Cannibal Reign (38 page)

“See that?” she asked.

“That’s the first cipher example I showed you,”
Ulrich answered, noting her unmistakable glow. “The first one I checked the code
against. The first cipher any cryptographer would check it against.”

“And they know that,” she said. “That’s why they’re
using it. They’ve been hiding their cipher right in plain sight.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, noting the
proud grin on Forrest’s face now. “Are you saying you’ve cracked the damn
thing?”

“I’m saying more than that.” She put another piece
of paper down in front of him.

Any group of three numbers beginning with a
digit
lower
than 7 is either a space or
“gibberish” intended to throw off the cryptographer.

Ulrich studied the cipher, matching each letter for
himself against the cipher. “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch!” he said, seeing
the other papers in her hand. “And this works throughout? You’ve deciphered
every conversation I copied down?”

“Yep! And you were right—you can memorize a cipher
pretty fast. By the time I got to the last few pages, I didn’t have to look at
the cipher anymore.”

“Well, let’s see the other sheets,” he said
enthusiastically.

“Whattaya give me?” she asked, hiding the pages
behind her back.

“Jack, tell your wiseass kid to give me those
papers.”

“You’re on your own,” Forrest said, rocking back in
the chair with his hands behind his head. “She begged you to help her with that
damn thing for months and you kept blowing her off. Now you want her to just
hand it over? I think she’s entitled to something from your private stash.”

“What private stash?” Melissa asked, instantly
scandalized, her eyebrows raised.

Ulrich glowered at his friend. “You got a big
mouth, Forrest.”

“I want something from your private stash!” she
said, dancing around the console to hide behind Forrest.

Ulrich got slowly up from his chair, eyeing them
both. “You two may have the upper hand tonight,” he said, moving toward the
spiral staircase, “but the tables will turn.”

He spiraled down and out of sight.

“What’s he got down there?” she asked in a
whisper.

Forrest smiled and shrugged.

Down below, Ulrich worked the combination on a big
red steel case with
TOOLS
spray-painted across
the lid in black.

A few seconds later they heard the lid slam, and
Ulrich slowly reemerged with a vacuum-sealed silver package in his hand. The
package was about the size of a slice of French toast, and he offered it to
Melissa with a veiled smile.

She reached for it, but he held it tight. “Give me
the papers.”

“At the same time,” she said, offering the papers
with a tight grip.

Each let go of their trade item at the same time,
and Melissa backed away, reading the print on the foil package:
ICE CREAM, FREEZE DRIED / U.S. GOVERNMENT / NASA CENTRAL
STORES.

“No way!” she said in awe. “Jack, look!”

“See?” Forrest said, knowing exactly what goodies
Ulrich had stashed away in the toolbox. “You can’t trust this guy as far as you
can throw him.”

He looked up at Ulrich, who stood scanning
Melissa’s work.

“What’s it say there, Wayne?”

Ulrich continued to read for a spell, then turned
and looked at Melissa, saying, “Come here, kid.”

“No way.”

“Give the ice cream to Jack and come here.”

She gave the ice cream to Forrest and stepped
suspiciously forward. “What?”

Ulrich hugged her tight. “Forgive me,” he said
quietly, almost reverently. “I’ve failed to support you twice now, but I will
not again . . . I promise.”

Forrest sat up and set the ice cream down on the
console, having only seen Ulrich comport himself with such respect a few times
in all the years he’d known him, and all three times Ulrich had been in the
process of placing a folded American flag into the hands of a fallen soldier’s
widow.

“What the hell does it say, Stumpy?”

“It says there’s hope,” Ulrich said, letting go of
Melissa—who didn’t quite know what to think—and handing him the papers. “Excuse
me. I have to go hug my wife.”

Ulrich left the room, and Melissa stood looking at
Forrest. “What was that about?” she asked, totally confused.

Forrest sat skimming over the translations. “He’s
probably feeling a little bit ashamed.”

“But he didn’t know the code was breakable.”

“Well, honey . . . the night you got
sick, he very nearly convinced the others to vote against me going after your
medicine. So if it hadn’t been for your uncle Kane . . .”

“I’d be dead?”

“Maybe. And from the looks of this here, kiddo
. . . well, you just might have saved every damn one of us, Erin in
particular. So Wayne owes you personally now. You’ve given him a reason to
finally have some hope, which is something he hasn’t had since the night my
buddy Jerry called about the asteroid.”

“Don’t you mean the
meteor
?”

He laughed, saying, “Well, don’t tell Wayne, but I
actually do know it was an asteroid.”

Sixty

T
he next
morning Forrest walked into the shower room and jerked back the curtain on
Marty’s shower stall. “You ever hear of an astronomer named Ester Thorn?”

“Jesus Christ!” Marty said, covering himself. “Ever
hear of privacy?”

“Well have you?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Meet me in Launch Control when you’re finished
jerkin’ off . . . and that’s too big a weapon for you, by the
way.”

Forrest and Ulrich were working to connect a linear
amplifier to the wireless transmitter when Marty joined them in the LC. He saw
Ester’s textbook on the console and picked it up. “If this is what you want to
know about, there’s not much she can do for us now.”

“That’s what you think,” Forrest said, peering over
the top of the set. “Read those papers there. Melissa deciphered the code last
night.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

Marty read the transcriptions and sat down, staring
at them in disbelief.

“What do you think?” Forrest asked.

“It’s unbelievable. She’s a friggin president? This
can’t be for real, can it?”

“What’s she like?”

“I don’t really know her all that well. I only met
her once.” He went on to share with them for the first time his story of
discovering the asteroid and his visit with Ester Thorn. Forrest and Ulrich
stopped their work and looked at him.

“Are you fucking serious?” Ulrich asked him in
disbelief. “Or are you jerkin’ us off?”

“No, honest to God.”

“You’re telling us that
you’re
the son of a bitch who sent her off to Hawaii and got her to
go on CNN?”

“That’s me,” Marty said. “I can’t believe she’s
their friggin president, though. She didn’t seem the type at all. Are these
dates correct?”

“They’re correct,” Ulrich said, going back to work
on the transmitter, “but they’re still transmitting three to five nights a week.
They should be on the air tonight, and we’ll try to get some up-to-date
information.”

“Think she’ll remember you?” Forrest wanted to
know.

“That’s kind of a stupid question.”

“Okay, I guess a better question is whether you
think she’d be willing to send a rescue party to pick your ginger ass up.”

“No, the question is whether they’ve got the
resources,” Marty said, still befuddled. “But if they do, I’d like to think
she’d feel at least something of an obligation. Hey, the crater photos! If
Ester’s not interested in sending anyone for me, the Islands’ scientific
community will definitely be interested in getting their hands on those
pictures.”

“Maybe we could use the photos to start a bidding
war between the Hawaiians and the Aussies,” Forrest joked. “First ones to rescue
us get the pics.”

“I don’t care if they send a canoe full of
Aborigines,” Ulrich said. “So long as the damn thing floats. I just hope that
his name and those photos are enough to tempt somebody into taking the risk.
That’s one hell of a voyage.”

“Are you guys sure you can even reach Hawaii with
that transmitter?”

“No,” Ulrich said. “That’s why we’re working to
boost its power.”

E
rin
was sitting with Emory at the back of the cafeteria, where Emory was finishing
up with the baby’s morning feeding.

“Is Wayne warming up to her at all?” Emory
asked.

“He’s doing a little better,” Erin said with a wan
smile. “He’s got an awful lot on his mind.”

“Are you still pissed at him for not telling you
about the, uh . . .”

“Rodents? Well, a wife has to pick her battles
carefully down here. He says he was only trying to avoid upsetting me. He knows
how horrified I am of the damn things.”

“Here he comes,” Emory said, covering her breast as
Erin took the baby.

“Good morning,” Ulrich said, walking up to the
table. “How’s our little girl this morning?”

Erin almost fell off the seat.
Our
little girl? “Um, she’s fine. She’s just finished feeding,
actually.”

“Can I have her?”

“Um, well, she needs to be burped.”

“Let me give it a try,” he said, putting his arms
out across the table.

“Are you sure, Wayne?”

“Would you rather I didn’t? You don’t think I can
do it?”

“No, it’s not that . . .”

“Then let me give it a try.”

“Okay,” she said, a little unsure as she offered
him the baby.

“You’ll need this,” Emory said, standing up to put
a towel over his shoulder.

“I’ve had worse shit on my clothes than baby puke,”
he said.

“Haven’t we all,” Emory muttered.

“Where are you going?” Erin asked as he turned to
walk away with the baby resting against his shoulder.

“Outside for a walk in the snow.”

Erin sat watching as he left the cafeteria patting
the baby gently on her back.

“What’s
that
about?”
Emory wondered.

“Beats me,” Erin said, getting up to go after
him.

“Where ya goin?” her friend Taylor said, coming
around the counter, wiping her hands on her apron.

“To see what Wayne’s—”

“No, you’re not,” Taylor said, putting her arm
around Erin’s waist and walking her back toward the table. “The quickest way to
ruin it is to make him feel like you don’t trust him with the baby. Trust me.
I’ve been there. You wanted him to take an interest. So now you’ll just have
to—”

“But that wasn’t like him, Taylor, and you—”

“E, name one fucking thing we’ve done down here in
the last year that’s been like any of us.”

“But—”

“He’s not going to hurt that baby. Now, sit down
and finish your reconstituted egglike breakfast and let your husband get to know
her.”

Ulrich walked down the hall and into Launch
Control. “Put that cigarette out, will ya?”

Forrest glanced up and crushed out the cigarette in
the cannon-shell ashtray. “Since when are you Father of the Year?”

“Since the whiz kid made me start to think we might
actually live through this bullshit.” Ulrich heard the baby burp in his ear.

“That’s a dangerous way to think,” Forrest said
with a smile.

“Tell me about it. It’s only been twelve hours, and
the worrying’s already got my appetite fucked up.”

Forrest laughed. “You’ll get used to it, Stumpy.
Hope is a love-hate relationship.”

“How many times is this kid supposed to burp?”

“Get a good one yet?”

“Pretty good.”

“Give her a bit longer, but she might be done.”

“I’d like to get
me
some of that milk,” Ulrich muttered, casting a careful glance over his shoulder
to make sure there was no one in the doorway.

Forrest chuckled. “You’re the father, all right
. . . already looking to bang the babysitter.”

“I would too.”

“Lyin’ ass.”

T
hat
night, Forrest and the rest of the fighting men were gathered in Launch Control
waiting for the transmissions to begin. Melissa was there too, nervously biting
her fingernails.

“Think you can keep up with me?” Ulrich asked
her.

“No, not that fast, but I won’t be far behind.”

“Are we going to try to contact them tonight?”
Marty asked.

“Depends on what they’ve got to say,” Forrest said,
“but I don’t think we should waste any time.”

Forty minutes later the transmissions began.

“That’s the Hawaiian,” Ulrich said, recognizing the
telegrapher’s hand and grabbing his pen.

Melissa looked on as he wrote out the string of
numbers, going straight to her decoding, having long memorized the cipher and
seeing the numbers themselves almost as words now.

“There he goes,” she said. “ ‘Greetings from
Hawaii.’ ”

Forrest watched over her shoulder.

“Don’t,” she said, pushing his leg with her hand.
“You’ll mess me up.”

He curled his upper lip, backing away with a grin
at Kane, who crouched in the corner petting the dog.

The first transmission was finished in a very short
period of time.

“That’s it,” Ulrich said, sitting back. “The
Australian should answer within a minute or so.”

“He should already be done translating,” Melissa
said, handing the message off to Forrest. “I am.”

“Well, give the guy time to digest what he’s
reading.”

“He’s not digesting anything,” Melissa said. “If I
can read it in my head almost as fast as you’re writing out the numbers, these
two guys should know what it says without even consciously deciphering it. What
he’s doing is letting someone else read it.”

Ulrich looked at her. “He is, is he?”

Forrest was sitting in a chair now, allowing Marty
and the other men to read over his shoulder.

Greetings from Hawaii / mostly good news
tonight / will not be eating rats after all / hurray / latest quartermaster
report indicates now one month ahead of food consumption / meteorology now
believes will be sufficient sunlight for limited farming within ten years /
subject to change / oceanography reports previously unknown plankton species
extra sensitive to ultraviolet light beginning to thrive / believes this could
be very good news for oceanic life / now for bad news / surprise pirate raid
along shoreline near kapaau left nine men dead and six women kidnapped / et has
given navy free hand throughout island chain / how are things down
under . . .

“The Navy is still operational,” Forrest said.
“That’s damn good news! Maybe we won’t have to rely on those Aborigines of
yours, Wayne.”

“We’ll see,” Ulrich said feeling his pulse quicken
as he and Melissa began to intercept the Australian response.

Salutations from land down under / news of
plankton life very encouraging / will begin own studies here asap / meteorology
here not so optimistic about sunlight / will discuss further at future date /
piracy here also growing problem / launching all out offensive this week / oil
production here up / food stores remain shallow / only one week ahead of
consumption / great white shark reported off barrier reef yesterday / raises
interesting questions / chinese war vessel spotted in torres strait north of
queensland / any ideas what this could mean . . .

“That’s curious as hell,” Marty said. “What’s a
shark eating?”

“Screw the shark,” said Sullivan. “What’s the
Chinese navy up to?”

“This discussion is a good sign overall,” Ulrich
said. “They don’t seem nearly as concerned about their long-term survival as
they were in the last conversation we recorded. I think we need to break into
this conversation, Jack.”

“Jump in there,” Forrest said, indicating the
prepared message on the console.

Ulrich began tapping out the encoded message.

Greetings from Nebraska / only recently able
to decipher your transmissions / wish to join conversation / in possession of
impact crater photos . . .

Within seconds the Hawaiian telegrapher was rapidly
tapping out a signal in blind Morse Code.

—••/••—/—•—•/—•—/—•••/••/•—••/•—••/•/—••/•——•/•—••/•—/—/—•——/•——•/•——/•••

Which Ulrich translated effortlessly:
duckbilledplatypus.

“Shit!” he said, throwing the pen down.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Sullivan said over
his shoulder.

“It means the Hawaiian just told the Aussie to
switch to another fucking code. A code that not even our little genius here has
a prayer of cracking.” He put his arm around Melissa and kissed her on the side
of the head. “No offense, honey.”

“But how do you know that?” Sullivan said.

“Because they’re switching to a three-layered
emergency encryption. I’m guessing our signal is only strong enough to reach
Hawaii, which means the Australian didn’t hear us. So right now the Aussie’s
down there waiting with bated breath to find out why the Hawaiian just declared
an emergency.”

“So that’s it?” Marty said. “They won’t even talk
to us?”

“Give them time,” Forrest said easily. “What did
you think they were going to say? ‘Hey, guys, join the party’? They need a
minute to figure how they want to handle this.”

Ten minutes later the Hawaiian sent a lengthy
message to the Australian, and it was nearly half an hour before the Australian
got back to him.

Forrest took Ulrich’s pen and scribbled out a
message:
Nebraska standing by
.

“Send that in Melissa’s code,” he said quietly.

Ulrich tapped it out and two minutes later they got
a reply:
confirmed nebraska.

“See there?” Forrest said, patting Ulrich on the
shoulder. “Relax. It’s going to take a little time. That’s all.”

They listened to the telegraphers communicating
slowly back and forth for nearly two hours before the Hawaiian got back to them
directly:

Greetings nebraska / understand you have
reconnoitered impact zone / is this correct . . .

Ulrich told them that it was and that they were
requesting
extraction
from the American west
coast.

Unable to respond to your request at this
time / state size and location of impact crater . . .

“It’s approximately fifty miles across and nearly a
mile deep,” Marty said. “Just north of the Montana border.”

Ulrich relayed the information.

State radiation levels / seismic activity /
level of damage to surrounding areas . . .

“Radiation minimal,” Marty said. “Seismic activity
moderate to heavy. Damage—total.”

Ulrich sent the information, and then at Forrest’s
direction, added:
Please tell
Ester Thorn that Martin Chittenden sends his regards and
looks forward to seeing her again soon. Nebraska signing off. Attempt to
contact same time tomorrow.

“Wait,” Marty said. “Why are you signing off?”

“I don’t want them treating us like a bunch of
goddamn stepchildren, that’s why. The more desperate we sound, the less we have
to offer and the less likely they’ll be to send someone to pick us up.”