Chapter THIRTEEN

The black skies and drab mounds of Planet Pluto were spotted with color. From where he stood on Drummer's enclosed patio, Brad looked through the transparent shields at ice-gray Charon low over scarred ridges to the west. Shifting his eyes slightly brought into focus the panorama of Coldfield's dome and its multi-colored lights. The orange-green cylinder of the Slingshot Logistics Depot gleamed in the black sky.

The Fandango force field around the depot shimmered. A wide gap separated the transports loading and unloading at the portals inside the force field from those outside waiting in line or in clustered formations until moorings inside became available.

The short taxi ride from Coldfield had been uneventful. The formalities of introductions behind them, the host and his guests had refreshed themselves, dined and rested.

Drummer joined Brad and followed his gaze to the orange-green cylinder and its gaggle of transports and tugs. The silence was brief.

Drummer said, "I've had your ship searched."

Brad shrugged, eyes scanning the scene outside, and replied dryly, "Hope it was worth your while. To us, it was transportation. Any old tub would have done. As it turned out, we were lucky."

"I'll accept that it's an 'old tub'. I gathered as much from the reports I received," Drummer said, "but I understand the primary systems are in good condition, considering the vessel's history and the spunnel shocks the ship must have experienced on the way. How does it all fit together?"

"How does it concern you?" Brad turned to face
Drummer.

"Come, now." Drummer shook his head impatiently. "Let's not act naive; it doesn't go with the rest of you. But," he added waving his finger at Brad as he turned away, "just so you don't make a habit of responding to my questions with diversions, be aware that I am a member of President Narval's Council of Advisors. Despite the incident with Scarf, I have considerable authority and resources at my command.

"I've checked through my confidential sources in the Inner Region," he went on, "and confirmed you are all convicted criminals that escaped from a Guardian Station prison. Now, for starters, how did you manage to get a lift by spunnel and make it this far without tearing that old wreck apart? Those vessels don't have navigational gear for trips to the rim, nor do they carry the required gear and supplies. Straight answer."

"We're spacers," Brad said. "One of us is an experienced maintenance engineer. Another is a space navigator. We've all knocked about the space-ways a bit on assorted jobs. I was Captain of a freighter before the Space Guard and the Transport Board took my ship away from me on trumped up charges, and then sent me up for five years of rehab. We teamed up on the Guardian Station, worked out the details, kept our noses clean and our eyes open, and, when the chance came, grabbed it. We did have a few breakdowns, but we kept her moving along until we could attach the ship to a convoy through the spunnel. We took our chances and made it."

Drummer shook his head. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"The reports I received identified your former professions and gave me the rest of your personal histories. Frankly, it has me wondering: a ship's captain, paramedic-logistics type, a maintenance engineer, communications specialist, navigator, and a weapons technician. Wasn't it odd to have these special skills fall into place?"

"Not really," Brad countered. "I could have made up any kind of crew I wanted. The station has lots of spacers under lock and key. These folks happened to fit in with my plans, and they were as anxious to get out as I was. It worked. Now, what's the problem?"

"The problem," Drummer replied, "is that a half-dozen escaped convicts with exceptional space skills make it to Planet Pluto; that one of them defends a high level official in a tavern brawl, making for himself a mortal enemy of their sanctuary's chief security officer. To cap it, the escaped convicts are now guests in the home of the official that they defended in the bar-room scrape who, I might add, also happens to be a member of the President's Council. See the problem?"

"Crank this in," Brad remarked, "the citizen, who considers himself a high government official, moves about without a bodyguard thus inviting confrontations. Also, his attacker's arrival at the bar-room couldn't possibly have been predicted, let alone his drunken behavior and my colleague and I happening to be there. Add who it was that took the initiative for departure from the tavern, and that it was the high government official that invited the escaped convicts to his home. He wasn't threatened or coerced into extending his hospitality."

Drummer grinned, nodded. "You ordered Hodak to intervene. Why?"

"First, tell me more about Scarf."

Drummer shrugged.

"He's been with Narval since the beginning of the regime. Did, and still does, most of the dirty work that keeps any government in power, and he's better at it than most. He has a special hatred for dissidents to Narval's policies and uses spies, informers and killers to infiltrate their organizations and tear them apart. By the way, he also had your ship searched. Watch out for him. Now, my question."

"When Scarf began to hassle you, I had no idea of his identity or position. His words and actions in the bar-room gave me an impression that, if we got you out of that mess, you might reciprocate by helping us to get permission to remain on the planet, and maybe steer us to jobs. It was a chance. Now, as to your problem with us: is it insurmountable?"

Drummer studied Brad's face, trying to read his thoughts. "Not really, insofar as getting you and your friends temporary resident status," he said. "Scarf will not be easy with you and your friends, especially my rescuer, Hodak. I'll talk to my associates. The skills you have might be useful to us. Since you're a former ship's captain, I'll consider you spokesman for your colleagues."

Chapter FOURTEEN

President Narval invited all INOR ambassadors to meet with him in his conference suite; the subject was not announced in advance. The ambassadors sought guidance from their home governments. In response, they were instructed to attend, make no commitments, and report back immediately on the proceedings.

As the appointed time neared, the Presidential Security Guard, augmented by a detachment of heavily armed police, moved into the conference area. They took up positions at doors leading from the President's Suite, along the connecting corridors, and inside the Conference Room. All rooms, corridors and exterior approaches leading to the meeting site were physically and electronically searched, and the identity disks of all individuals passing through the area scrutinized and verified.

Shortly before the meeting, the President's Council entered and took seats along the wall, leaving the chairs around the table for the guests. A lackey scampered about, lifted the lids of beakers, peered in, made minute changes in the alignment of goblets, and scuttled out.

A view tank rose from a well at the front of the room, glowed, and cleared to show the Special Zone. Charon and its background of stars had been dimmed to reduce the clutter. In the foreground, the Slingshot Logistics Depot and its maze of ships, tugs, articulated cranes and flex-conveyers were portrayed busily engaged in loading and unloading the moored vessels, and the new arrivals that waited for their turn.

A flurry rippled through the room as a door panel slid back into its slot and the Ambassadors strode in from an anteroom. They were men and women of varying appearance: tall and short, slender and rotund, and cadaverous and fleshy. More than half wore the military uniforms and ranks of their nation, and the rest were in the colorful robes of their offices and governments.

Mostly in their middle years, they had the hard, arrogant look of ruthless power, survivors of craft and intrigue. Faces suspicious and wary, they took places around the table. None spoke.

A brusque announcement cut the silence. "The
President of Planet Pluto."

President Narval, haughty in appearance and adorned in red-black robes of office, entered to the sound of sliding chairs and rustling garments as all present rose to their feet. Narval's massive body, pear-shaped and tapering into short legs and diminutive feet, shuffled forward in top-heavy gait.

Drummer entered behind Narval and moved to stand silently beside a lectern adjacent the view tank.

Sunken between ponderous shoulders, Narval's hairless head was small and neckless, his face smooth-pale with thin-lipped mouth and a stumpy nose. Cold, deep-embedded eyes constantly shifted focus and direction. His small hands, fingers laden with rings, appeared to drip from his sleeves.

##

Lumbering to his raised chair at the head of the table, Narval laboriously stepped up and sat, lifted his hand to his mouth and nibbled at a fingernail. Finally, satisfied, he held the finger up, examined it and redirected his attention to his audience.

President Reen Narval had earned the fear and respect that he enjoyed. A victor of scores of battles for control of the planet's criminal syndicates and political machinery, Narval had left a trail of blood and broken bones behind him as a warning to challengers. Challengers to his rule did not survive.

A man of many talents, Narval had migrated to Planet Pluto from an independent colony orbiting Callisto. He had accepted expulsion from the place of his birth as the alternative to the court's sentence of labor in Callisto's encapsulated subsurface mines.

Educated and trained to practice law in the Outer Region's inter-satellite and interplanetary courts he had, instead, become a serious liability to his government and to his community.

At his disbarment, the investigating officer of the Callisto Ethical Practices Board had presented irrefutable evidence of Narval's numerous conflicts of interests, extortions, frauds and other crimes in the performance of his responsibilities as an officer-of-the-court. Removed from the judicial arena, he was proven to have also cheated in the Callisto gambling halls, swindled citizens of sound repute, and twice convicted of murder.

Callisto and its orbiting colonies were wide open, but Reen Narval was too much for them. He was told to quickly depart Callisto's jurisdiction or take the consequences.

He left gracelessly, found a haven on Planet Pluto, and applied his many talents with vigor. Organizing Coldfield's fragmented criminal elements, he ruled with an iron fist. Solidly entrenched, he imposed tactics of terror on the population and encountered little resistance. He rose to the top, balanced on a mound of cracked skulls and crushed bodies.

Soon after INOR came into being, Narval proclaimed Planet Pluto's independence, with himself as President. Despite the UIPS urgent need for Planet Pluto to support Slingshot, the newly formed, but weakened government of the Inner Region was unable to influence a populace under the fist of a ruthless despot.

"I will govern well, and we shall prosper," President Narval glibly promised the Plutonian citizenry. "I have studied and practiced interplanetary law for many years. I shall demand justice for our planet and for all our people. We will not be slaves to the imperialists of the Inner Region."

The new President organized a brotherhood with like morals, and bestowed on them ministries of great personal influence and profit. A bureaucracy rose and flourished; the spoils systems and corruption matched those of ancient Earth.

Reen Narval, President of Planet Pluto, was caught in a dilemma.

Slingshot construction was approaching completion. The Terminals and Planet Pluto would come to a parting of the ways before the end of the century. Employment and extortionate profits from Slingshot services and industries would plummet as Planet Pluto continued outbound along its eccentric orbit into interstellar space. The economy would wither, and the inhabitants move elsewhere.

Narval had to provide for himself. For the moment, he held a good hand, and the stakes made the game worthwhile, providing it was himself that shuffled the deck and dealt the cards.

Leaning back in his chair, Narval scanned the faces at the table.

"I have dispatched a message to the President of the United Inner Planetary System," he announced solemnly. "It will open a new and better relationship between INOR and the UIPS."

The Ambassadors stared at him, aghast. Several rose partially out of their seats, looked at others at the table, reconsidered, sat, and glared grimly straight ahead rather than toward the head of the table. Narval smirked. A bombshell, indeed.

"Until now we have played children's games with the UIPS," he continued, raising his voice to the level and tone of a despot's traditional bellow to repel an imagined enemy. "That time is past. We must move on to a strategy that is more aggressive than petty raids on UIPS shipping or to merely destroy a few of their insignificant patrols.

"The build-up of INOR's military forces has reached the level at which, together, we have the strength to influence the final stages of Slingshot construction. That includes the launch schedule of the Extractor station to Alpha Centauri. We must use this new power to benefit all nations in the Outer Region. In short, the warships and weapons in Planet Pluto's military fleet, along with those of your governments, are a force that the UIPS can not ignore."

Narval motioned to Drummer.

"The Proclamation."

Bringing his hand close, he inspected its palm and fingers.

Selecting a fingernail, he commenced nibbling at it, giving the task his full attention.

Drummer rose to his feet, drew a scrolled document from the sleeve of his robe and unrolled it. Holding the scroll low so that his listeners could see his face, he read from the scroll without hesitation or inflection.

"The President of Planet Pluto sends greetings to the President of the United Inner Planetary System and to all citizens of the Inner Region.

"I, President Reen Narval, hereby declare and proclaim that Planet Pluto, as an independent and properly constituted member of the Independent Nations of the Outer Region (INOR), has the legal and inalienable right to use and to defend INOR territory under my jurisdiction consistent with time-honored custom and interplanetary law.

"The Government of Planet Pluto, now and henceforth, assumes for itself as lawful all dominant rights of independent nations to possess and control all territory, properties, materials, supplies and all other resources on and beneath the surface of Planet Pluto. Such rights extend off-planet to national boundaries established in conformance with treaties in effect for delineating planetary and satellite jurisdictions in near and contiguous space.

"Through this Proclamation, we, the Government of Planet Pluto, exercise our rights and impose our legitimate authority.

"On the other hand, we are realists. It is not possible for us, at this stage of Plutonian national and industrial development, to assume the operation and servicing of vital life and community support systems, nor has the Planet Pluto Government the technical skills and facilities at this time to produce and deliver infrastructure and commodities essential for a self-sustaining economy."

Drummer raised his eyes and quickly scanned the INOR ambassadors seated along each side of the conference table. His voice raised slightly for emphasis.

"We, therefore," he intoned, "conditionally grant to the Government of the United Inner Planetary System license to install, operate, and service all life and general infrastructure support systems in Coldfield, and in all posts, camps and stations on the surface of Planet Pluto, its satellite Charon and throughout its contiguous space.

"We are, furthermore, gracious hosts. We herewith grant conditional permission for all spaceports, landing pads and mooring towers, and their associated technical accoutrements and equipment, to remain open to UIPS traffic. This conditional permission is granted providing qualified UIPS technicians and administrators under the oversight of Plutonian citizens staff these facilities. The Plutonian overseers will be afforded training by the UIPS to qualify them to assume the primary's operational and management responsibilities in all functions within two Earth years from the date of this Proclamation. The Government of Planet Pluto, as sovereign, will provide for station security and will exercise oversight and offer guidance through its appointed administrators.

"The Government of Planet Pluto hereby levies an inventory tax on all materials and products arriving in Plutonian territories from the UIPS. The tax base includes all raw materials, partial and fully fabricated structures, technical equipment, and components thereof which are or yet to be committed to Slingshot. The Slingshot Logistics Depot, which occupies space within Plutonian jurisdiction, and all UIPS cargo transports entering Plutonian space, are subject to this inventory tax.

"Our inventory tax is merely an extension of the passage tax on ships intruding on INOR's jurisdictions and which is currently being negotiated by the UIPS and INOR governments. We anticipate the successful completion to these negotiations.

"This Decree is in effect. Your cooperation is welcomed."

##

Drummer released the lower end of the scroll and watched it curl up. He finished rolling the document, bound it with a ribbon, and tucked it into his sleeve. He stood silent, eyes on Narval.

Narval rose as he spoke slowly, his tone disdainful. "I suggest that you communicate with your Governments concerning my message to President Camari. Add my expression of trust that they appreciate the advantages of presenting a common front."

Waddling toward the door, he beckoned Drummer to follow.

Chapter FIFTEEN

Narval slouched back into his overstuffed chair. Drummer faced him from across the enormous ebony-composite desk.

Bringing his hand close, Narval searched for a fingernail that demanded his attention.

"President Camari must accept that we have the military forces to impose our will on Slingshot," he said, momentarily shifting his eyes to Drummer. "If he does not accept my offer I want to ram it down his throat. Have you come up with an action to implement our new policy?"

"I have."

"Lay it out."

"With no advance notice, impose the inventory tax on all Slingshot supplies on board the Depot and on UIPS vessels on both sides of the Fandango force field. The first step is to conduct our own inventory of UIPS property in Plutonian space; to do that we must have on site access to the Depot's records, and spot check the records against the assets. The presence of our military forces in space close to the Depot will back up our inventory staff. Businesslike, formal, and highly visible."

"Why don't you use that tactic on the dozens of Slingshot laboratories and assembly centers here on Pluto's surface? Seems to me that would be less risky."

"For good reasons, Mr. President. We need an exercise that is sufficiently visible, even spectacular, to make both the UIPS and our INOR allies respect our will and capabilities to use organized military forces throughout our legitimate jurisdiction. A surface operation on Pluto will be barely noticed and not impress them with our military strength."

"How do you expect the Depot to react?"

"At first, with confusion. The Depot Commander will try to bluff. Meanwhile, he'll spunnel an alarm to Earth and insist on guidance. We must not accept delay."

"What if you meet resistance?"

"Overcome it. Set an example. After all, we are exercising our rights as a sovereign nation."

"And after the inventory?"

"If peacefully accomplished, we withdraw. We'll spunnel formal documentation to the UIPS on the amount of taxes due, the schedule for payment and penalties for delinquencies."

"The penalties?"

"I have several in mind. Fines for minor delays, blockade of the depot and, eventually, military action should they get nasty."

"How soon can you launch?"

"Three days."

"Do it."

Drummer turned to leave. Narval raised his jeweled hand. Drummer paused and turned back.

"What's this I've heard from Scarf about you taking a pack of escaped Inner Region convicts under your wing?"

"There's more to it than that," replied Drummer.
He filled in the gaps.

Narval scrutinized his fingernails as Drummer talked.

"I'm surprised to hear you patronize drinking establishments where such raffish elements gather," Narval murmured around the focus of his attention.

"I feel it my duty to get about, to see, and to listen. There is much to learn by observing our people going about their daily lives. The Charnel Pit is one of the few places in Coldfield where people gather to relax and talk."

Narval peered sideways at Drummer from narrowed eyes.

"Hm, you see and you listen to the people. What else, I wonder? Do the people also see and listen to you? What do you tell them, Drummer?"

"I tell them nothing, President Narval. I don't know what you mean."

"Well, let it go for now. Back to your little brood. You say they're experienced spacers, and you've checked the facts of their escape. You know we're short-handed in technicians for the military fleet. Can we use them?"

"I'm not certain that I trust them," Drummer responded.

"Test them."

"How?"

"Take them along on the inventory operation."

"…and?"

"As I say, test them. Force whoever is leading them into a difficult situation. Keep him close to you and watch how he works himself out of it. If he does well, throw him to another pack of wolves. Get him and his gang involved, deeper. Make them prove themselves. When you're satisfied, bring them up to a level where we're squeezing from them all they have that's useful to us."

"Scarf is after them."

"Leave Scarf to me, Drummer. That's all."

##

Scarf entered and waited for Narval to notice him. Narval's eyes were fixed on his hands. He spoke without looking up.

"Drummer has given me his side of the incident in the bar-room," he said, his voice cutting with sarcasm. "The hangers-on in that sinkhole have, by now, spread their version all over Coldfield, Lamplight, as well as the depot and Slingshot. You came out of it looking like a fool in a confrontation that enhances Drummer's image to the detriment of the President's Chief of Security."

Narval raised his head. His small eyes drilled into
Scarf.

"I don't trust Drummer," he said. "I suspect him of trying to subvert my rule. He's too popular in the Council and among the officers and men of the military fleet. I can't chance direct action against him at this time. For the moment, I need his expertise in military strategy and managing our resources.

"I'm looking to you to find or create enough evidence so that, when I'm ready, we can undermine Drummer's reputation. As it is, you've built him up by embarrassing your high position in my government. Do your job right, and my problem with Drummer will fade away. I'm not pleased at all with your progress so far."

Scarf's face was flushed.

"Yes, sir," he said. "My intent was to accost Drummer in a public place, draw him out, and make him look foolish. The circumstances in the Charnel Pit were fine, or so I thought. Intervention by an outsider was totally unexpected. When I get my hands on that convict, I have plans for him."

"Hold off, Scarf. You can have him when I'm done with the pack, including Drummer. Until then, put your anger aside."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, listen carefully."

Narval leaned forward, eyes on Scarf. He described Drummer's upcoming inventory operation. Stubby fingers smoothed the desk surface.

"I'll tell Drummer that I want you to go along on the inventory," he said. "Think up a reason; I don't care what it is so long as it gets you aboard. The real reason is to keep your eyes on Drummer, the operation, and these convicts he's harboring. I want to know everything that happens. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I do." Scarf's eyes lit up. He continued eagerly. "If Drummer goes to the depot or boards UIPS ships, I should go along to see what he does. As Chief of Security, my position should compel him to accompany him. I suggest, sir, that you appoint me as your counter-intelligence representative on Drummer's task force. My job, then, would be to check if the depot or a transport, whichever we board, is conducting secret surveillance of our military facilities, field training, and ship movements. Drummer can be told that my boarding the depot would be essential to the mission you've assigned to me."

"Hasn't our man on the depot told us they've been performing those observations for the UIPS for quite a while? Wouldn't Drummer see through that ploy?"

"Not if you tell him this would be the first opportunity for your Chief of Security to enter a UIPS domain and report to you directly on his observations. It would take me out from under Drummer's command."

"Hm, yes, I see what you mean." Narval returned to examining his fingernails. He lifted a finger to his lips and nibbled.

"Very well, Scarf. I'll tell Drummer."

Chapter SIXTEEN

Drummer paced the command deck of the Plutonian flagship Dragon, Brad nearby. Scarf, sprawled in an open accello-net fastened to a nearby bulkhead, watched and listened.

The ship vibrated as it moved along the launch rail leading to the mouth of the tunnel hanger. Captain Hyk, the ship's Commander, hunched over a control computer on the nearby bridge and snapped orders to his Operations Officer. Both cast sideways glances at Scarf, discomfited by his presence.

Brad visualized the scene on the bridges and flight decks of the more than two dozen warships, ranging from cruisers to fighters that formed the task force. All were in final countdown for launch from tunnels and galleries cut into reinforced chasms across a hundred kay of Pluto's surface.

At Drummer's invitation, Brad analyzed the launch schedule and deployment pattern. He had tactfully suggested substantive alterations to minimize warning time to the depot and its nearby transports. After some debate, during which Brad repeatedly justified his proposals to skeptical ship commanders, they were computer-tested, modified and accepted.

Brad knew he was on trial. Ram's words surfaced as he scanned the bridge: "…you will lie, cheat, bribe, subvert, sabotage, and kill for us, and should our greater purpose call for you to do so, against us."

"This one," he mused, ironically, "is on the 'against us' side of the ledger."

Hodak appeared at the entry to the command deck and beckoned to Brad. As Brad approached, Scarf rose and sauntered in their direction, seemingly scrutinizing instrument dials and panels along the way. His ears seemed to throb with the effort of eavesdropping.

"I've gone over the maintenance and operations checklists for all ships and technical support committed to this mission, as you told me to," Hodak said, "and then spot-checked them against installed equipment. We've only been on this job a couple of days, so I couldn't probe to any meaningful depth."

He heaved a deep sigh. "From what I've seen so far, Brad, the systems are not as well-maintained as they should be, and much of the data and crew training are not applicable or out of date.

"My recommendation is that as soon as we get back we conduct a hard-nosed professional inspection of the fleet to pinpoint all the cats-and-dogs these dunderheads have jerry-rigged into the equipment and the software. We gotta give priority to the checklists that need to be updated to correspond with installed equipment. No two ships have the same configuration, so each checklist will have to be tailored. That's only the first step, and it'll be one helluva lotta work."

"Drummer's main concern right now is getting through this operation without using weapons or incurring a technical breakdown," Brad said. "Either one will detract from the image we're trying to build. He should know ASAP what you found. I'll pass it along to him. Stand by with Kumiko in case Drummer needs some technical advice on weapons or engineering."

"Right."

Hodak turned to leave, and his eyes met Scarf's.
Hodak grinned, and gave Scarf a thumbs up. Scarf
glowered and turned away, moving back to the net.
Hodak disappeared down the passageway.

The ship advanced along a rail into a gallery at the mouth of the tunnel. Captain Hyk turned to Drummer.

"The Dragon is at launch station," he said.

Drummer and Brad stepped from the command deck to a small balcony overlooking a shallow pit covered by a pale, translucent screen. A network of lines, representing tunnels and galleries, formed on the screen, each incorporating a tiny, yellow moving and blinking light to indicate a warship under Drummer's command. As each light reached launch position, it halted and changed from yellow to green. Drummer and Brad watched the last of the yellows convert. All green, ready to launch.

Drummer picked up a microphone, Brad beside him.

"This is Drummer," he said. "Operation authenticator Tornado Six. Execute. First wave. Launch."

Five green lights flashed to red and disappeared, on their way to predesignated stations outside Fandango: one off each blunt end of the Depot cylinder and the remainder at the entry to the gateway force field.

Ten seconds later Drummer repeated his codes and launched the second wave. The corresponding lights on the screen flashed red and out. New green lights appeared in their place, this time moving in arcs converging on the cylinder centered in a sphere: the depot in its force field cocoon.

The converging lines massed, reformed, and spread into a pattern resembling the spoke tips of an open umbrella, with the Gateway, the crowded transports and the depot centered at what would be the umbrella's handgrip.

##

Drummer turned his head and looked at Brad.

"Went off rather well," he said.

"Seems so. That was the easy part. I don't envy you the next."

Drummer touched a switch connecting him to the bridge.

"Captain," he said. "Launch the Dragon. Take your position at the coordinates I gave to you. Activate our comm system to the depot."

The ship shuddered as it shot from the gallery and headed for the concentration of spacecraft above Pluto. It slowed as it passed through the umbrella formation and stopped fifty kay from the nearest transport.

Time lapse from launch was less than two minutes.
Surprise was complete; the effect, paralyzing.

All movement around the depot slowed to a halt. The intranet filled with "What the hell's going on?", "Who are these guys?", and "Bring on the dancing girls." Then, suddenly, the channels blanked, replaced by silence.

Drummer keyed his microphone open and handed it to Brad.

Brad took on a harsh tone.

"Attention: Commander of Slingshot Logistics Depot and Masters of all vessels, inside or outside the Fandango Force Field. The national interests of the Government of Planet Pluto demands compliance with Plutonian laws by all persons and properties within its jurisdiction. You and your vessels and the Logistics Depot are in Plutonian territory, therefore, our laws apply to you.

"The Fleet Commander of this Plutonian Security
Force wishes to speak with the Commander of the
Slingshot Logistics Depot. Depot Commander, please
identify yourself and stand by. Acknowledge."

Silence. Thirty seconds.

"Logistics Depot. This is the Plutonian Security Force. The message we sent you moments ago was for the Depot Commander. Did you read? Acknowledge."

The reply came.

"Your message received. Please identify Fleet
Commander."

Brad and Drummer exchanged glances. Drummer chuckled.

"The formalities must be observed," he chuckled, his tone dry. "Tell him."

Brad keyed the mike.

"Fleet Commander Deke Drummer." He put a rasp into his voice. "Now, get on with it."

Another voice came on.

"Colonel Hanno here. I'm the Depot Commander.
What the hell game are you playing, Drummer?"

Brad's tone turned icy.

"Let's get one point straight, Colonel Hanno. You will be speaking with a Fleet Commander with the rank of Admiral. Should you need to be reminded, Planet Pluto is a sovereign and independent nation, and you are a guest within our borders. Your choice of words is offensive. Do you read?"

A long pause.

"I read."

Chapter SEVENTEEN

Drummer reached for the mike.

"Colonel Hanno, this is Admiral Drummer." He winked at Brad.

"Colonel, my Government requires an inventory of Slingshot properties, materials and supplies in your depot and on the transports nearby. The information we develop from this one-time inventory will be used to compute UIPS taxes while the depot and transports are in Plutonian jurisdiction. My fleet is escorting the inventory specialists. Please arrange for them to board your Depot and the transports on both sides of your force field, so that they can get to their work."

"I have not received instructions from my Government concerning the inventory or the taxes to which you refer."

"That is between you and your Government. I am here at the express order of President Narval to see that the inventory is conducted. May I count on your cooperation?"

"If I decline, what then?"

"Blockade, for starters."

"The UIPS will not permit your interference with our operations."

"Is that the formal response of your Government to my request?"

A short pause. "No."

"Then I suggest you dispense with posturing and arrange to receive the inventory crews. Please instruct all Masters of transports and other ships doing business with your depot to cooperate with our agents."

Another voice cut in, heavy with anger.

"No goddamned shakedown artists are coming aboard my ship."

Brad motioned Drummer to give him the mike, indicating by his facial expression that the intruder did not deserve a direct response from Drummer's level.

"This is Commander Curtin," Brad said with low-toned authority, "Executive to Admiral Drummer. Who speaks?"

He winked at Drummer, who leaned back in his chair, grinning.

"Lieutenant Bura, commanding the transport Sandbox. I repeat: keep your damn squeeze clerks away from my ship, regardless how legitimate you claim your purpose to be."

"You're in no position to refuse," Brad shot back. "You're in Plutonian territory, and we have every right to employ police or military powers to enforce our jurisdiction. You will cooperate in this inventory, peacefully, if possible; under force, if necessary."

"You'll have to fight your way on to my ship." Bura's voice was harsh, angry. "Be advised we are armed and prepared to repel unauthorized boarders. I take your demands to be attempted extortion, and a clear threat to the safety of my ship, crew and cargo. That, at the least, is piracy in my book, and I am within my authority to use force to keep pirates off my ship. Now, chew on that."

"Lieutenant Bura." Brad's voice was space-cold. "You now insult the Plutonian Government by accusing it of piracy. Your attitude gives us good reason to question the purpose of your presence in our territory. By your words, you command an armed vessel. Now you dare to threaten legitimate representatives of a sovereign nation with your guns. We have no choice but to conclude you are a danger to our ships and to our people."

"Ridiculous. I am merely protecting the safety and integrity of my ship."

"So you say. Nevertheless, you have threatened to use force against our exercise of legitimate rights. Tell me, Bura, is your ship really a commercial cargo transporter or is it a UIPS warship with a military mission inside our legal jurisdiction?"

"What in hell are you trying to do, whoever you are? My ship is a transporter of cargo, and you know that damned well."

"I know no such thing. All I know is that you claim to be armed and say you will use your weapons against us. I repeat: are you on a military mission?"

"No, damn it, I am not."

"I don't believe you."

"That's your problem."

"Not at all, my man, it's yours. You insult and then threaten harm to us." Brad grinned at Drummer, who was watching him with an appraising expression. "Our fire control system has you marked and our guns are trained on your ship. How does that strike you?"

Silence.

"I say," Brad roared, "Bura of the Sandbox, how does that strike you? You have ten seconds to reply."

Lieutenant Bura's voice came in, low and tight with suppressed rage.

"I read you, loud and clear. My gun crews are standing down."

"Unacceptable, Bura," Brad said flatly, "you remain a serious obstacle to the success of our mission. Stand by and do not interrupt again. Admiral Drummer wishes to complete this transaction with the Depot Commander. Colonel Hanno, we are waiting for your answer to Admiral Drummer's request, which, I repeat, is to arrange for our inventory specialists to perform their duties aboard your Depot and the transports within your control area."

"I take note of your fleet's deployment, Admiral Drummer," the voice of Colonel Hanno was subdued but intense, "and the manner in which your Executive responded to Lieutenant Bura's protest. My responsibility for the safety of UIPS supplies, properties and personnel under my command and for UIPS vessels in the Planet Pluto Special Zone leaves me no choice but to accede to your outrageous demands. I do so under most solemn and vigorous protest, and only because your guns are trained at our heads. Be aware these conversations are being recorded and spunnel-transmitted to my Government as we speak."

"Your protests are noted, Colonel Hanno," Drummer said, taking over. "Please convey our respects to your Government. Now, as to procedure for the audit, I suggest we set up a small group of administrators and specialists to prepare schedules and other details. This must be done immediately, as we have no wish to delay your support operations unnecessarily. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"Good. One of my ships is now approaching the Gateway. I realize you may have reservations concerning one of my military craft entering your restricted zone, and I respect your reservations. Please have your representatives board the Plutonian craft outside the Gateway. My specialists are aboard, and the two groups can work out the details. Is this satisfactory?"

"I reject your term 'satisfactory', and accede under the same protest."

"I understand, Colonel Hanno. By the way, one other matter, concerning the Sandbox. I cannot accept Bura's assurance that his gun crews are on 'stand down'."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Colonel Hanno, that I insist on an inspection of the Sandbox by members of my military staff so that I am certain the Sandbox's guns are not a threat to the safety of my fleet. I cannot continue to dissipate my capabilities by the need to keep the Sandbox under special surveillance throughout this operation. The Sandbox guns must be rendered inoperative and, frankly, I don't trust Bura to perform that service for me."

"Lieutenant Bura," said Colonel Hanno, "I assume that you and other ships' Commanders have been listening in on this delightful exchange."

"I have."

"What do you say?"

"You're the Zone Commander."

"For the safety of your ship and the rest of us,
I recommend you comply with their demand."

"Yes, sir."

"Admiral Drummer?"

"Very good. Have the Sandbox stand by to receive boarders. This completes our discussion, Colonel Hanno. I'll get back to you if the situation calls for it."