Armstrong knew that the arguments in favor of deploying the orbital weapons immediately could not easily be dismissed. Beyond the threats the United States would face in this brave, new post-change world, there was the fact that if they returned to earth with the nuclear weapons on board, quite possibly the purpose of their mission would be discovered. Better, he thought, to get the damn things out of the ship. But the scientist was also worried about his old friend Blakers, who seemed increasingly unstable. No way would Armstrong entrust him with control of the nukes, at least at this time. But would the commander agree to his proposal?
"Jonathan, I'll do this. I'll reprogram the platforms. But I have a condition."
"What's that?" Blakers' voice was cold.
"I'll tell you after I upload the new software. Which, by the way, is going to be quite a hassle. I can do it, but it's going to take a while. And who is going to flip the switch once the weapons are actually deployed?"
"I'll do that. Luke will pilot the shuttle into each position. You can do that, right, Luke?"
"Aye, sir. A staggered ring around the earth, approximately parallel to the latitude of north Canada and Alaska."
"Why so far north?" Armstrong inquired.
Luke replied: "Less likely to be detected that way. We don't want them actually passing directly over the countries they're most likely to be used against."
"The last platform to be deployed is the one with the switch that activates all the others. That's the critical one, the one you need to reprogram."
Armstrong nodded. "Understood. Well, if you'll excuse me, I have to get down to the cargo hold."
Blakers' eyes drilled holes into the scientist's back as he floated out of the control room and down the hatch that led to the cargo bay.
***
Twenty minutes went by. Blakers had just begun to pace. "Luke, can you display the camera feed from the cargo bay? I want to see how Armstrong is doing."
The lieutenant tapped a few keys and one of the monitors blinked into an image of Armstrong, looking very tiny next to one of the weapon's platforms. His laptop was open and a cable connected it to a panel on one side of the platform.
"Looks like he's uploading the software now," Luke murmured.
The commander stroked his head. "Will you be able to tell when he's done?"
"No better than you, sir. Just keep an eye on his laptop. When he disconnects and closes it, that means he's done."
At that exact moment, Armstrong got out of his chair, pulled out the cable from the platform, and shut the panel on the platform.
"Looks like he's done, commander."
Armstrong's eyes glinted from the shadows. "Good. Lieutenant, I want you to depressurize the bay."
"What!?"
"You heard me. And that's an order. Depressurize the bay."
"But that will..."
"I know what it will do. The automatic locks will kick in."
"But the captain?"
"Is insubordinate!" Blakers screamed. "Now depressurize the bay!"
Luke hesitated, and the commander suddenly pulled out a pistol. "Are _you_ being insubordinate, lieutenant?"
"Um, no sir. But... are you really going to kill a fellow officer?"
Blakers chuckled. "I'm not going to kill him. Just scare him a bit. Begin depressurizing the bay." While they'd been talking, Armstrong had apparently run some further tests, shut down his laptop, and was making his way to the exit. Blakers didn't wait for Luke; he pushed the lieutenant aside and engaged the depressurizing sequence himself.
On the monitor, Armstrong's face froze in panic when he heard the first of the warning sirens. For the two men in the control room, it was a silent spectacle. The locks immediately activated and the hatch was sealed. The old scientist was trapped in a cargo bay that was rapidly losing all its air.
Luke could only watch in horror as Blakers activated the intercom. "I know you can barely hear me now, old friend. Soon, there won't even be enough air to carry the sound of my voice. But I want us to be able to understand each other: I _will_ have control over those weapons."
Clutching his throat, Armstrong had made it to an intercom panel. His wheezy voice filled the cabin. "You... you can't do this. I'll.. destroy the laptop first." He held it above his head for dramatic effect. "Smash it on the ground."
"Do that and die. Besides, you can barely stand. The toshiba laptops we use can take a LOT of punishment. Do you think you'll be able to wreck it beyond repair before you pass out?"
"Maybe... maybe," Armstrong whispered, sounding very unsure. "But... but you're forgetting something... old friend."
"And what's that?" Blakers snarled.
"The... code. I have the code. The weapons can't be accessed... without it. If I die... no code. No code... no nukes."
Blakers's, his face twisted in fury, motioned for Luke to stop the depressurization sequence. "Fine," the commander hissed. "Give me the code. Now. Or you _will_ die."
"Can't trust you now, Jonathan." Armstrong was on his knees now. "I give you code, you kill me."
For a moment, Blakers considered. Then his gaze fixed on Luke and he smiled. "All right. You need assurance." He reached for his pistol and handed it grip-ended to Luke. Stunned, the lieutenant reached for the gun. "Luke, tell the captain what I just did."
"He gave me his gun, sir."
"And is it loaded?"
Luke checked. "Yes, sir, it is."
Blakers cracked his knuckles. "So here is my order: Luke, if I try to kill Armstrong after he gives me the code, you are to shoot me dead. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you hear that, Armstrong?"
"... did... I did."
"Is that enough for you?"
"I'm... dying, Jonathan. Dying."
"Just give me the code."
As he lapsed into unconsciousness, Armstrong whispered something. He whispered...