April 8: It's Always Something (9 page)

"I heard a lot of private complaining on Earth about the disability laws," Kurt remembered. "If you fit an official protected class a big company can be forced to hire and carry people who simply can't do the job. Janitors in wheel chairs or a blind person doing video editing."

"There's such a labor shortage here you can be hired for
something
as long as you aren't a stink or violent. I think we probably do better employing the different sorts of folks from necessity instead of charity. I know one guy who has an IT worker who wears a lacy gown and a tiara every day to work. He doesn't even mind calling her Princess Priscilla if that makes her happy, because she's a wiz with computers. She doesn't have to deal with the public so – who cares?" Ruby asked.

"We had a few
different
personalities in construction. Of course I'm not one of them," he hastened to add. "I'll take that breakfast, and thank you," he decided.

"Now see," Ruby said. "I wouldn't care if you had on a tin foil beanie. You're mannerly enough to say thanks for your breakfast." She turned and got busy with something, finished talking.

There were enough pancakes left to make a big stack and plenty of butter and syrup. The empty tray had enough traces left to see it had been scrambled eggs, but there were still some sausage patties left. Kurt took all five of them. He finished off the fruit salad and considered the hot cereal, but decided that would be gluttony. Nobody had told him to fast for his physical, but it probably wasn't a good idea to waddle in stuffed to the gills.

Ruby had been happy with a 'thank you', but Kurt added her and Easy to his mental list of people who he owed a favor. It was
so
good to be back. On Earth nobody would have spotted him breakfast. They'd be risking their job with all the rules and regulations Earthies loved. And nobody would give the leftovers to the poor because there were laws against it. Charity was licensed and not allowed to overlap with for profit business. The coffee was concentrate, but was still better than most of the fast food and fueling station coffee he'd been buying on Earth. Maybe he should have brought bean coffee instead of whiskey in his luggage, he thought...but too late now. Maybe investigate it for the future.

* * *

"What the devil is
that
?" Greg Olson asked the other OED, pointing at a feathery image on the screen. It looked organic, like a droopy antenna or perhaps the frond of a fern. However the low intensity x-ray machine showed it as very dense. To the point it had to be gold or tungsten.

"Damned if I know," his partner Joe Brinks admitted. "You have similar dense structures here, and here," he pointed out on the screen. "Now these might be a sort of accelerometer, since they seem to align on the axis of the reentry sled. But I'm starting to think some of these structures are just inert forms included to make examining it as we are difficult and uncertain. What better way to do that then some random complex shapes? You also have this thing," Brinks said, pointing to a ghostly image with a cupped diaphragm against the inside of the shell. It
looks
to be a pressure switch, but there is no wire to it. Now if it had anything like a small chip in it I'd believe it was wireless, but I don't see anything dense enough. I think the devious bastard who built this wanted to make us afraid to crack it by adding elements that can't be understood, because they
have
no real purpose."

"The torus is too big to imagine it's just a decoy," Greg decided.

"You're probably right. But what does it
do
?" Brinks asked. "If it rotated you'd think it would be on a central shaft, but it's hollow in the middle. It looks layered in shells, but if the inner shell rotates, it must rotate at a ridiculous speed, because the outer layer is definitely thick metal. If it is high grade steel I think we're looking at a couple hundred thousand RPM on a gaseous bearing. It's about the size of an actual donut. It might still be rotating right now, and we'd have no way of sensing it if it is balanced well enough."

"But the inner ring, the torus, isn't hollow," Greg Olson objected. "It should be quite strong on its own. If it was some kind of fusion device it should be hollow. In fact it should be a vacuum vessel."

"Maybe, but look carefully at the edge. It seems to have a little shading there. I think it may be a tube filled with something. Either a liquid metal or a metal poured in liquid and allowed to harden. But why? And the shapes off each end...The density would suggest metallic augmented explosives, but it certainly isn't a classic implosion device. Neither are any of the parts anything like a nuclear kernel. We don't have anything like a reflective shape to compress fusion fuel with radiation either."

The two looked at each other with alarm. There was a faint sound...

Olsen reached up and laid a hand gently against the bomb. It vibrated faintly under his hand. He nodded at Brinks. This wasn't normal. It didn't fit any device either had heard of or could imagine.

"Here," Brinks said and handed him an amplifying stethoscope.

Olsen put the earphones on and touched the microphone gently against the bomb and listened.

"Hello, I am the owner of this device, Jeff Singh. If you are hearing this recording you have activated an artificial intelligence, which has compared a number of sensor readings and decided my device has been not simply been moved or misidentified as a piece of space junk, but is being actively examined with the goal of opening it, and of course ultimately reverse engineering it.

"There were certain stimuli that would have caused it to detonate in orbit, but now that it is being examined by x-ray and ultrasound I must warn you that the normal fail-safe parameters to detonate have been made much more sensitive. Trying to move it will not be as easy as before. Further radiation or mechanical intrusion will certainly detonate it. If you wish to have it removed safely you must call me at com code 1467 at the nation of Home. There will be fees assessed for its removal.

"This message will repeat at five minute intervals for an hour, and then at hourly intervals. At a predetermined time the counter will detonate the device if you ignore it too long. I am of course not going to reveal that exact time limit to aid you. Best not to delay unnecessarily."

Olsen passed the stethoscope to Brinks and let him listen himself.

"No way. We have to crack this baby faster now," Olson insisted.

"I'm going to throw up," Brinks said closing his eyes. He looked like it too, face a ghastly shade.

"Not here," Olsen said, turning him gently by the shoulder and pushing him toward the lavatory.

Brinks walked off stiff legged and chin down. Olsen couldn't say too much. His own gut was twisted in knots. He'd thought he'd experienced just about everything possible, but he'd never had a bomb
talk
to him.

In the toilet stall Brinks pulled out a small cell phone and turned it on. He was pretty sure there wouldn't be an active service denial device around the bomb. He was also hoping eighty meters was far enough away to keep the phone from activating the device.

The phone showed four bars. Turning it on hadn't killed him so there was hope. They'd probably trace it and come for him, but he really didn't think it would matter. Olsen had rank on him, and the man was going to kill both of them, even if he was in the brig on base instead of helping him. This was out of their depth. He knew it, but Olsen had an ego, and more importantly, nobody above them would back down on this.

"Honey? Listen don't talk. I'm afraid I'm not going to survive this one. I want you to take Susan and head east to Panama City before you go north to your mom's. Don't take time to pack anything. Just take the bag from the top shelf of the safe and
go
. When you cross the bridge throw your phone out the window off the side and be careful not to get stopped for speeding. I love you and Susan. Will you just do exactly what I'm telling you? It's all I have left to give my life any meaning."

She agreed and wasted seconds telling him she loved him. He just said, "Me too. Thank you.
Go
." He turned the phone off and wondered how long it would take for them to come for him. He might as well go back and help Olsen until they came to arrest him.

"There isn't much chance it wasn't a theft," Jeff said. "Chen says it disappeared during the only gap on optical coverage that happened in a month. That is too much of a coincidence to be a natural event, and Dave doesn't build crap, it didn't have an onboard failure that would send it up
or
down from orbit."

"What are you going to do?" April asked.

"I'm going to publicly announce it is stolen and offer to defuse and reclaim it."

"Do you think anybody would really admit taking it?" April scoffed.

"Not a chance. But I have to offer. If they ignore it then detonating it is on their own heads."

* * *

"Mr. Singh," the newsman from the UK said from the conference screen. "Are you aware that setting a man-trap to deter theft is not accepted under any national code of law?"

"
We
have no such law. If the Assembly of Home agrees this is morally offensive to them and wishes to censure me I'll accept their punishment. I don't care much for your legal traditions, nor your morals," Jeff added. "Property rights are the basis of all other rights. If you are not secure in what you own, you may be reduced at someone's will to a naked starving animal and die. I do not agree to expose myself to the whim of others as to what I may own and retain...and thus live. You may recall I have...
contested
with the Chinese over these very matters of ownership, and prevailed."

"Might you not have posted some warning or notice that this device was booby-trapped to deter someone from placing their personnel at risk?" The reporter from Poland asked.

Jeff looked at him amazed. "I have to ask. Do you by any chance own a ground car?"

"Yes, I have a little city run-about I keep for errands. What does that have to do with this?"

"Do you have a sign riveted to the fender telling your countrymen not to steal it?" Jeff asked.

"Of course not. That's absurd. Everybody knows that's a crime, but neither do I have explosive devices installed so that if it
is
stolen it kills the thief. Property is not worth protecting with lethal force."

"Ah, there we differ," Jeff admitted. "I recall once upon a time your countrymen felt they had to
try
to use force to stop the Germans from taking their property. Indeed the Germans intended to steal the whole country, and were opposed quite strongly. I suppose you'd just invite them in now. Property not being worth violence and all. Or is there a
threshold
at which you will protect what is yours?"

"How can you expect people to deal with something booby-trapped?" the Pole demanded, ignoring the previous remark.

"Don't be a booby?" Jeff suggested. "Actually the device is designed to give verbal warning that it has entered a heightened security status when it is disturbed. I imagine it has done so already, but I have no positive way of knowing. It only gave status reports while in orbit. I can't contact it now."

"You made a
talking
bomb?" the French reporter asked, incredulous.

"Yes. If somebody foolishly disturbs it, then a warning is given that it will eventually detonate if I'm not contacted to defuse it. It doesn't say how long. There's little point in helping the thieves know exactly how long they have to crack it. So you see, nobody is opening this innocently or will be caught by surprise. They didn't find this washed up on a beach somewhere and wonder who owns it. So I see no reason to aid them in their timing, by knowing when to employ more desperate measures."

"So, no final warning? Just...boom?" The Frenchman asked.

"Are you really that cruel?" Jeff asked. "If detonation is imminent would you have it countdown the last seconds like a thriller video?"

"One could then at least
run
," the reporter said.

"You have no concept what
scale
of explosion we're talking about, do you?" Jeff asked. "You'd have to run for
hours
to be clear. I'm through with these kind of pointless questions. The ball is in somebody else's court now." He disconnected.

"How long
does
it wait to go boom?" April asked.

"It's variable. The more sensors that are tripped from probing it the less time it gives them. If they have an extremely sophisticated suite of scanning devices it may be provoked to detonate in a single day. They will already know far more about it than I like. The one thing I hope is that most of that information is held physically close, on the same base, because of security concerns. When it detonates it should remove that information too if it wasn't transmitted to remote storage."

"If it's North America they might declare war again over this," April worried.

"They already said the war never ended," Jeff reminded her.

"Yeah, if they meant it, if that faction has the authority to say it," April allowed.

"Well if God's Warriors didn't like the Liberty spox repudiating the treaty they should have spoken up. They supposedly rule together. We suspect the mass of the Patriot Party that wasn't destroyed was pretty much absorbed into the Sons of Liberty. Their policies certainly seem similar. God's Warriors has never been as aggressive at denouncing us as their partners. They don't like us either, but are less publically aggressive. And how they treat us is far from their only difference. I'm amazed they can get along as well as they have," Jeff admitted.

"They may not
know
what the Sons of Liberty have done," April decided.

"Well, now that I've made this announcement I bet they will suspect. There aren't all that many Earth powers capable of snatching it from orbit. It could precipitate a falling out between them," Jeff suggested, hopefully.

"Oh yeah," April agreed. Trying to imagine all the possibilities.

* * *

"Is the Colonel out of his mind?" General Kilpatrick asked. "They hinted at some operation against the Homies, but I thought even infiltrating them or some discreet sabotage too risky at which to play. He's climbed in the tiger cage and kicked the napping beast in the butt. He should have been thanking the Lord they decided to move beyond the moon instead of responding to their sniping with a far more robust response."

"I suspect they'd disavow the attack on Home as the work of the Patriot party," his strategic planner Bellini suggested. "I know, I know. Nobody will admit being Patriots now, except they were forced to join the party or be denounced and discharged. Or quietly removed and buried in the night if they were too adamant in turning the invitation down."

"Yes, outside of DC there must have been no more than ten, or maybe a dozen
real
Patriots, in the whole country," Kilpatrick sneered sarcastically.

"I'd have loved to
hang
the lot of them," Bellini averred.

"There isn't enough rope," the General said disgusted.

"You'd be amazed what I can do with an extension cord," Bellini vowed.

"I'd love to find out, but realistically we have to deal with them, rather than satisfy our fantasies," his superior said, sadly. "How are we going to rein in these madmen before they kill us all?"

"If we can't wipe them all out, we can at least cull the herd leaders," Bellini proposed.

"That has dangers too," Kilpatrick warned, but he didn't say no outright.

When Bellini let the silence grow, Kilpatrick said, "Well, at least make it seem an accident, or shift the blame to others if you can. There's no shortage of others who wish them dead, even among their own kind."

"They killed their founder didn't they?" Bellini reminded him.

"Indeed. It was a lesson that didn't pass my attention," the founder of God's Warriors said.

* * *

The back wall of the hanger had a section disassembled and a wall of interlocking blocks such as were used in massive retaining walls hand laid four rows thick near the edge of the foundation before sand bags were laid against it. Then a dump trailer full of scrap metal commandeered from a nearby business had been backed up slowly, and pushed by hand gently against the sandbags. Sand poured over the metal filled the voids. Hoses were wetting the sand to add mass as they spoke. Olsen supervised the careful placement of the mobile rail gun just outside the hanger door on the opposite side. They brought it up dead slow and were afraid to drive the tracked vehicle onto the concrete floor least the vibrations set the sensitized device off.

An X of spray paint marked the exact spot they wished the armor piercing projectile to enter. The gun commander and gunnery officer assured him they would hit the mark within millimeters of dead center from only forty meters away. The penetrator would pass through largely unaltered, nothing in the bomb being anywhere near as massive as the armor it was designed to penetrate. The ghostly rectangle at which they were aiming both he and Brinks agreed had to be the controlling computer. It was about the size of a hand pad, and unfortunately they were aiming at the thin edge of it instead of the flat face. Brinks was sitting in hand cuffs under guard, but Olsen had refused to release him, demanding he retain him to consult. When they expressed fear he could sabotage their effort, Olsen had reasonably pointed out that if he was suicidal he could have simply walked over and
kicked
the damn thing.

Brinks, for his part was resigned to death, but not eager for it. He was happy for every minute that put his family further away. So far they hadn't seemed bright enough to imagine that's who he'd called, guessing him an agent of other political factions or even Home itself. Workers were already digging up the sewer line outside as they continued, correctly guessing he'd flushed the small phone away when a search failed to find it. They were also constrained to hand digging for fear a backhoe would cause vibrations. He didn't think they would have time to recover it.

At three thousand two hundred meters per second the twelve kilogram core projectile would reach the computer in less than a millisecond from the outer shell. That was probably faster than the shockwave of its impact could be transmitted to the computer, if the real accelerometers were near the core. The discarding rail bus should start to peel off on the outer casing, exposing the nose of the tungsten alloy penetrator.

There were very few wires to be seen in their images. Brinks suspected the few they saw were decoys to encourage entry to neutralize them. Whoever made this device had a terribly devious mind. He'd built in layers and layers of real traps and false hazards. If it had sensors on the periphery with polymer light fibers, and they hit one, they were dead. The projectile could be ten times as fast and still couldn't beat light to the computer. He had no hard numbers, but suspected a device like this might be disarmed one time in a thousand tries. The level of protection made him think the mind that did this would make each one different, so cracking one wouldn't mean the next would open the same.

The hastily built twenty three meter thick backdrop might or might not stop the rail gun projectile entirely even if it broke it up. It might also deflect out the side or up. It was the best they could do on short notice and they were evacuating everything in a wide cone behind it.

Everyone retreated and sheltered behind the armored mobile gun. A few even squatted down behind it, which Brinks found amusing. They had a mobile flash x-ray unit set to take a series of scans once the projectile reached the far side of the computer. The theory being it would help them reconstruct the pieces after they were mechanically scattered. Brinks didn't expect to live long enough to even see the flash. He was right.

* * *

Jeff's phone pinged. "Boom," said Chen when he answered.

"Well crap. I expected that when they didn't reply in an hour," Jeff admitted. "Where?"

"The military installation at Pensacola, Florida," Chen said. "But the yield was, again, more than expected. It was near the upper end of what you expected, a good fifteen megatons. Any ideas why that would happen?" Chen asked.

Among the questions Jeff had asked himself over and over the last few hours was if they might do something to make it produce the full yield. There were a couple possibilities.

"It's conceivable if they destroyed the front computer or the rear computer, but not both at the same time it might make the device revert to a full yield default," Jeff decided. "But doing that might also have damaged some internal structures I'd rather not describe to you, or anybody, which would produce a partial yield. So yeah, it could happen. I'm glad it was at least somewhat moderated. And at least they didn't work on it somewhere with a huge population."

"They're going to have a shallow new western lobe to the Pensacola Bay there, open to the Gulf without any barrier islands, but I suspect in a few years they'll reform," Chen said. "If it had been a full yield device it would have opened a passage up to Pedido Bay, and made a new island. I expect there will be considerable damage on the west end of the city."

"I'm sure they are going to vilify me to no end," Jeff agreed. "I hope you didn't lose any assets?"

"I'm as reluctant to describe my assets as you are bomb parts, but no, I didn't have anyone close enough to do more than see it on the horizon," Chen assured him.