it, but let’s forget about it,” she said, still sounding annoyed. “Someday I will be able to put you in verbal isolation. We’ll see how you like it.”
So we weren’t good, but we weren’t losing our minds either. “I hope we can all learn from this.”
“Such a jerk,” Elise snapped, her voice sounding incredulous.
Something about my nearly random statement made me want to laugh, and apparently it tickled Elise’s funny bone as well. She laughed but then controlled it.
“You’re such a jerk,” she said, but the venom was gone.
Tom moved into the room, taking his time as he examined the device from several different angles, then began a clever manipulation of flashlight beams. He changed his position many times and didn't seem to be in a rush, which, considering the nature of his task, was probably for the best.
I was able to watch via his helmet cam on my HUD. X-37 and Jelly were also paying attention, looking for a trigger that would kill us all.
The bomb was simple, resting on one corner of a workstation and held in place by a clamp. I wasn’t sure what Tom was thinking, but I thought un-twisting the clamp could be a trigger, as could moving it.
My experience also suggested that a good hard shake or a sudden change in the atmospheric pressure would set off the explosives. None of this would be an issue if we just left.
And then it hit me. The realization of what we were looking for and where it was made me want to throw up. “Tom, there’s a complication.”
“There would be,” he said, nervousness filling his voice. His hands shook slightly, though he cl
osed them into fist to conceal the reaction.
“That bomb is attached to the workstation. Take a closer look,” I instructed.
“Sure. Why not? What is the worst thing that could happen?” he murmured as he edged his way beside it. On closer inspection, we both saw the slight difference between this workstation and the others.
“The top of this desk is actually a lockbox. Same material and size,” Tom said.
“Whatever we’re looking for is in that box,” I replied.
“Well, I see several problems with that,” Tom said.
“As do we,” X-37 announced, speaking for himself and Jelly. “There is the bomb that must be defused, the locks that must be opened, and the computer inside that must be powered and activated to learn its purpose. Most likely, it is a message box, a very powerful version with more data than even the Jellybird can handle.”
“I need more than that, X. Why would it have that much data,” I said, examining what looked like a security suitcase made from nutronium. One of my earlier missions had been to recover a similar case full of top-secret codes and technology I was never allowed to see despite risking my life to obtain it.
“Jelly and I believe there is more than just information in the message box—specifically, there may be a computer with software downloads,” X-37 said.
“What kind of downloads?”
“We have several theories but feel now is not the ideal time or place to discuss them,” X-37 said. “The situation is tenuous.”
“Obviously,” I said. “Maybe we could get some machine-gun-toting clowns and Union strike force to round things out,” I said.
“I don’t see how that would be helpful,” X-37 said seriously.
“I was joking. Let’s just ditch the bomb and take the box with us,” I said. “Can you do that, Tom?”
He studied something I couldn’t quite see on the station directly above our target. “Actually, that first step is going to be easier than I had expected. Someone left directions.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a trick,” I said sarcastically.
“Maybe,” he said, his tone contemplative. “This may be coincidence, but I think this is a message for you. Someone engraved several numbers I have seen in the footnotes of Reaper repair technical manuals.”
“I don’t see any numbers,” I said, searching for what he was looking at.
“Trade places with me. Examine this first lock but let your eyes travel past it, like it is the sights to one of your guns. You’ll see what I’m referring to,” Tom said.
A chill ran up my spine. Tom’s ability to search beyond the obvious clues seemed simple in hindsight, but I knew I would have only been looking at the device and not its surroundings. In every other aspect of my life I maintained an intentionally paranoid level of situational awareness. With this deadly puzzle, I’d gotten tunnel vision.
I peered over the locking mechanism and saw what I at first thought were standard serial numbers carved into the neighboring workstation. But the numerals were definitely from a Reaper manual. Furthermore, they didn’t really belong on the workstation—having been added to the desk’s normal identification numbers.
“Where did you find Reaper repair manuals?” I asked, distracted, still studying the clue.
“Not actual manuals, reverse engineered guesses several Gal-net conspiracy groups drummed up over the years. They have been surprisingly useful when working on your arm,” he said. “But that’s not what I’m concerned about.”
“Cut to the chase, Tom. Where are these instructions you’re hinting at?” I asked and was quickly echoed by X-37 and Jelly.
“If you look across the other lock on the box, there’s a strange, very personal warning engraved in the same way as the Reaper technical number. Feels like a family code,” Tom said, even more nervous than ever. “It’s hard to say why, but it just doesn’t fit and makes me think of riddles and jokes siblings share that are nonsensical to anyone outside their shared experience.”
“What is the message?” I was losing patience even as a feeling of dread grew through the scene, but Tom kept dancing around the answer. Looking over the box, I read it at the same time Tom said the words aloud.
“It says ‘you better not make me whistle twice when it’s time for dinner.’ Does that mean anything to you, Hal?” Tom asked.
“It does,” I said, instantly transported to my childhood. “Get the box and let’s go.”
I backed away and stood guard as Tom, X-37, and Jelly slowly went through the deactivation sequence. There weren’t obvious instructions as Tom had at first promised, but when the three of them checked each step, the riddles found near the box prevented them from making mistakes that would have gotten us blown up.
Someone had put a lot of work into this simple bomb to make sure not just anyone could take it.
“Who was the first girl you kissed?” Tom asked me, leaning over the increasingly complex trigger mechanism, adjusting the magnification on his visor with one hand and holding tweezers against a switch with the other.
“Really? That’s the password?” I complained.
“It’s a password,” Tom said. “And can you be quick about it? Typing in this micro-keyboard that you can’t even see without magnification is a tad on the difficult side.”
“Sandy Brecmeyer,” I said.
“Sandy is her real name or her nickname?” Tom asked, not sounding like he found the slightest trace of humor in the discussion. Holding himself bent over his work had to be hurting his back.
“Her given name was Sandra,” I said.
Tom breathed a sigh of relief as he did something I couldn’t see. “Finally.”
“You got it disarmed?” I asked, worried it would blow up in Tom’s face right when we all thought we had won.
“Yeah, safe as top-secret data case can be,” he said, implying that he didn’t think that was very safe at all.
“Then let’s go,” I ordered.
“There are several safety precautions I should take before we move it,” Tom said.
“Then take them. X, keep an eye on him. Let’s speed this up,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” Elise asked.
“I just want to get off this ghost station,” I said, evading the question.
Tom worked through each step of disconnecting the message box from the terminal, his patience serving him well when my rough-handed impatience would have gotten us all killed with a secondary explosive device concealed by the complexity of the first charge.
I heard a click then saw Tom carry the bomb to the next room and leave it there. He came back and hesitated before unclamping the briefcase-like box from the station. “There’s another message--a warning--that was engraved under the bomb. It says we need to go to a desert planet in the circumstellar habitable zone of this system.”
“That’s not really a warning,” Elise pointed out. “Are you sure the same person who wrote that also used the family code and Cain’s personal life questions?”
“It says removing the device has broadcast our position to the Union, and before you ask, moving the bomb turned something on,” Tom said. He looked more worried than I’d ever seen him. “We’re in serious trouble, I think.”
“At least we didn’t explode.” It was my best inspirational speech yet. “Let’s get back to the Jelly and see which ship is faster, the Jellybird or the Lady.”
22
We were turning away from the gas giant and its ice rings when the Jellybird’s holo display showed a slip tunnel barfing out a Union ship on the other side of the system.
“Jelly, what the hell is that?” I asked.
"That is a Union vessel, unknown class, possible a small carrier ship," Jelly informed me. “The basic shape and power signature are the same, but I have never seen one like this.”
The image was grainy as though something was interfering with the holo projection. I thought the shape resembled a carrier, but it was too small, according to the metrics
Jelly was putting on the screen. There were no other ships around it like there would be if this were an entire battle group.
Tom stared in wonderment. "I've never seen anything like that, but the concept is brilliant."
"Tell me what I'm missing," I said.
"You can't just look at the images. Try correlating what you see with the statistical information Jelly has displayed," Tom explained, guiding me in his way to the answer.
I reviewed the numbers and made some inferences. "That carrier has smaller ships lamprey-ed all over its surface. That must reduce its necessary size significantly," I said.
Something wasn't right. I manipulated the images on my holo-screen, turning them this way and that. "How big are the fighters this new design is carrying on its back?" I asked.
This time, X-37 answered. "Actually, Reaper Cain, the smaller ships are not just on the carrier’s back. The entire surface of the mothership has mooring clamps. The fighters are one-third the size of a normal direct combat craft, which gives them almost no range and very little firepower.”
"That is my analysis as well," Jelly stated. "She'll have no range and very little ability to affect more than a small cross-section of this system."
"The strength of a force is relative. This isn't a battle carrier, it's a spec ops carrier. They're here to do commando missions. And compared to what we deployed with in my day, they are going to be like an eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room."
"Am I the only one that thinks we should be freaking out right now? You know, making a run for it," Elise ventured. "There has to be another slip tunnel in the system. I haven't stayed ahead of the Union for this long by fighting against impossible odds."
I shook my head. "Let's get an estimate on how fast it is before we start running. It won't do us any good to bolt if we’re just going to get run down. Whatever this thing is, it's new and that probably means it has the best of everything. All the latest and greatest tech."
"What are your orders, Captain?" Jelly asked.
"Head for the third facility. It's closer to an intercept course with the newcomers than I would like, but I don't see a better option. Elise did bring up a good point,” I admitted. “Are there other slip tunnel openings in the system?" I asked.
