Drone Command

“That’s our latest prototype of an upwardly falling payload. If that sphere was loaded with high explosives, it would function like a mine and explode, sinking our cruiser. Of course, a UFP can carry a wide variety of conventional, nuclear, biological, or chemical payloads. Each equally destructive.”

“These UFPs can be stationed almost anywhere on the ocean floor, hidden and easily activated autonomously or on command, transforming the ocean floor into a kind of missile range, taking out any submarine or surface vessel that passes within range,” Myers said. “And their cost is extremely low compared to the larger manned systems they’re designed to take out.”

“And so you would weaponize the entire ocean floor with these bombs?” Ikeda asked.

“Not necessarily. A UFP can have nonlethal applications as well. High-powered microwave payloads or even chemical EMPs could fry electronic components. In the case of our ‘missile cruiser,’ HPMs and EMPs would disable the missiles before they launched rather than sinking the cruiser itself. That way, you’re killing warheads, not sailors.”

Hara and Ikeda turned back toward the giant red sphere, still hotly debating.

Tanaka approached Pearce. “A most impressive demonstration today. Quite enlightening. But, I’m afraid, unconvincing to my colleagues or myself.”

“It’s not just a show. The fact is, the nation that leads in drone technologies will be the safest and most prosperous in the coming decades.”

“You were full of surprises today,” Tanaka added. “Perhaps you will indulge me in a surprise of my own?”

Pearce hated surprises. In his experience, surprises had a way of getting people killed. But he’d put off the powerful politician for a few days to carry out his ad hoc Vietnam assignment. Myers explained that Tanaka was offended by the delay in the demonstration, so Pearce knew he couldn’t offend him again.

“Yes, of course. I love surprises.”

Pearce wanted to kick himself. He hated lying. But the mission called for it.

Maybe he was becoming a politician after all.

TEN

PEARCE CABIN

NEAR THE SNAKE RIVER, WYOMING

DECEMBER 1988

The last bell rang and Troy dashed for the bus. Hadn’t heard a word the teacher said the whole last period. Was only counting the minutes on the clock until he could make his way back home.

Longest bus ride ever.

He leaped out of the bus as soon as the doors opened, hardly touching the steps. Jogged through the snow until his lungs hurt from the frigid air, then kept jogging some more. When he finally got winded, he pushed on, hands dug deep in his coat pockets, handfuls of snow crashing into him falling from the branches above.

Dad had fixed up the cabin extra nice for Christmas. The tree was lit; the air smelled like fir. The place was spotless, too.

Troy pushed through the door. He could smell a red velvet cake in the oven for Marichelle and the meatloaf for dinner, his mom’s favorite. His dad was cooking a lot these days. Clean and sober for seven months.

“You need any help?” Troy asked.

“Just don’t track any snow in here,” his dad said, salting a boiling pot on the stove.

“You got it.”

Troy had already pulled off his boots and coat in the mud room. He tossed his backpack on his bed, then headed back out to the living room to warm up in front of the crackling fire.

“How was school today?” his dad hollered from the kitchen.

“Great,” Troy said. And he meant it. He made his way into the kitchen and opened up the fridge.

“Can I get something to eat?”

“Sure,” his dad said. “But don’t get too full. Your mom and sister will be here soon.”

Troy smiled. Couldn’t help but notice the grin spread all over his dad’s face, too. He was all cleaned up and decked out in his best work shirt and jeans. Even wore an apron. Unbelievable.

He was really proud of his dad, the way he got his act together. Mom was right after all. Leaving his dad was the best thing for him. Made his dad wake up, make some choices. Even get some help. It had been a year and a half since they’d seen them, except for a few Polaroids Marichelle had sent. He wondered how tall she was now.

Troy grabbed a milk jug and filled a glass to the brim, then made himself a peanut butter sandwich while his dad tossed potatoes into the boiling pot.

“I said don’t get full, son.”

“No worries,” Troy said, his mouth full of sandwich. He was three inches taller than his dad already and still not yet fifteen. A bottomless pit for a stomach.

“Soon as you’re done, will you set the table?”

“Sure.”

“Settings for four.”

Troy grinned, his mouth full of mushy peanut butter sandwich. “Yeah, I kinda figured that out.”

“Don’t be a wisenheimer.”

They both knocked around in the kitchen for the next half an hour.

Tires crunched in the snow outside the cabin. Troy and his dad exchanged a nervous glance.

“They’re early,” his dad finally said. A tinge of anxiety in his voice. “Dinner’s not ready.”

“But it’s good that they’re here,” Troy said.

“Yeah, you’re right,” his dad said, smiling. “That’s really good!”