And of course none of the leaks would be traced back to him. In fact, he'd do all that he could to give the impression of avoiding the press, which meant exiting buildings where he knew they would be gathered and then rushing to his car to avoid their barrage of questions. "My father is a good man," he would say. "Any mistake he's made now can't overshadow a career of enormous success."
There would be a plant in the crowd, naturally. A reporter who would shout over the others, just as Lem was climbing into the skimmer: "Mr. Jukes, what do you say to the rumors that the Board is considering you as a replacement for your father?"
And Lem would look somewhat hurt by the question--stung that anyone would dare to suggest that Father was no longer fit for the position. "I'm honored the Board thinks me capable, but no one can replace my father." And then he would zip away, leaving them with a response that wasn't exactly a confirmation of the rumor and yet wasn't a denial either. And if there's one thing the press loved, it was a mystery. They would pounce on the rumor like sharks and as a result of all the attention they gave it, they would give truth to it. And yet there would be Lem, the dutiful son, passively acknowledging that, yes, he was capable and, yes, the man for the job.
He waited another five minutes then caught a skimmer to the Juke production facility where crews were mounting glasers to the drones. Father was scheduled to check in on their progress, and Lem was more than a little curious himself. He didn't have access to that wing of the facility, despite his requests to Simona to give him one, but if he simply showed up, Father wouldn't run him off.
Probably.
He arrived before Father, as planned, and met the foreman, a stout man named Bullick, in the lobby. Bullick fidgeted nervously as they waited, and Lem tried to put the man's mind at ease. "I'm sure you're doing a fine job. My father doesn't bite too fiercely."
The skimmer arrived on schedule. Simona was out first, followed by Father, who had replaced his suit for a more casual workingman's slacks and blue oxford shirt. He tried to hide his surprise when he spotted Lem. "Did you hack my schedule, Lem, or did you just happen to be in the neighborhood?"
"Both," said Lem, then he frowned at Simona. "Really, Simona, you should guard that holopad of yours more closely. It's a gold mine of information." He winked at her, and she answered him with a nasty glare. In truth, he had acquired the information elsewhere, but it amused Lem to see her face turn that red. It was kind of cute.
"Why are you here, son?"
There he goes with the "son" again, Lem thought. Really, Father. There are no cameras here. Let's drop the facade. Aloud he said, "I wanted to see these drones for myself and allow Mr. Bullick here the chance to convince me this isn't an enormous mistake."
Bullick looked appalled.
Father kept his annoyance concealed--he wasn't the buffoon Ramdakan was. "I appreciate your concern, Lem, but this is my decision, not yours."
"Obviously, Father. And I don't want to get in your way. I only want to ensure that precautions are being taken."
"Why wouldn't I take precautions, Lem? And whom exactly should I be taking precautions for? These are unmanned vessels. If they blow up, no one dies."
"If they blow up, the entire drone enterprise blows up with them."
"I'm glad to see you taking an interest in management, Lem. But the company's bottom line is taking a temporary backseat to saving the human race."
"So this is a closed tour?"
For an instant it looked as if Father would ask him to leave, but then he smiled and made a sweeping gesture with his hand toward the warehouse. "On the contrary. I don't see you enough as it is." He put an arm around Lem's shoulder. "Mr. Bullick, it appears we're a party of four now. I hope that's not a problem."
"It's your building, Mr. Jukes. This way please." He turned and led them down the corridor. As Lem passed Simona, she gave him a look of pure contempt. He couldn't help himself. He winked at her.
The factory floor was immense. The entire fleet of drones filled the space end to end, with hundreds of workers crawling on the surfaces of drones, or standing in bucket lifts, or hanging suspended from harnesses, all of them building and cutting and welding and fastening, working feverishly to finish the order. Sparks flew, tools whirred, cranes panned left and right, carrying supplies.
Bullick moved to the drone nearest them. It sat in a large cradle, suspended in the air, with the glaser attached to its underside in a metal grill that encircled it like an iron cell. "This is the new cage system we've designed to hold the glasers in place," said Bullick. "Extremely tough. The drone will rip apart before this does. We shouldn't have any more detachment problems with this setup."
"Detachment problems?" asked Lem.
Bullick glanced at Father, unsure if he should reveal anything.
"We had a mishap a few days ago in testing," said Father. "They took a drone out in space, gave the glaser too much juice, and the glaser detached."
Lem looked appalled. "Was it firing?"
"Only for a fraction of a second after it detached. Then the fail-safe kicked in and it stopped. Nothing was damaged, son."
"You're lucky," said Lem. "What if it had been pointed at a ship? Or worse, at Luna or at Earth? This thing creates a field through the continuity of mass, Father. It stops gravity from holding things together. Do you have any idea how catastrophic that could have been?"
Father was annoyed. "I know what it does, Lem. I had the damn thing built."
"And you want to put fifty of these in space near Earth?" He suddenly realized the horror of that idea. "What if one of them deviates or the glaser breaks off and it fires at Earth? Have you considered that?" He suddenly didn't care about unseating Father or taking the company. The image of Earth separating into dust like the asteroid in the Kuiper Belt had him in a panic. "These things are planet killers, Father."
"We're taking precautions, Lem."
"The only right precaution is not to do it."
"And what would you suggest, Lem? Millions of people are dying. The Formics are moving into cities now. They're gassing everything. People's faces are melting off their bodies and turning into bloody puddles of goo. That's happening. As we speak. Are we taking an enormous risk here? Yes. But what else are we going to do? The military are idiots. Nothing they throw at the Formics is getting through. Not on Earth, and not up here. Shuttles, missiles, nukes. Nothing works. Space is our territory. Ours. We own it, not the five-star morons who run armies. We're far better equipped to take action than they are."
"Not with the glaser, Father."
"Yes, with the glaser. You want to throw coconuts at that ship? Be my guest. The rest of us adults will be saving the planet."
Lem walked away. It was old Father now, immovable, pigheaded, loud and blustery. And he was wrong. Lem saw that now, more clearly than ever. Initially he had worried solely about the economic risks of a drone attack. Now he worried about the real danger of it. The image of Earth disappearing into dust resurfaced in his mind, and it left him feeling sick.
He took the skimmer to the facility where Victor and Imala were working. He found them both kneeling by their ship welding a piece onto it, their faces covered in blast masks. Lem was shocked at the sight of the ship. They had completely transformed it. It looked like a piece of wreckage, down to the ship's markings on the hull and scorch marks from laser fire. Wires and conduit and structural beams stuck out everywhere. Had he not known what it was he would have dismissed it as junk.
"How soon can you be ready with this?" he asked.
Victor and Imala faced him and raised their blast masks. "We're moving as quickly as we can here."
"How soon? Two hours? Two days?"
Victor and Imala stood. Victor brushed the dust and fibers off his shirt. "Dublin and Benyawe are finishing up the decoy with the thrusters. We've got a few more hours on our end. Then we can do a test flight."
"Scrap the test flight," said Lem. "There's no time. We launch in a few hours, the instant it's done."
Victor and Imala exchanged glances. "All right," said Victor. "Why the sudden panicked urgency?"
"The Formics have begun gassing cities," said Lem. "We need to move now."
Victor removed his blast mask and studied the ship, gauging how much work remained. "Give us two hours," he said.
Lem nodded and left them to it. He hadn't lied exactly. The Formics were gassing cities, and that was reason enough. But it wasn't the real reason, not the main reason. Father had to be stopped. He couldn't launch the drones. And the only way to prevent him from doing so was for Lem to do the job first, to remove the need for drones. He would get Victor inside, have Victor destroy the helm, and then the ship would be crippled and theirs for the taking. Father could keep his little drones with their glaser death sticks docked in that warehouse of his.
But what were the chances that Victor would actually reach the helm? And if he did reach the helm, what were the chances that he would successfully detonate the bomb? Or even reach the bloody ship to begin with? It was more likely that the Formics would blast them before they even got there. Well, that was the risk they were taking, wasn't it?
He stepped into an empty office, set up his holopad, put his face into the field, and made the call. A moment later Simona's face appeared, and as he expected she didn't look pleased.
"Have you been wearing that scowl since I saw you last?" asked Lem. "That can't be good for the lines of the face."
"What do you want?"
"You know I'm right about the drones, Simona. Father is playing with a weapon he doesn't understand."
"If you're calling me to make me pick sides, Lem, you're wasting my time."
"You answered the holo, and you knew it was me. That means deep inside you know I'm right."
"It means I'm a civil human being who answers holos, even from obnoxious jackasses."
"This bickering, Simona. It's unhealthy."
"What do you want, Lem?"
"Information."
"And you think I'll give it to you?"
"Father certainly won't."
"Then I won't either."
"When does Father plan on launching his drones?"
"Why should I tell you that?"
"I may have a way to disable the Formic ship," said Lem.
She paused. "I'm listening."
"But I need to know when Father plans to launch his drones. I need my people in and out before Father makes his move. He can't attack while my people are in there."
"How do you plan to get people inside? No ship can get close to it. It blasts anything that approaches."
"You're right. My tactic will probably fail, so it doesn't hurt for you to tell me how much time I have."
Simona said nothing.
"I can get the information elsewhere, Simona. It wouldn't be difficult. But I'm coming to you because you're the most reliable and accurate source of information."
Simona remained quiet, considering.
"You heard my father. Thousands of people are dying every day. I'm ready to move now. We are set to launch. I'm ready to stop those deaths right now. But I can't unless you give me information."
She sighed. "Bullick says the fleet of drones won't be ready for at least five days."
Lem breathed out. "Thank you."
"So are you going to tell me how you're getting people inside?"
"I'll give you the whole rousing narrative some other time." He retracted his face from the field and ended the transmission.
Five days. That was more than enough time for Victor to drift to the ship, do his business, and get out. Or so they had calculated. Victor had estimated three days and thought it might be as much as four, but no more than that. Then again, anything could go wrong.
But no, five days was an eternity away. If they started to approach that, if it looked like they would be delayed, then Lem would radio them to abort.
He went back out to the warehouse and tried busying himself with other things while they finished. Nothing held his attention, and he eventually returned and hovered over them until it was done. Men with lifters came and took the camouflaged ship into an airlock. Benyawe and Dublin had done a good job with the decoy. It attached to the recon ship quite nicely and looked as realistically like junk as the recon ship did.
Victor and Imala were waiting by the airlock entrance already in their spacesuits. "You have the explosive?" Lem asked.
"Wouldn't be much of a trip without it," said Victor.
Lem nodded. No one spoke. There was nothing more to say. Lem extended his hand. "Good luck."
Victor considered the hand, hesitated. Imala poked him in the ribs with her elbow and Victor took the hand and shook it. "Thanks."
"Thank me when you get back," said Lem.
Victor and Imala entered the airlock and climbed into the cockpit. Lem stood at the glass and watched them take off. It seemed strange to watch a hunk of junk fly like a ship, but that was the beauty of the idea, Lem supposed. The ship accelerated, getting smaller and smaller as it moved into the blackness. Lem watched it until it was nothing more than a dot in the distance. In less than a day it would decelerate and approach the Formic ship at a drifting speed, but for now it shot away like a rocket.
Now that they were off, the whole idea seemed utterly ridiculous. A ship disguised as junk. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now, with them out of sight, it felt like a fool's errand.
Benyawe came and stood beside him at the glass, looking out into space, her long gray braids dangling to her shoulders. "They're going to do fine," she said.
He turned to her. "You're a scientist. You act and think and decide based on facts. Do you honestly believe that? Do you honestly believe this has a chance?"
"Probably not."
He exhaled and turned back to the glass. "That's what I thought."
"But the scientist is only part of who I am, Lem. There's also the wife part and the mother part and the sister and the friend and all the other parts. Those parts say we cannot lose. And those parts are the ones I choose to believe."
CHAPTER 28
Drill Sledges
The military base was little more than rubble and burned earth and bloated, rotting bodies lying scattered in the sun. Most of them were Chinese soldiers, but Wit saw Formics among the dead as well. Wrecked troop transports, downed skimmers, the husk of a burned-out Chinese helicopter. Wit had expected the sight, but it pained him to see it nonetheless. It was further evidence that the Formics were winning the war. The Chinese didn't even have the manpower to bury their dead.
Mazer directed the vehicles to a hangar at the airfield. There were two aircraft inside that Mazer called HERCs. They both appeared undamaged. "We lucked out," said Mazer. "At least one of these is sure to fly."
They then drove northeast of the airfield to a bunker overlooking a muddy valley. There Wit saw the three drill sledges Mazer had told him about during the drive from the lander.
"They're still there," said Mazer. "Miracles never cease."
"Vehicles are not a plan," said Wit.
"The underside of the lander isn't shielded," said Mazer. "So we attack it from the bottom, underground. We tunnel in with these three drill sledges and punch a hole through the underside of the lander."
"And do what?" asked Wit.
"There are too few of us to take on the whole structure with small arms. I say we plant explosives and cripple the lander."
"Not good enough," said Wit. "We nuke it. We wipe it off the face of the Earth. If we only cripple it, they'll realize the underside is their weak spot and they'll extend the shield down. If that happens we'll never penetrate it."
"So all we need is a tactical nuke?" said Bingwen. "Oh, I thought it might be something hard to come by."
"I don't like this kid's sarcasm," said Calinga.
"Bingwen has a point," said Mazer. "There are explosives here on base that I'm aware of, but nothing on the scale of a nuke."
"Leave that to me," said Wit.
/> "You have a secret stash somewhere?" asked Bingwen.
"He keeps talking like he's one of us," said Calinga.
"He is," said Mazer. "I'm beginning to think some children are made for war."
"The Chinese will give us the nuke," said Wit. "We've been building contacts within the military since the start of our campaign. Many are high-ranking officers who have contacted us anonymously. We share tactics, make suggestions, keep the intel flowing. We've saved their bacon, they've saved ours. I'll tell them what we plan to do and ask for supplies."
"And they'll just hand you a nuke?" said Mazer.
"Either that or they'll see the wisdom of the idea and send their own people with a nuke to do it. Either way it gets done."
"We're foreign soldiers on their soil," said Mazer. "Seems unlikely that they'd entrust us with a tactical nuke within their own borders."
"We've earned their trust," said Wit. "And more importantly, they're desperate. The Chinese army has been decimated. They're hanging by a thread now. They need a victory, and we've got a far higher success rate than they do. Plus you know how to pilot the drill sledges. And seeing as how these drills are just sitting here, I'm willing to bet the Chinese don't have a line of trained pilots waiting in the wings to do something with them."
"How will we transport the drill sledges to a place near the lander?" asked Calinga. "The lander's fifty klicks away."
"That's what the HERC is for," said Mazer. "It has talons. It will take three trips, but I'll carry each of the drill sledges north to a site near the lander. Perhaps a few kilometers away from it. Then we tunnel from there and attack."
"You will pilot one of the drill sledges, Mazer," said Wit. "You know the tech. Calinga and I will pilot the other two. You'll start training us immediately. I'll get on the nets and contact our anonymous officers in the military and divulge our intent to destroy the lander with a nuke. We'll see if anyone bites."
"If we broadcast our intentions, someone will try to stop us," said Calinga.
"I won't broadcast it on our public site," said Wit. "I'll use encryption and contact the anonymous officers individually. If they try to stop us, we'll ask them for a better idea."
For the next two days, Mazer trained Wit and Calinga on piloting the drill sledges. The two MOPs mastered the mechanics of the drill sledges quite easily, and it made Mazer wonder if all MOPs were this proficient. "How many different vehicles do you guys know how to drive?" Mazer asked.