Saturn Run

61.

The Chinese returned to Crow’s quarters about an hour and a half after they left. They knocked before entering, to Fang-Castro’s surprise.

Cui smiled. “We understand your need for private communication and we want a proper resolution to the problem. In line with that, we’ve drawn up a schedule for the release of your people from their quarters. Not all at the same time, of course, but on a rotating schedule. I believe my people have also distinguished between crew members who are necessary to the continued operation of the Nixon and those who are merely passengers, like our scientists were.

“I think we have drawn up an acceptable duty roster, but please review it. We would also like to do a complete Engineering shift change. They have already been on duty for twice the normal time. We don’t wish there to be any misunderstanding with the on-duty or off-duty teams, so we are providing you with a comm channel to both. Please inform them that you are authorizing this shift change and that we will be shepherding the new engineering team down and the old one back to their quarters.”

Fang-Castro was rankled by having the terms of operation of her ship dictated to her. She swallowed her annoyance; the Chinese were doing the right things, but… they shouldn’t have been there at all.

She issued the orders. “You don’t think you can keep control of the ship indefinitely, do you? There just aren’t enough of you to monitor everyone, everywhere, all the time.”

Lieutenant Sun shook her head. “We don’t expect to hold control indefinitely. Just until we get what we want: an equal share in the alien discoveries.”

“We’ve already explained that full access to our computer system and data files is impossible without a presidential directive to release the crypto key, and hell is likely to freeze over before that happens,” she said. “You might as well shoot us now, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

Crow said, “You’re both military, so I’m sure you can understand this: getting superuser status on that system would be a breach of U.S. security on an unprecedented level. You’d have access to the designs and engineering information for the Nixon, all communications we’ve had with Earth, the security and crypto protocols that supported those communications, and every bit of political or military information that happens to be in the system. That would compromise U.S. operations for years. At the very least we’d have to treat every channel of communication as unsecured until it could be completely replaced and the code rewritten from scratch. If you can start mining our datastore, you don’t just learn what data we’re securing, you learn how we do it. It’s not even open to consideration. If you think it is, imagine what your own superiors would say to the idea that you give us the key to the Celestial Odyssey’s datastore.”

Cui looked at her feet: almost a concession of defeat. Then her eyes came up: “But the QSUs aren’t encrypted. You give us two QSUs, and two readers, you jeopardize nothing—”

Sun: “Except your plan to dominate Earth’s technology for a few hundred years… which is exactly what we can’t allow. Give us the QSUs.”

Fang-Castro said, “With our ship and people being held hostage, I can pretty much guarantee that Santeros won’t negotiate over the QSUs. Even if she wasn’t mightily pissed off. Her policy has been to never, ever give in to ransom demands.”

Sun opened her mouth to answer, but Crow jumped in: “We need to relax. All of us. Leave it to the governments. Right now, the main thing we all need is patience.”

The Chinese left again.

Fang-Castro said to Crow, “If we hint that we’re willing to give a centimeter, Cui and Sun’ll conclude we’re vulnerable to pressure, and they will ratchet up that pressure in the expectation we will ultimately capitulate on all demands. We won’t, but they will assume we will. They will make things as unpleasant as they possibly can to reach that objective.”

“I’m worried they could decide that you’re bluffing about using the kill switches, and they start shooting people until we turn over the QSUs. You’ve got to think about what you’d do, Naomi. If they say they’re going to shoot one person every so many hours until we give in. If they don’t think you’ll give in, they’ll start with you until, eventually, they work their way down to someone who will. Once that kind of bloodshed starts, it’s hard to stop. Even triggering the kill switches might not put an end to it. A very few of our people still have access to weapons, and they might decide on their own to take the ship back. They might even succeed, if they got lucky. A truckload of people would die in the process, though.”

“I have been thinking about that. But you know what? I don’t think they’ll do it. I don’t think they have as much freedom to act as I do. If they start shooting people, it’ll be because the chairman ordered them to. And that could lead to a war of some sort. Will the chairman go to war?”

“Don’t know.”

The Chinese and Fang-Castro put together duty rosters that let most of the Nixon’s crew move about the ship; the Chinese had to do that, simply to keep the ship operating. They maintained armed guards at key points, including the entrance to Engineering, and the bridge, where they monitored and controlled the communications, ship security, and safety workstations. Another person had to supervise life support and one more covered the cafeteria/commons. They agreed to let Fang-Castro and Crow consult in private. When they weren’t talking, Fang-Castro was confined to quarters, except for mandatory exercise. She was allowed inbound entertainment vids.

Crow was not confined, but was allowed access to the ship for two shifts a day, sixteen hours. He spent most of his time talking either to Fang-Castro or to the personnel who still had access to weapons: there were seven of them, but only four were out at the same time.

On the second day, the Chinese government offered a compromise: Martinez and two Chinese engineers would fab a rocket-powered capsule that would contain two of the QSUs, and put them in an orbit back to Earth, where the Chinese would pick it up on arrival.

The American government refused to negotiate any settlement as long as the Nixon was forcibly held by the Chinese.

“Something’s gotta happen,” Crow told Sandy, as they sat in the cafeteria. “The Chinese don’t have enough people to keep this up.”

“I know. There are nineteen of them—turns out they had one hidden on the Odyssey, which I didn’t find out until last night. That boy had some guts. Two of them, Dr. Mo and that Dr. Gao, they’re not military and nobody’s gonna make a guard out of them. So there are seventeen of them, including Cui and Sun, and that’s not enough for everything they have to watch.”

“How many do you think we could take down before things evened out?”

“Should we be talking here about this?” Sandy looked about, a bit nervously.

“Safest place,” replied Crow. “They don’t have enough people to monitor in real time, especially in the Commons, with the mikes picking up overlapping conversations. They don’t all speak great English.” He shrugged. “There’s risk, but this whole business is well into risky territory. You think of a better place to talk, fine. You won’t.”

“If you say so. Okay, my best guess?” Sandy gave him the big goofy grin, just a couple of good ol’ boys bullshittin’ here, eating fake bacon and waffles. “If all your guys with guns could get out at the same time, and they probably could, if we worked it right… we could probably get eight of them before they could react. The problem is, they’ve got communications, and we don’t. They’ll know instantly that the shooting’s started, and they’ve got better weapons. After we took out eight of them, they’d start getting some of us… and there aren’t that many of us. And what do we do if they hole up and start taking hostages and killing them?”

Crow chuckled. “Want another cup of coffee?”

“Sure.”

Crow got two more, sat down again, scratched his neck, and said, “Then there’s the question of what happens if we’re about to win. Would Sun do something to blow the ship? She wouldn’t have to do much. A few shots into the cafeteria view window and the decompression would take out most of the crew… and kill her, of course, but maybe she’d do it.”

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Sandy said. “Way back when, I asked you if I could be a major, and you said, ‘No, but you could be a captain.’ Did I ever get that promotion? I mean, really? On paper?”

“To tell you the truth, I forgot all about it,” Crow said.

“But when Becca was killed, and you had to tell the doc about my post-traumatic stress problem so he could rig the grief drugs… you called me ‘captain,’” Sandy said.

“Just giving you a little more status in the eyes of the crew, you know. Letting them know you weren’t just some jerk-off Hollywood videographer…. But if you’re really worried about it, I can talk to the guys on Earth and get the routine started.”

Sandy got his grin going again and slumped in his chair and said, “That’s not where I’m going, Crow. When we went over to the Celestial Odyssey, Sun referred to me as ‘Captain Darlington.’ Showing off, like she did with you.”

Crow rubbed a spot between his eyes and said, “Okay. I missed it, goddamnit. Where’d she get the ‘captain’?”

“Curious minds…”

Crow glanced around the cafeteria. A dozen people, eating and chatting, two sleepy-looking Chinese… with guns. “They’ve not only got a spy on board, he could talk to them. Maybe talk to them directly, ship to ship.”

“Yeah. So if you decide to cook up a little revolution… who do you trust?”

“Ah, Jesus.”

As it happened, trust wasn’t critical.