Free Tomahawk by David Poyer Page B

Those you can buy from us, by the way.”
    A middle-aged Unidynamics guy in a sport coat asked, “Command and control?”
    â€œIt’s called WCS EX mod three and that’s all I know about it. Except that there’s a lot of glitches in the software build. What bit stream comes through the wires, you’re gonna have to ask the commander here.”
    Sakai said, “The back end of the launch control system processing is thirty-two signal data translators, one per tube. Each one provides discrete logic-level translation of the flight and firing data direct to the missile. Don’t sweat it. All you guys need to do is put in the specified connector.”
    â€œYou know, I’m starting to like you, Sparky,” Dan told him. “Any other questions, fellas? … Yeah, you can take pictures if you want.”
    The Vimy engineer said, “And a bid deadline, end of the month. Gonna be late nights, next couple weeks.”
    â€œI know. We’ve been pulling all-nighters, too.” Dan said to Slater, who was leaving, “Can we leave it open like this?”
    â€œSure. Just power down the console and then tell the guys in the bunker you’re securing.”
    The Vimy engineer caught up with Dan as he was heading toward the bunker. The others were still grouped around the ABL; a strobe flashed as one leaned in under the raised clamshell, a Jonah peering down the gullet ofthe whale. “We’re hungry for this one. Got a lot of guys down in Texas looking for this work.”
    â€œYou think you can do it, get that bid in. We’re definitely gonna award it, thirty-two units first buy, a lot more downstream.”
    â€œWho makes the final decision? You?”
    â€œI don’t know if I should answer that,” said Dan. “So I guess I won’t.”
    â€œAny way we can get an edge? Anything special we can put in there?”
    â€œI don’t think so. You’ve got all the same info the other guys have.”
    â€œWe’ve done a lot of Navy work. We’re pretty hungry.” The man waited, then, when Dan still didn’t respond, handed him a card. “Well, you think of something, call me, all right? Doesn’t have to be an official communication. Just give me a call.”
    â€œSure,” said Dan. He finally got the attention of one of the enlisted men, and he yelled, “We’re through. It’s yours.”
    A few minutes later, as he was getting into the car, the card fluttered out of his pocket as he pulled out his keys. He picked it up off the floor. A newspaper clipping was stuck to the back. The headline read HOUSE DISCUSSES CUTS IN MILITARY RETIREMENT PLAN.
    â€œThe hell’s that?” said Sakai, glancing at it as Dan wondered if it was what it seemed to be. Or if it was just an accident—that two unrelated things had gotten stuck together in the vendor’s wallet. But it wasn’t anything you could actually call an inducement. Finally, he crunched it in his fist and tossed it over his shoulder into the back of the car.
    â€œTrash,” he said. “Let’s go, we got an eleven-fifteen departure.”

6

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    And rapidly and smoothly as a Metro train accelerating, autumn was on them.
    He hardly had time to look up from his desk as the weeks flicked by. Between trips, he was pulling fourteen-hour days, working Saturdays and often Sundays, too. He had to put two of his evening classes on hold; there just weren’t enough hours. He still kept making Szerenci’s, though. And there was always time for a few beers at Mr. Henry’s. He even managed to convert some of the analysis he was doing into papers for class, scrubbed to remove classified information.
    Now late on an October afternoon, he lifted his head and stared at the window. Then checked the wall clock and whispered, “Hell.”
    He got up suddenly and slid his drawer closed and locked it. He shot a glance into