Page 75 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone
“Most satellites are hardly larger than any of the known sentient lifeforms,” he explained. “They have just enough size and mass to carry out their function. They are otherwise comprised of computer chips and their associated hardware, and the software the equipment runs. Software must be programmed, and this is typically done from external interface boards built into the chassis.”
Carmen blinked. Was he serious?
“Norvik, are you suggesting what I think you are?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “Someone must spacewalk to the satellite and manually input the code to hack the mainframe and order it to ignoreAntilles’s recognizer chip.”
Holy shit. It was a simple solution, one so obvious that it might never have occurred to her.
Except there was nothing simple about it. A spacewalk? To a kill-sat? To access its manual-input interface? At least a thousand things could go wrong.
Vector incorrectly on the approach and miss the target so that you drifted off into the killing black. A glitch in the programming that caused the sat to self-destruct. A rip in the EVA suit, killing the person crazy enough to go out there in the first place.
And on and on. It was sheer insanity. Suicidal.
“And just who the hell gets to risk their life to pull this crazy-ass stunt?” Letitia asked.
“There are two logical choices,” Norvik answered. “The first is myself. As the ship’s communications officer and the person initially assigned the task of hacking into the mainframe, I have the expertise and the knowledge to perform the mission.”
“Who’s the other?” Sark inquired, his voice trembling as though he thought it might be him.
“Zed,” Norvik pronounced.
Carmen’s heart stopped. Zed? Her Mechan engineer? The crewmember who was literally holding the ship together? The one person who knew everything aboutAntillesand how to keep her operational?
No, she couldn’t risk him. Or Norvik for that matter. If they somehow made it to the other side and into the Forbidden Zone, she would need him as a negotiator and ambassador.
“Captain, if you order me to go, I will,” Norvik said, as though he could hear her thoughts. “But I believe Zed is the superior choice.”
“What a surprise,” Letitia said, her tone accusatory.
“Hear me out,” Norvik said before Carmen could object. “Zed does not require life support. As an inorganic lifeform, the vacuum of space has no effect on him. He will therefore notrequire an EVA suit, and he does not need to worry about his life-support running out or being compromised.
“Secondly, and much more importantly, Zed’s internal processors can think and adapt millions of times faster than any of our brains. There is likely to be military-grade defense software to prevent what we wish to attempt. Zed will be able to react at the same, if not better, speed as the countermeasures he will face.”
Damn. She had to give Norvik credit. His Collectivist logic was sound. And he was willing to go himself if Carmen determined that was what was in the best interest of the crew as a whole.
“We can’t send Zed,” Sark said. “He’s the engineer. The ship will fall apart without him.”
“On the contrary,” Norvik said, “this vessel has an abundance of starship engineers. Captain Díaz and Mila both have the relevant skillset to take Zed’s place while he is gone. And as the captain pointed out yesterday, Mila has demonstrated a mechanical ingenuity that has surpassed even Zed’s on multiple occasions.”
“Wait, now Mila is good for something other than her ‘value proposition’?” Letitia said, sarcasm dripping off every word. “What happened to selling her?”
“The captain has made it clear that selling Mila is an unacceptable solution to our problems,” he answered. “It is therefore necessary to evaluate her on the basis of the other benefits she can bring to the collective.”
Carmen’s mouth fell open. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. Norvik saw everything in terms of what was best for everyone in the long run. This solution neatly fit those morals. Zed’s unique abilities and status as an inorganic lifeform made him the right crewmember to risk, and Mila had the appropriate skillset to replace him should they lose him.
But it was still so damned strange to listen to his apparent about-face on where their XenX refugee fit in the scheme of things. She’d been arguing with him practically since they’d opened the shipment container and found Mila inside.
Could she really risk Zed, though? Could she demand anyone take this risk? Wouldn’t that be stretching her authority as captain too far?
“Zed, Mila,” she said, stabbing the comm button, “analysis.”
“Given the comms shield parameters,” Zed answered, “a physical proximity hack is the only viable solution. Required: direct hardline interface with the satellite’s primary access port. Doing so requires a spacewalk. Survival probability for me undertaking the mission is 38.7%. For any organic crew member, it is 4.2%. Norvik’s argument that I am the most logical person to perform the spacewalk and deliver the package is sound.”
There was no fear in that synthesized voice. No reluctance. Only the patient waiting for a command. Zed didn’t think of sacrifice, only function, probability, logic.
The numbers hung in the air. Cold. Brutal. Undeniable. Thirty-eight-point-seven versus four-point-two. There was no choice. Not really. It was Zed or suicide for everyone else.