Chapter TWENTY-THREE

The Sentinels slouched in chairs, or sat on the floor, backs against the walls of the small workroom. Their faces reflected fatigue.

"About fleet capabilities for sustained combat," Brad said. "I need a 'how goes it' on the status of your evaluations. Give me a quick rundown and a documented report by the end of the day. Myra, you first."

Myra spoke from where she sat on a chair tilted against the wall.

"I had training facilities and systems, emergency medical support, and general administrative backup. What I saw was guys and gals floundering around, leaning on each other, and making excuses. The training programs are antiquated; many aren't even remotely tied in with the equipment installed on ships of the line. Equipment operators are learning by hit-or-miss, and they miss much too often. Can't blame them for low effectiveness because the procedures are hazardous to their health. If we don't improve the situation fast, the crews will deteriorate to where they won't be worth a damn when the going gets even a mite rough."

Myra paused, tipped her chair forward, crossed her arms, and gave Brad a hard look.

"I mean it, Brad. What's more, the medical backup for combat support is atrocious. If we incur casualties, the injured won't have much to depend on, and if the troops have no faith in their medics, their morale will drop, and I mean fast. There goes your combat capability. For example, medical supplies haven't been checked and updated for years, if they were ever checked at all. They don't know what they've got or where.

"The system needs a complete overhaul. I spot-checked the software and links on training, medical, and administrative systems, and found them to be full of gaps and obsolete links and citations. My report, Brad, is that these areas need one hell of a lot of work to get them up to even minimum standards."

Myra tipped her chair back until her head and shoulders touched the wall and she closed her eyes. Her exhaustion was unmistakable.

"Document your findings, Myra," Brad said. "I want specific recommendations to deal with each deficiency that you find, the name of the person accountable, and a list of the supplies, equipment and skills to clear the problem."

Turning to the others, he added, "That goes for everyone; there isn't much to work with, so be realistic. If you report a problem, tell me how to fix it. If the shortages can't be filled, we might have to take from one ship or facility to fix others. Clear?"

Silence.

"OK, you're next, Zolan. What's the story on communications?"

"The equipment is generally good. It all came from the Inner Region, and not very long ago. Part of what we have was taken in the raids on UIPS ships; the rest is original equipment installed here during the Slingshot build-up. Most of the space-to-space systems are fully operational; there are some weaknesses in space-to-surface links."

"That part can be handled."

Zolan paused to nod at Myra.

"There's a 'but', though, and here's where I tie in with Myra's findings on training. We've got a good supply of comm spares, but not enough skills to do the work. The comm folks can operate the equipment, no sweat there. The problem is that although much of the gear is self-repairing through built-in robotics, when the robies themselves need fixing, no one knows how. Chain reaction; it won't take long for subsystems to break down as the pressure of sustained ops builds. Barely enough maintenance robots on each ship and station to keep the equipment working. The number of out-of-commission robots is increasing steadily, and no one seems to know what to do about it. In time, this could easily lead to wide gaps in communications capabilities."

"Do you know what to do about it?" Brad asked.

"Yes."

"Lay it out in your report. That's one area where we can't afford any screw-ups. Adari, let's hear it on ship's navigation systems and surface nav-aids."

"Well, Brad," Adari grinned, "I had a nice summary all arranged in my mind, but I won't waste time by repeating what Zolan and Myra reported. Comm maintenance also applies to nav, as does training and data. The equipment is good, but only because it's fairly new and is robotically self-maintained. But nav robotics have no backups. Generally, when maintenance robies need fixing the work's done by human specialists or other specialized robies. They're not on board. Eventually, this fleet is going to be in a sad predicament: nav equipment will go down with no way to get 'em back on line."

"How are you on fixing nav robots, Adari," Brad smiled.

"I get by."

"Put that in your report, too." Brad turned to
Kumiko and nodded.

"Guns, power packs, tracking and fire-control systems in fair shape. Ordnance controllers and gunners are a breed apart, especially when they're taking care of their own, and even when working conditions are tight. They normally do most of their own maintenance. The guns are modern, and there's a good supply of ready-to-install chargers. Ship commanders exercise their gun crews frequently, and many have been on the raids, so they have ops experience that the UIPS Space Force lacks. As far as armaments go, this fleet will be a powerful adversary in any confrontation."

"Sounds encouraging," Brad said wryly. "When you prepare your report, just tell it like it is. A bit of good news would be welcome." Motioning to Hodak, he added with a tight grin, "Last, but not least, what's the situation on structures, facilities, energy sources, and general logistical support."

Hodak, leaning against the wall, rubbed his bald spot and frowned.

"I ain't happy at all," he said. "As I told you on the Dragon, maintenance training of ships' crews is sloppy, and standards are either just not there or obsolete. We're working on the ops and logistical support checklists but they're still far from compatible with facilities and installed systems. These guys operate by the seat-of-their-pants. What's more, ship's structural and power plant robies are down for maintenance half the time and spare parts are a mess. That also applies to surface shops and equipment.

"When ships are taken out of the line for repair, the process is too damn long, mostly because of the marginal and nonstandard support equipment. We got a real problem here, Brad. The sooner we get on it the better."

Brad leveled a finger at Hodak.

"I want you to include in your report a way to update direct support from surface shops. If we're going to do ourselves any good on this rim rock one thing we can't afford is a fleet that can't stand up to a confrontation with the Inner Region. I'm not about to be hauled back to that tin can Guardian Station to face escape charges. I don't think any of us want that."

Adari and Hodak nodded; the rest sat motionless.
All looked somber.

Brad stood. "That's all for now. I'm going to give an oral report to Narval as soon as I can arrange to see him. He needs to issue a heads up with a whip in his hands. Meanwhile, you all have jobs to do. Be where I can reach you."

##

Narval and Drummer turned away from the view tank in which they had observed Brad and heard his words and those of his cohorts.

"Well, what do you think?" Narval bit into a fingernail.

"They raise valid issues, President Narval. If we are to challenge the UIPS military we certainly can't do it with an inferior force. I think we should listen carefully to what Brad suggests, and then, considering your objectives, adopt those ideas that will assist you in attaining them."

"I will listen to Brad, Drummer," Narval said. "Then, I will tell him to report the details of his findings to you. I want you both to do what's necessary to bring our military fleet to a high level of readiness. Prepare instructions to our commanders for my signature. We must reach our maximum combat capability in the shortest possible time."

Narval's eyes gleamed beady-bright.

"The shortest possible time. Did you hear me,
Drummer?"

"Yes, Mr. President, I heard you."

"I want to be informed, within the next one hundred hours, when you and Brad expect the fleet will be ready for sustained operations, and I mean 'combat readiness'. The names of ship and facility commanders who do not cooperate with you or Brad will be reported to me immediately. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Very well. Now, I have a special assignment for Brad. As soon as the two of you have the fleet upgrading program under way, I want Brad to conduct a joint review with INOR military commanders to find out what shape they're in for a confrontation with the UIPS, should it come to that. I've already communicated with the heads of Outer Region governments, and they've agreed in principle to a preliminary meeting. I've approved a meeting place off Neptune; Scarf has the schedule and the coordinates. He will accompany Brad as my Security representative and sit in on all discussions. Tell Brad to use the Dragon for the mission and to chair the meeting. Let the INOR people tour our ship; we must give the impression of power. Any questions?"

"Brad may need to reveal what he knows of plans to take the Depot."

"I want him to do just that early on in the meeting. It will give them all a target against which to plan and integrate deployment schedules, vectors, tactics and combined operations. Anything else?"

"No, President Narval."

Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

Brad stood beside Captain Crisper and surveyed the scene in the tank on the Dragon's bridge. Scarf lounged in an accello-net within sight and sound, as he had for most of the voyage from Pluto.

The Dragon's pilot and communicator, upper bodies insulated in instrumented cubicles, concentrated on their tasks. Arms folded across his chest, Zolan stood along a bulkhead where his eyes could take in the full compartment without altering stance.

Ahead lay Triton in its retrograde orbit around Neptune. The moon's expanse was only partially accommodated by the tank. The Dragon's penetration instruments revealed Triton's jagged peaks and chasms through vaporous nitrogen clouds. Steady, high-intensity beacons marked the location of domed mine shafts that probed and sucked at the satellite's core. A cluster of tank towns and their outriders rode the satellite's horizon.

Gleaming slivers separated from the surface, converged, assumed an egg-shape and bloomed into a flight of spacecraft. They formed up abreast fifty kilometers distant, facing the Dragon's bow.

The speaker above the communicator's enclosure broke into the bridge's silence.

"Message from Captain Yargoul of the Jovian Battle Cruiser Windstorm to Captain Crisper of the Plutonian Battle Cruiser Dragon."

Captain Crisper spoke without moving or taking his eyes from the tank.

"The message."

"Greetings, Captain Crisper. I have been authorized by my President and the INOR representatives I am escorting to inform you that we are here in response to the invitation of your President. Is the representative of your Government present?"

The Captain glanced at Brad, who nodded. The response was released.

"Greetings from Captain Crisper to Captain Yargoul. My government's representative, Commander Brad Curtin, is present and prepared to meet with you and your colleagues. Commander Curtin suggests the meeting take place in the Command Conference Room on board the Dragon as soon as the primary members are aboard. Is that agreeable?"

A short pause, then the reply "Affirmative." Shortly, utility boats cut away from the ships and converged on the Dragon. Each utility maneuvered to synchronize axis and align portals. Precisely positioned, each vessel locked on in turn and extended ship-to-ship catwalks.

##

The Dragon's conference room hummed with the murmur of the Dragon's seated guests when Brad entered and took his seat at the table. Zolan occupied a seat against the bulkhead behind Brad, adjacent a glowing view tank.

Scarf was there somewhere along the side, known and ignored; a security agent to peer over INOR citizens' shoulders was normal.

Professionals long in their trade, they were battle cruiser and destroyer flotilla commanders of the major INOR powers, backed up by their experts in military intelligence, tactical operations, and navigation, logistics and internal security. Brad's measure would be taken quickly, and his influence and INOR's decisions would depend on their assessments. He expected no less.

Brad's eyes ranged the table, giving each face equal time. They returned his scrutiny, casual, arrogant, challenging. It was his show, and his reputation.

Brad did not rise to speak.

"I needn't introduce myself," he began. "We've all done our homework I'm sure, and you know as much about me as I do about each of you. So, to business."

Zolan rose, drew an instrumented rod from its niche at the base of the tank and brought up the quadrant that depicted the Special Zone. Manipulating keys along the rod, eyes on the tank, Zolan quickly brought the Logistics Depot in toward the core and increased magnification so that it occupied most of the tank space.

"The objective," Brad said, his voice flat and low.

A long silence, then from the far end of the table,
"What the hell does that mean?"

"Just that. We're going to take it."

A gasp, this time from his left, followed by, "You guys are out of your minds."

Feet shuffled on the grav-plates. Several among the seated were arranging themselves to rise and depart.

Brad waited.

The shuffling stopped. They were here to listen, not to commit.

Brad leaned forward, placed his forearms on the table, one hand over the other. His steady eyes moved from one face to the next.

"No," he said, "we're not out of our minds. We can do it, and our losses can be kept within acceptable limits if we work together. Furthermore, the Depot can be taken with minimum damage to its structures and to its Slingshot stores."

"What's the point?"

Brad looked at the questioner, a big man in a black and gray uniform and a soft helmet liner perched on the back of his head. Brad knew him through the phys-psy profiles he had studied before the meeting.

##

"Captain Yargoul," Brad said, "sooner or later the UIPS must accept that they no longer have mastery of space beyond the Belt."

Altering his tone to include all, he continued, "I needn't dwell on the obvious: our collective forces and Slingshot's distance from the UIPS places us in a far stronger position than we thought we would be at this time. I emphasize collective. On our own, any of us, individually as nations or in an alliance of satellites, wouldn't stand long against an organized assault by a UIPS battle fleet. But, collectively, we will not only resist them, we will win and take back full control of space throughout the Outer Region."

Eyes cold, voice gritty as space-sand, Brad tapped the tabletop.

"Having the power isn't enough. We've got to show it, and make it credible. Planet Pluto demonstrated what can be done with real power during Operation Tornado Six. I'm sure you're all familiar with that little exercise, and have studied the tactics."

Closed faces. The silence was broken with low but audible, "So have their tac ops people."

"Right, and we think they've concluded that INOR is in a strong position to run its territories and voids without any more interference from them. Also, that we can devise tactics and take initiatives that put them off balance and upset their Slingshot schedule. What we did in our legally contiguous space can be repeated elsewhere. The result is the end of UIPS dominance over its former colonies and space lanes."

Brad paused to preface his next words.

"You can continue to accept invasive UIPS traffic through your territorial and contiguous zones. You can do the same for their uninvited presence in your Exclusive Economic Zones even though the Laws of the Seas Conventions over the past several millennia expanded treaties to include or affirm each independent nation's rights. Or you can align with Planet Pluto, which is your right as a free and independent nation. Together — collectively — we can demand that the UIPS acknowledge INOR's jurisdiction in the Outer Region. INOR can back their demands with military power that the UIPS can no longer ignore."

There was a long silence, followed by, "What does the Log Depot have to do with it?"

"First, it's the closest, most politically vulnerable target within INOR's legitimate boundaries and jurisdictions. Second, control of the Depot equates to a strangle hold over construction progress and launch of the Slingshot terminals — which is life-or-death for the UIPS."

"…and not for the rest of us?"

"Not for centuries. If it ever really came to sheer survival, we'll outlast the UIPS. When they collapse we can move in and feed off their carcasses for a thousand years, if we have to. Meanwhile, we'll take over Slingshot and have it ready for the next launch window."

A hard-visaged warrior leaned forward in his chair, and shook his head slowly. "You're a callous son-of-a-bitch, Commander Curtin," he said, directing his eyes directly at Brad.

"Maybe so. I'm also a realist. If we play the game right, and show a united front, this confrontation won't escalate to major military actions. The UIPS has got to cross our space, there's no other way. Take the depot and we can force them to finish Slingshot, but with INOR playing a major role. It'll take some negotiating, but it's not likely that they'll shut down Slingshot."

"How will you take the Depot?"

"You mean, how will we take the Depot? Unfortunately, we can't repeat Tornado Six. That was a crisis we manufactured and ran all the way, a one-shot operation. We've come up with another strategy to take the Depot, and that's what this meeting is about. You're all in on the action."

"This is the first I've heard the Depot is to be taken," said Captain Yargoul, looking around. "What about the rest of you? Have your governments cleared this as a joint operation?"

Heads shook in the negative accompanied by shrugs and grunts. Unanimous.

Chapter TWENTY-FIVE

Brad leaned back in his chair both hands pressed against the table's edge, arms straight.

"Your governments have agreed to a united front against the UIPS, otherwise you wouldn't be here. Your Heads of State sent you. We're military men, not politicians or clever diplomats. What does that tell you?"

Silence.

"Then I'll say it. We're here to plan a military action. That's what we do. The decision on whether the plan is implemented is up to INOR politicians and diplomats. That's how they earn their keep. The target has been made known to you. Our immediate task is to assess the forces we will have available and operational to do the job. For that I need to know your capabilities, now and for the time they will be committed to the combined operations. Let's start with the Jovian System."

Brad fixed his eyes on Captain Yargoul.

Time stretched, no one moved. Finally, at a nod from Captain Yargoul, a gaunt spacer seated behind him reached into a pocket, withdrew a capsule and tossed it toward the front. It floated gracefully at Zolan in the light gravity. Zolan caught the capsule, turned, inserted it into a slot at the base of the tank and pressed a key on the rod.

The tank shimmered, cleared, and in rapid succession flashed images of battle cruisers, destroyers and support ships. Data unreeled across the lower section of the tank, listing ship's armament and ship's readiness rating.

The recording completed, Zolan withdrew the capsule and returned it in the same manner as received. Another floated toward him, preceded by a growl "Titan." The routine repeated, and within a short time, the major INOR platforms and weapons for a combined assault on the Logistics Depot had been recorded and rated for readiness.

When the last capsule had cleared the tank Zolan's fingers raced across the console's keypad and the screen recapped the inputs. The Logistics Depot reappeared high up in the tank wrapped in its protective cocoon, and lines of transports loading and off-loading cargoes or waiting their turns.

The scene contracted, and the vacated space filled with numbers and codes representing the few UIPS recon-patrollers in the Plutonian sector followed by a tabulation of INOR's combined assault fleet. The computer presented INOR's combined fleet's Order of Battle, and stabilized.

The assembled commanders, master strategists and tacticians all, pointed, commented, and proposed options on the employment of ships, formations and weapons. Zolan keyed their suggestions into the computer and the results appeared in the tank. Finally, there were no further options. Brad nodded.

"Mark it and distribute a copy to each Commander present," he said, and turned back to survey the group around the table. He waited.

Captain Yargoul cut the brief silence.

"What we have, so far, is a textbook tactical disposition of forces around a theoretical objective. The reality will depend on the strategic plan for the operation and what we expect will come out of it. When do we get to that?"

Brad grinned.

"That will be made known to you at the appropriate time."

##

Brad and Zolan walked silently down the ramp from the Condor and boarded the outbound strip. Skirting knots of commuters they faced outward in a momentarily vacant slot for two along the edge of the fast moving lane. Opportune and random, the location was as secure as any from eavesdropping.

"I briefed Narval an hour ago," said Brad. "He's certain that he can get the INOR leaders to join for a healthy share in the prize. I've been ordered to plan for a combined operation to take the depot."

"When?"

"He's sitting on that. What he wants from me now is to portray an integrated assault by INOR combined forces from a point halfway between the depot and the Slingshot construction site. I'm to work out the details and keep each element on a timeline from launch to full military control of the objective."

"Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"Talk to me."

"Setting the launch point against the depot from a couple of million kay outbound from the Plutonian orbit doesn't make sense. It's especially suspicious when you consider that the INOR forces will be coming from sunside of Pluto and therefore sunside of the depot — the presumed target less than a half million kay from here. Why not have the fleet rendezvous closer to the target?"

"My question, precisely."

"How do you see it?"

"I'm not sure yet. Narval did say to crank in diversionary tactics that would draw the Terminals' defensive forces away from their normal ops zone."

"That's weird."

"Agreed. He's setting it up this way to maximize his options, he says. The final decision, he said, needn't be made until the final moments. Confuse the enemy and all that."

"Are you saying the same plan can be used against the Terminals?"

"Absolutely. Oh, a few formation and tactical switches but they can be made in the field as the fleet switches targets."

"Would it work?"

"A bit of delay, but I'm sure it would. But at whichever target Narval's final order sends the fleet, the results would be a disaster for the UIPS. The real target's spunnel lines will crash, destabilization will disrupt the entire Slingshot construction schedule. We'll have lost the launch window."

More commuters swung aboard the strip and crowded their space. Brad and Zolan eyed them; time to split.

"What now?", Zolan asked.

"Not much choice." Brad replied in a whisper. "Use the depot spunnel facility to get word to Ram. Don't take any nonsense about getting to Hanno. Once you're through to him, you shouldn't have an access problem. So get to the depot, shoot the burst, and get back here without being spotted."

"The message?"

"Narval's instructions to me. Everything we learned at the meeting off Neptune, especially the Order of Battle capsule with the options on formations for the combined fleet. List the types of weapons and warheads installed on each INOR ship of the line and the coordinates for rendezvous and launch at the depot as the target.

"That'll get them as suspicious as we are. Crank in what the coordinates might be if Narval makes last minute switches. Point Icarus is the designated code name for the INOR rendezvous. Include that. Tell Ram I said to get his fighting folks off their butts and earn their keep."

Brad shifted, stepped over to a slower lane, and from there off the strip. He disappeared among the pedestrians. Zolan remained where he was for a distance, disembarked and strolled about near an air lock as he mind-impressed his message on a comm capsule.

Colonel Hanno will be surprised, Zolan mused as he pushed his way into the suiting-up room. Contemplating his mission, it might take a bit of time for Hanno to respond and track the code, interpret the instructions, and acknowledge what they required of him. He would need to push Hanno hard.

He selected and checked a suit for fit, fresh fluids, air and communications. Climbing in and closing up, he stepped under a helmet rack, drew it down, rotated mating surfaces, closed and locked the seals. The automatic self-test devices hummed pressure checks, and indicators glowed as the life support systems balanced internally. The suit inflated, held for several seconds, and subsided to normal. A tiny light above the inside visor glowed green to show status as ready.

Passing through the outer air lock Zolan turned toward a line of flitters. A guard watched him approach, rifle held casually across his chest.

"OK," said the guard when Zolan was within five meters. "Hold it there. What's on your mind?"

"Name's Zolan. I need a long range flitter for a hop into the outback."

"Let's see your authorization."

"What authorization?"

The guard's head wagged in his helmet.

"Y'gotta have authorization for a distant destination, buddy. That's orders. Otherwise, take a taxi."

"Orders, hell," Zolan growled. "I can't get where I have to go using a taxi. I can't do my work with you security types puttin' the chocks to me for 'orders' each time I need to check a work site." His tone became scathing. "Get your superior on-line and tell him my name and what I want. If he has any questions, tell him to check with Brad Curtin on President Narval's staff. C'mon now. Move, man, move."

The guard's manner changed with the name-dropping.

"Yes sir," he said. "Right away, sir."

Zolan's comm contact with the guard went on hold as the guard switched to another line. Ignoring the guard, Zolan surveyed several nearby utilities.

Moments later his line with the guard reopened.
The guard's voice was deferential.

"Clearance received, sir," he said. "Got a real good single-seater here for you. Just came out of the maintenance shops. All systems have been checked and she's ready to go. Shall I warm her up and crank in the coordinates for you, sir?"

"That's OK," Zolan replied, "I'll do the set ups myself. I've got several places to visit and want to work out the trip on the box so I don't waste any more time. Which bird?"

"Follow me, sir."

Moving along the line the guard stopped at a low-slung framework from which a crude cage hung suspended, held in position by braces angling in from connecting structures. Behind the cage, halfway along a shaft running aft, hung a tiny nuclear power plant. Nozzles of cone-shaped propulsion units on gimbals hung in neutral. That would change as soon as Zolan inserted his coordinates and activated the thrusters.

"Here she is, sir," the guard exclaimed, proudly, offering Zolan a checklist. "All yours."

"Right," Zolan grunted. Shifting his eyes critically from the checklist to flitter and back, he walked around the tiny flyer inspecting the spars for alignment and cracks. Moving to the power plant he examined the reactor's cover and seals for seepage and the thruster nozzles and gimbals for cracks and wear. Finally, satisfied after scrutinizing the instrument panel, he stepped back, initialed the checklist and handed it to the guard.

"Looks OK on the outside," he said. "I'll check out the warm up. If it cooks OK, I'm out of your way."

He squeezed into the cage, set and activated the reactor. Observing the power levels rise on the gauges, his fingers stroked the flitter's keys and levers. He tapped his coordinates into the nav-comp as the plant warmed.

The guard moved closer.

"Know how to set her? Maybe I can help, sir."

He stuck his head into the crowded space and watched the computer screen flip through the coordinates that Zolan inserted. The screen stabilized and reflected a series of vectors. The guard studied them. Zolan ignored him.

Zolan adjusted the torso belts and rechecked the reactor and weight-and-balance indicators. He heaved a heavy sigh.

"Well, time to hit the road," he said. "Stand back, man, I'm taking her up."

The guard stepped back and saluted. Zolan moved the power lever and directional controls. The framework and cage quivered and the flitter lifted up and away.

Looking down, Zolan saw the guard bending backward, watching his direction of flight.

"Hope he got them all down right," he thought as he entered new data into the computer.

Chapter TWENTY-SIX

Zolan peered ahead. Reaching the depot's perimeter was less of a problem than he had anticipated. Following a few short stops to surface stations to inspect military tunnels and comm links, and validate the flitter's flight record, he diverted to a depression between Coldfield and the horizon. Resetting coordinates had taken seconds. Resuming flight, he quickly merged for a short distance with a queue of tugs and taxis along a crowded lane, then veered sharply up toward the Logistics Depot.

Blending his flitter's comm with the flood of electronic signals from nearby tugs and transports at the Gateway, Zolan drew closer to the huge Depot and took shelter in a knot of lashed vessels. Taking several deep breaths, he fixed his eyes and mind on the depot. Concentrating, he constricted and relaxed his neck and shoulder muscles in an irregular pattern, and repeated the rhythm until it invoked a slight pressure high in his left shoulder. The stresses energized the short-range sending device implanted in him prior to the Sentinel's escape.

His words, inaudible beyond his voice box, opened contact with the depot's command post.

"Calling Ditch-digger," he intoned. "Ditch-digger, refer to your k-library program file 6756, and respond on Bootstrap."

He repeated the message and waited. It would take time for the comm technician on duty to work it out. The communications staff would scurry about, searching for the program. Restricted to Sentinel, this contact would be its initial activation.

The receiver in his ear whispered, "This is
Ditch-digger in Bootstrap. Continue."

"Ditch-digger. Scramble 16."

Zolan hunched and tightened his shoulders to switch channels.

The voice came through. "Done."

"I want to speak with Colonel Hanno."

"One moment, please."

A short pause.

"Hanno."

"This is a Sentinel call. Break the seal on your copy of the Sentinel Support Plan and refer to Annex C, Section 21, line numbers 416 to 422. Note the encryption structure. I will cite the line in the structure that authenticates my request for support. Waiting."

Minutes passed. Breaking the seal on the highest classification Sentinel Support Plan was a grave responsibility that Hanno would not take lightly. He would need to do it in the station's security vault with no witnesses present. The comm center would then need to be cleared of personnel other than Hanno before the exchange could proceed. Finally, the receiver whispered again.

"I have the lines you refer to. Continue."

"Note how the authenticator is to be stated,"
Zolan said.

He rattled off a sequence of numbers, letters and symbols. Injecting a short, prescribed silence, he spun off another set. The authenticator was in two parts, each requiring its own style for presentation.

"Authenticator confirmed," Hanno said after a pause. "State request?"

"I'm in a flitter near the Gateway," Zolan said. "Request permission to come aboard and have unattended access to the spunnel transmitter for about five minutes. I will then depart."

"Permission granted. Do you wish an escort from your present position to the dock?"

"Yes, please send an unarmed tug to lead me through the gate, match me up, and point me at the dock. Tug operator and anyone else that observes my presence or the flitter must not repeat must not log the serial number of my flitter or any of its features. Clear all your people to beyond five meters in all direction from the passageways I'll be using, and from the spunnel comm center. I am armed with a hand weapon set for maximum effect without collateral damage to non-organics. My mission requires such precautions. Do you accept these conditions?"

"I accept."

"Noted. Have an unarmed guide at the air lock to precede me to the spunnel console. Instruct him to not speak to me, no questions, and to not interfere in any manner in what I do. When I've completed my work in the comm room the guide is to lead me back to the air lock. The same tug is then to get me through the Gateway, same conditions, and I'll be out of your way. When I'm gone conduct your highest-level UIPS security briefing. This mission is classified UIPS Black. Understood?"

"Understood. Ready?"

"Ready. I am moving toward the Gateway and will be there in two minutes. Have your man flash his reds and greens at one-second intervals. I will respond with standard flitter yellows at the same spacing. Over. Out."

Zolan carefully adjusted the controls to slip the flitter away from the screening vessels. Clear, he maneuvered his craft close to a space buoy that marked the route through Fandango.

A yellow-green striped tug appeared in the distance and grew larger. The Gateway's diameter could expand to pass the largest freighters or close completely. It could be straight or as convoluted as a randomly configured corkscrew. The tug passed through, flashing the agreed-on signals.

Zolan responded. The tug stopped, reversed heading, and waited for him to line up. Inside the force field, the route took them over, under and around huge freighters and through swarms of shuttles, tugs, and barges. Five hundred meters from the depot Zolan pressed a disk on his control column and a mag beam reached out and locked on to the tug.

The tug's thrusters glowed brighter with the power to match up both craft. Aligned, Zolan released the tug, and gentling his thrusters, brought his flitter to rest on a landing platform that had articulated from a portal.

Space suit closed and glare screens partially activated to veil his features, Zolan strode the Depot's corridors behind his escort. Although he had docked at the portal nearest his destination, the spunnel console was still almost a quarter kay from the air lock.

Reaching the console chamber, Zolan motioned his guide to wait outside. He entered and inspected the area for intruders and bugs. It seemed secure.

Approaching the squat spunnel transmitter he noted that Hanno had activated the system for immediate use and disengaged all logs and file-for-record links. Confirming the disconnect, Zolan wasted no time in preliminaries. Inserting the capsule he keyed the transmitter to the channels assigned to Sentinel and set off his burst.

The transmitter was a model that dated back several centuries to the depot's construction. Zolan knew from his training for the mission that a spunnel burst from the depot had to be arranged in parts. Each segment was to be inserted separately into the spunnel dispatch slot. The ancient transmitter could process only so much at a bite.

Zolan held the final segment and reached to insert it. A couple of seconds and the transmission would be complete. The console was coded to dissolve the capsule immediately following the burst; there would be no residue.

Zolan bent to insert the end of the message.

Sensing movement behind him, he slipped sideways and hit the deck. Without warning and in the line-of-fire, the squat console disintegrated as a rending flash arced across to where he had been a fraction of second before. Off balance, twisting to face the door, Zolan drew his weapon.

The flash blinded him. His suit shielded him against the instant hell-fire that bounced off the console.

Silence followed the attacker's second shot. Zolan crouched, weapon extended, vision clearing. No further shots. Snapping a quick glance around, he took in the damage. The console was a melted lump and the room a shambles. He had to get out and away.

Up on his feet, he raced through the open doorway, gun raised. His escort to the comm room lay spread-eagled in the corridor, head burned to a crisp by what must have been a max shot. The corridor was empty.

"They cleared the area of everyone but the killer," he thought bitterly.

Having committed the route to memory as he followed the escort to the spunnel room, Zolan raced along the corridors, gun in hand. No one barred his way.

The air lock came in view. He hurried through and twisted into the flitter driver's cage. He cut the mag beam to the dock and signaled the waiting tug.

##

They met on the transit strip.

Standing close, facing off the strip, observant,
Zolan briefed Brad in quick, terse phrases.

"What's your assessment?" Brad asked when
Zolan finished.

"It was a long, straight corridor. The escort must have been shot from the bend some distance away. Damage to the comm room was extensive. Scarf must have an agent there. My having the area cleared alerted him. That brought on the attack."

"Did you get word to Hanno?"

"No. It would have raised questions I couldn't answer without breaking our cover. He'll have to figure it out for himself. I'm concerned about what the agent will report to his control."

"Whatever they conclude, the action eliminates the depot as a comm resource for us. Did you get the entire message on its way?"

"I don't know. The last fragment included the Point
Icarus coordinates."

Their eyes met.

Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

President Camari stonily contemplated the incomplete communication and turned to Intelligence Director Dynal. Ram sat immobile, nearby.

"Allen?" Camari's raised brows posed his question.

"We couldn't get through directly to Hanno to find out why the message was cut short. So we went spunnel to the Terminals and patched in to the Depot on coded conventional. Hanno reports his spunnel transmitter was destroyed. He was certain he was hoodwinked into permitting a saboteur aboard and screamed about a security breach on the Sentinel Support Plan. He said the 'saboteur' escaped before the alarm could be acted on. A damned lucky delay, I think."

"Did you enlighten Hanno?"

"No, sir. Too risky for Sentinel, and he has no need-to-know. I did tell him to run deep background checks and truth verification tests on all Depot personnel. He objected, thinking he had already pinpointed the culprit. I told him to do it anyhow, slap into the brig anyone who didn't pass, and report the results to me under highest classification through the construction site's spunnel center."

"Good. No question they've been infiltrated. We must consider the depot compromised for classified until Hanno assures us he's cleared the problem from his facility."

The President touched a button on his desk, running the message through again in its entirety. He switched the screen dark.

"The Outer Region's target might be the depot, but I wonder." Ram said. "Perhaps destroying the depot's spunnel transmitter is prelude to an attack. If it is, they must realize that the incident set off alarms throughout our defenses. They'll also know we can maintain spunnel contact and relay messages to and from our patrollers and other craft through the construction site."

"Considering Hanno's report on what happened, the attack on his spunnel transmitter focused on keeping this message from getting through, not to merely destroy the machine. That alone would not have been worth the effort."

"We're down to one comm spunnel link in the Special
Zone," Dynal added. "The one we built on Planet
Pluto is controlled by Narval's people."

"Does Sentinel have access to the transmitter at the Terminals?"

"The sender would need to personally key in the clearances as well as the text," said Ram, "otherwise the message would be compromised. Sentinel would be compromised. We do have the last resort."

"Have you checked it lately?"

"We run random tests from this end to be certain that it's ready to function. As you know, sir, it has its uncertainties and imposes a high price."

"Back to the message," Camari sighed and rubbed his temple gently as he pondered. "Their combined forces, and the distances involved, place us at an enormous disadvantage."

"Without question."

"Ram, what's your estimate concerning the missing piece?" Camari pointed to the message in his hand.

"The missing piece," Ram replied, "the one we need most is Sentinel's assessment on where and when we can strike at INOR's fleet with maximum effect."

"Depends entirely on Sentinel? No other sources?"

"At this stage, none, sir."

Camari lowered his head, lost in thought. After
a moment he raised his eyes to Ram and said,
"We've got to get our thinking through to the Outer
Region, to all citizens as well as Heads of State.

"I want you to get out there, Ram. Be my emissary. Impress on whoever will listen the disaster that all of us face, and why we must arrive at a peaceful solution. Concentrate on the leaders of major nations; whichever way they go, others will follow."

"I'll need the formal weight of our government,"
Ram said.

"Of course. I'll notify them all that you are my Ambassador Plenipotentiary, and that you carry a personal message from me. Use the spunnel and send me reports as you go along."

"Narval, too?"

"Of course. And while you're in his area, learn all you can from whatever sources; but watch yourself with that bastard. He'd as soon cut your throat as look at you."

##

"Category one message, spunnel-comm to Earth via Guardian Station 4. Personal to President Camari from Ram Xindral. President Gelliman, Callisto, unchanged in his conviction that Slingshot will benefit only the highly industrialized inner planets. He repeated charges that the UIPS non-renewables deficits resulted from poor control and excessive consumption of raw materials, plus breakdown in recycling and conservation policies. He concluded that Slingshot is our internal problem and that it's being forced on INOR. Demands UIPS halt Slingshot construction, withdraw from the Special Zone, and resolve UIPS resource crises internally."

##

"Category one message, spunnel to Earth via Guardian Station 4. Personal to President Camari from Ram Xindral. Prime Minister Manra, Io, says he wishes us well in building a bridge to another star. He makes an issue that transportation, construction and operations for all phases of Slingshot, including ultimate storage of incoming raw matter will be inside INOR jurisdictions; therefore, the INOR governments have a legitimate right to participate in apportioning Slingshot's benefits. Refuses to negotiate this point."

##

"Category one message, spunnel to Earth via Guardian Station 7. Personal to President Camari from Ram Xindral. Foreign Ministers Roab of Ganymede and Slega of Europa represented their governments. At conclusion of meeting they issued a joint communique. Quote: it is only reasonable and proper that the governments of the Outer Region not be excluded from an equitable share of the enormous financial and material resources being lavished on the Interstellar Matter Teleport System (Slingshot). The UIPS can begin to remedy this injustice by agreeing to pay a transshipment tax on all materials, manufactured parts, tools and equipment, and personnel passing through the separate INOR jurisdictions, space-ways, and contiguous space generally. Passage fees for individual vessels in transit also must be negotiated and included in the agreement. Unquote.

"It is my opinion that the positions taken by the governments of the Jovian Federation are orchestrated. I suspect that reports on my discussions with Heads of State or their representatives are being passed among them. I am departing for Titan to meet with Chairman Stabar. The Chiefs of Staff of the other Saturnian governments and the governments of the Uranus and Neptune satellite unions have notified me that their views are consistent with those of Chairman Straber. They state nothing is to be gained by pressing for separate meetings with them."

##

"Category one message, spunnel to Earth via Guardian Station 9. Personal to President Camari from Ram Xindral. Chairman Staber's position is the same as those summarized in my previous reports. Staber openly proclaims that INOR's intent is to control the terminal that will receive and store incoming substance and oversee its distribution. Insists a formal treaty be negotiated now, otherwise, the entire Slingshot Program will be viewed as a threat to the integrity of INOR's legitimate jurisdictions. I am proceeding to the Planet Pluto Special Zone and will contact Narval from inside the Logistics Depot's protective force field. I will insist on President Narval's guarantee of safe conduct prior to departing the depot for Coldfield."