At arm's length, and the ship immobilized by its mags, Hodak braced his back against the fuselage and tried again. He felt the bar bottom in the notch.
Brad squatted beside Hodak and, using the fighter's mass to steady themselves, they pushed. The pressure scraped the plug's surface, but remain fast. They made a fresh cut, braced themselves, and pushed, sweat pouring from their faces. Very slowly, the plug gave way, eventually the surface rose slightly above the warhead's surface. More cuts, and a finger hold. The plug rose a bit more. It seemed minutes before their hands could grasp it firmly.
They unscrewed the plug. It drifted away.
"When Ram had our skulls crammed with all that raw data I thought this was garbage we'd never have to use," Brad said. "I think a lot differently now. Myra, hold the mags tight and be ready to break away as soon as I give you the word."
Lying on his side directly above the opening he inserted his arm and shoulder into the well as far as he could. Inside the cavity he located knobs and keypads by touch. At random, Brad twirled the knobs, pressed the keys, and opened and closed switches. After a brief wait, he tore several wire connections loose.
"Working in the dark like this has disadvantages," he grunted.
Withdrawing his arm he slipped his outer glove back on. Hastily they climbed back aboard their fighter.
"Go! Myra. Go!"
Both craft whirled away.
"The warhead's computer assessed and integrated my random inputs," Brad said. "The solution should change its flight path or, for all we know, reset the switches for the proximity fuses so that our ships' mass and proximity sets the bomb off. Let's get as far away as we can before it all comes together and whatever's going to happen happens."