Hume raised his chin at the crowd watching a demonstration of a haptic interface that allowed robots to simulate a sense of touch. "Hey, Alex, these robots are going to take over the world. If they replace me with a robot, then you can forget about your certification and residency, forget all about being a hotshot combat doc and saving guys like me. You need to be a robot repairman."

"No, they'll invent robot medics. You know, we trained with one of those unmanned ground vehicles a few years back. They call them SUVGs. Thing was small but nasty."

"Yeah, I've seen those. I'd like to blow one up--just to say I did."

Nolan chuckled. "You were the kid who stuffed fire-crackers in the frog's mouth."

"No, actually, Dad and I put on some world-class fireworks shows. People came from all over to see them." Hume's voice grew thin. "Dad would've loved to have seen this place, too."

Nolan's phone began to vibrate, just as Hume's began to ring. They checked their screens.

Hume sighed. "My brother's really going to flip out now."

"Dude, we have to be in Subic Bay, and they're timing us," said Nolan, already breaking into a jog. "Come on!"

TWENTY

TWENTY

USS MONTANA (SSN-823)
SOUTH CHINA SEA
THREE HUNDRED NAUTICAL MILES SOUTHWEST OF
SUBIC BAY, PHILIPPINES
APRIL 2012

The crew of USS Montana, a Virginia-class nuclear fast-attack submarine, was bound for Sasebo, Japan, after a week's monitoring of supertanker traffic through the Malacca Strait linking the Indian and Pacific Oceans. Passage through the strait was the shortest sea route for India, China, and Indonesia, and the key choke point in Asia. To bypass the strait added 944 miles to any ship's transit.

"Emergency deep," ordered Captain Kenneth Gummerson.

Montana's control team immediately initiated a full-power dive toward a depth of 150 feet--deep enough to avoid collision with the bottom of any modern supertanker yet shallow enough to recover from flooding should a collision ensue.

"Worked perfectly, Captain," reported the chief petty officer copilot. "Touch screen control all the way, no need to go to minimum electronic mode and joystick control."

This fourth drill in the last twenty-four hours reassured Gummerson that a computer module swap-out had indeed tweaked the digital interface between the stern plane actuators and the sub's fly-by-wire (FBW) computer.

Gummerson, a twice-divorced forty-seven-year-old victim of long separations and short reunions, had tacked on silver eagles during this operation, but the promotion meant giving up his command. All hands knew their relief commander would be waiting on the pier in Sasebo. Change of command was a bittersweet event for all concerned.

"Incoming flash traffic, CO eyes only, Captain," reported the duty radioman.

Gummerson nodded. "Bring it back to my stateroom after it's logged in."

Minutes later, in the privacy of his quarters, Gummerson carefully studied his new orders: