Chapter THIRTY-TWO

Narval's rage spluttered from his lips in a viperous hiss as he pointed at a baffled Drummer. Brad, straight-faced behind Drummer, stood easy. Scarf, off to the side, stiff and erect, stared blankly at the wall behind Narval, his features twitching to depress a smirk.

"You were responsible for Camari's emissary, Drummer. I've had you notified that I am ready to receive him. Where is he?"

"He's disappeared, Mr. President."

"So I'm told. What does that mean?"

"Your orders were to provide lodgings for the Ambassador somewhere other than the official guest house. I had no choice but to put him up at the Condor. When I was informed of the time that you agreed to see him, I went to the Condor to extend the formal invitation. He wasn't there. I inquired of the Condor's management and also among the citizens present. Several recalled him because of his unusual height, but no one, it seems, saw him leave." Glancing toward Scarf, he added, "I immediately requested your Chief of Internal Security to put out search parties. That's where it stands."

Narval turned to Scarf.

"Well?"

Scarf stiffened.

"We've searched the city, Mr. President," he said, "and can't find a trace of him under the dome. But we had several unexplained killings a short while ago and I'm sure he's involved. Two of my agents were gunned down on the street near air lock 43, apparently without reason, and their bodies were dumped down a utility access. Also, two of my guards, on special detail inside the air lock were killed. Add to that a communications blank-out swamped the same area about that time, and a space taxi is missing from the 43 ramp.

"We can't get a tracer on the taxi; its automatic location signal is out, and it doesn't respond to direct inquiry. All this, taken together, is very suspicious, and leads me to conclude the Ambassador skipped rather than meet with you."

Brad's eyes moved gravely from one speaker to the other.

"Drummer." Narval turned back to him. "When you met with Camari's Ambassador, what did you discuss?"

Drummer shrugged and stroked his chin.

"Just the routine chit-chat of protocol: small talk about the inconveniences of long hops and living out of traveling kits. Oh, yes, we expressed our hopes for a better future when Slingshot cuts in. That was about it."

"Then why would he leave so abruptly?"

"I have no idea, Mr. President."

"This incident does not please me, Drummer. A special envoy arrives from the UIPS, obviously carrying an important message to me from President Camari. He leaves before he delivers the message, with no advance notice. As he leaves he kills several Plutonian citizens and steals property. No, I don't like it at all, Drummer."

His fingernails drummed the desk. Suddenly conscious of what he was doing, he stopped and brought his hands close and inspected them for damage.

"Drummer, draft a personal message from me to Camari, complaining about the manner in which his Ambassador conducted himself on Planet Pluto. Accuse the Ambassador of murdering several of our citizens and stealing our property to escape our judicial process. Tell Camari his message to me, if he really sent one, was not delivered. That'll throw the ball back to him. As far as I'm concerned, the matter is closed. I have far more important matters to discuss with you and Brad."

He waved his hand at Scarf.

"Get on about your business."

As Scarf closed the door behind him, Narval shifted his bulk. Placing both hands flat on the desk he studied each ring. He glanced momentarily at Drummer and fixed his eyes on Brad.

"I am not a fool," he hissed as his features contorted into waves of quivering fat.

"That UIPS envoy had motives for coming to Planet Pluto far beyond delivering a message to me and getting a formal response. His timing was to be here when Camari broadcast his appeal for his convocation with INOR Heads of State. He was here to assess my reaction." Looking from one to the other, he demanded, "Did you hear Camari's speech?"

"Yes," from Drummer.

Brad nodded.

"Well, as my diplomatic affairs advisor, Drummer, what did you make of it?"

"My feeling is that Camari is willing to meet us halfway to resolve differences between the Regions."

"You do, eh? What about you, Brad?"

"I'm neither a politician nor a diplomat, Mr. President. I can't see behind the words. Taken literally, I suppose, he wants a grand party to talk things out. That might be fine, providing it ties in with your plans."

"Aha," Narval said, with a gentle slap at the desk's top.

"You've hit it a lot closer than Drummer. The question of the moment is how might this so-called peace conference affect achieving my ultimate objective?"

"I have not been made privy to your 'ultimate objective', Mr. President," Brad said. "I cannot speak to that point."

Drummer looked straight at Narval, silent.

"My question, Drummer," Narval demanded, his tone impatient.

"You shared your objectives with me in confidence, Mr. President. I am not at liberty to speak on them in the presence of others without your permission."

Narval stared long and hard at Drummer and back to Brad.

"Not yet," he said. "Meanwhile, and especially in the light of the forthcoming convocation, I want you, Brad, to accelerate preparing our military fleet to take possession of the depot and that gaggle of transport and other vessels that constantly hover about. They will be the main bargaining chip when I give my ultimatum to Camari."

Brad nodded, his features closed.

Drummer looked dubious. He said, "That means we must have the depot under our control when you speak to President Camari."

"Sound conclusion," Narval replied caustically. "Now, Drummer, is the time for you, my chief diplomat, to engage in a bit of manipulation and encouragement among our allies — in my name and behalf, of course.

"We'll do this one step at a time. Prepare personal messages from me to the heads of INOR governments. Remind them of our past agreements to stand together to resist incursions by the UIPS. Point out that Camari's invitation presents us with an excellent opportunity to exert our combined will on this issue. Then, state my intention to take temporary control of the Slingshot Logistics Depot to add weight to our persuasions. Are my instructions clear?"

"They are, Mr. President."

"Good. Emphasize the need for us to act in concert to bring peace and prosperity to the Outer Region. Lay it on thick about how we can demonstrate our unity of purpose to Camari, and harmony among ourselves if we join forces. This shouldn't be a surprise to them; it was the purpose of the planning at the Neptune meeting. Wasn't it, Brad?"

"It was."

"Here, then, is my first objective, Drummer. I want the INOR warships that were committed at the Neptune meeting to be alongside ours to take over the Depot. The Depot must be ours before the conference gets under way. That is vital to our purpose. In the message, say that now is the time to strike. Insist that they send their ships as quickly as possible to join in the operation. Also, and be shrewd in presenting this: INOR ship commanders are to be subordinate to and carry out the orders of the Plutonian Fleet Commander for the duration of this operation. Clear?"

"Clear, Mr. President."

Chapter THIRTY-THREE

Narval sat hunched over as Drummer and Brad entered. He did not wait for them to approach.

"Well? Speak up, Drummer," he snapped. "Don't wait for a special invitation."

"The replies to your message have come in, Mr. President. They are all in the affirmative. Their fleets are getting ready."

"Ah hah!"

Narval's head shot up, and he straightened as much as his deeply cushioned chair would allow. He patted the top of his desk, and his face creased into a broad grin, flushed with triumph. Eyes dancing from Drummer to Brad and back, he patted the desk once more, obviously enjoying the moment. The grin quickly transformed into one of deadly cunning.

"That takes care of my first objective," he said. "From here they are both independent and interdependent. You must plan carefully and carry out my instructions without deviating."

Eyes fixed on Drummer, he raised his jeweled hand to point at him.

"I have already told you how you fit into my plans for the future." Turning to Brad, "You have proven yourself a reliable and resourceful leader, Brad. When I have attained my goals, you, along with Drummer, will be amply rewarded with material wealth and positions of honor. I tell you this now because in my world loyalty has a price, and you are entitled to know I will pay it. How do you stand?"

"I hear and I understand, Mr. President," Brad replied and, without a flinch, "I stand with you."

"Good."

Leaning as far forward as his paunch would allow, Narval motioned Drummer and Brad forward. They took chairs close to the desk.

"Drummer, I appoint you Commander of the Combined
Fleet, and I now order you to take the objective.
Brad, I appoint you Drummer's Chief of Combat
Operations. I will issue the necessary orders to
all Commanders of the Plutonian fleet and to the
Commanders of our allied forces."

Narval watched Drummer and Brad's faces as he spoke. Both returned his gaze with grim, attentive expressions.

"When you have taken the objective, only Scarf's security troops are to be allowed to board and take stations throughout the facility. You have another task.

"Once internal security is established, invite the ship commanders to a celebration on your flagship. Reject declinations; they must appear. Permit the celebration to go on for a bit, then, Drummer, the bolt.

"Announce to the assembled Commanders — those of the Plutonian fleet and those of our allies — that I have instructed you to take their oath of allegiance to me, Narval of Planet Pluto, and to none other. Those who refuse are to be eliminated on the spot in plain view of the others. Those who agree are to be placed under psychic probes, then and there, to ensure that their oath of allegiance to me is without reservation. Any who fail to pass the test are to join the ones that openly refused. No second chances. Understood?"

"Understood," Brad said.

Drummer nodded, his face gone pale.

"Transfer contingents of Scarf's troops from the objective to your flagship, several hundred if necessary, whatever number you need to cover the operation. Make certain that you transfer enough technicians to set up and operate the psychic probes. If any Commanders or their staffs chose to be feisty, the troops are your execution squads.

"The ships of those Commanders who refuse to swear allegiance to me will be boarded by our troops, and all resistance crushed. Subterfuge may be necessary; do not hesitate: the end justifies the means. Replace the original INOR Commanders with officers next in command; promise them wealth and position, use the psychic probes to verify their decisions; at some point in the pressures that we will apply INOR officers will switch their allegiance to Pluto.

"When your takeover is complete, the combined INOR fleet will be under my control. I shall then use this power to challenge the conferees and dictate my terms to both the UIPS and INOR's rulers."

"Timing is of the utmost importance," Brad reflected.

"Exactly," Narval said sharply. "All of your plans and timetables must be synchronized with the actions I take at the conference."

"Any attacks on the depot will be immediately spunnel-flashed by Hanno to the UIPS," Drummer said.

"I've thought about that," Narval replied. "Brad, I want your man, Zolan, to install generators and controls for an electronic barrier sunside of the Planet Pluto Special Zone to keep all messages from the UIPS, conventional or spunnel, from passing through. Can he do it?"

"Yes."

"Good. I will transmit a coded message to you from my ship when I have the agenda for the conference. The message will tell you when to energize the barrier. I must control the timing on this operation so precisely that the conferees have minimal warning before I make my announcement. Vitally important: the electronic barrier must go up sufficiently in advance of launching your operations against the target so that no messages of the attack passes through from the depot, the terminals site, or any UIPS ships in the area. The comm-blackout will itself set off alarms throughout the UIPS. By then, it will be too late for them to interfere."

"Sounds reasonable, Mr. President," Brad said. "Once we get the situation under control, including lining up the Commanders of the allied warships, we can punch a hole in the barrier just big enough to get a flash through to you at the conference site, giving you the score."

"Excellent, Brad, excellent."

Narval beamed at his new Commander of Combat Operations and twisted his mouth into a malevolent grin.

"One change," he said, eyes on Brad. "Up to now, the objective of your strategic planning and tactics has been the Depot. Now here this: the Depot is no longer the target. Your target is the Slingshot construction site including the 'Terminals'. You are to take control of the entire complex and hold it as my hostage. Adjust your plans, tactics and schedules accordingly."

Chapter THIRTY-FOUR

The air was stale in the alcove adjoining Brad's office. Hodak and Kumiko hovered over a console, entering and manipulating data. They compared computations against hard print charts, entered notes in manuals and drawings spread across a worktable, and mumbled at each other solemnly across the space separating them. Adari studied a large-scale celestial navigational chart tacked to the wall, Zolan tapped at a remote keyboard, and Myra scrutinized a spreadsheet. All were engrossed in their own piece of the action.

Brad, entered and paused to observe them. Myra glanced up, waved absently as her eyes returned to the spreadsheet.

Weaving along the tight aisle to a chair against the far wall, Brad turned the chair about and sat, his arms on the upper crossbar. He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Take five," he said. "Let's talk."

Zolan pressed a key to save his data, Kumiko rolled up her chart, and Hodak put a marker in the manual. Myra and Adari's charts lay where they were as eyes focused on Brad. The room was cramped, space for moving about was tight.

"We have new orders," Brad said.

Zolan grunted, "Ahh, nuts," and frowned at Brad in disgust. Myra groaned and Hodak spit a sullen blast of profanities. Adari shrugged, and Kumiko gave Brad her sweet so-what-else-is-new smile.

Brad recounted his meeting with Narval and Drummer. So that there would be no misunderstandings among them, he repeated Narval's strategy and instructions, finishing with the new target for the assault. The room was silent.

"Now that we know the construction site is the target we'll use it for working out the details for fleet integration, formation and logistics in place of what we had before," Brad rasped. "Better now than after we've launched and met up with our allies. Not much time, though. We'll be working round-the-clock until it's done, checked out, and space and surface Commanders briefed."

He gave orders rapidly.

"Break out the tactical and support plans we worked up for the Combined Fleet's Order of Battle at the Neptune meeting. Myra, rework your admin and medical requirements. Install two dozen psychic probes on the Dragon. We'll need at least that many to check out the loyalty flip-flops Narval expects when we lay the new target on the INOR Commanders, plus accepting Narval as their new Supreme Commander.

"Draft an order to Scarf for Narval's signature to transfer three hundred of his shock troops from our attack transports to the Dragon, and crank its effects into tactics and logistics. Scrounge up enough certified technicians to operate the probes. That'll still leave about eleven hundred troops to secure the Terminals after we take them, which should be enough. Juggle the tactics for that change. If anyone asks, we're using Scarf's troops on the Dragon as flunkies during the victory party. I don't think you need me to draw a picture of the real reason. We've got to reshuffle the entire logistics deck. Your job, Myra. Got it?"

Myra grunted, raised her middle finger, then quickly realigned it with the rest of her hand and snapped off a mechanical salute.

"Got it," she said.

"Kumiko, the targets will cover an area much wider and deeper than you planned for in your original computations. Rework the combined fleet's weapons disposition, analyze our firepower and orient them to the terminals' weak points. Let's talk after we finish here and work up formation options and vectors from rendezvous. Cover surveillance and interdiction against potential threats from UIPS assets in the Special Zone; compute tracking guidance for each type of weapon installed on Plutonian ships, and update target displays for our launchers and guns should it get to that. I especially want you to analyze the combined fleet's Order of Battle to identify our potential vulnerabilities and how an enemy force might exploit them. Provide me with a detailed document in a capsule so I can use it on the Dragon."

Brad turned to face Hodak.

"Re-examine emergency maintenance in this new arena. Our ships will be much further from home base than when the depot was the objective. We can't afford any ships dropping out of the line for repairs.

"Adari, got a big one for you. The other INOR ships will still rendezvous with the Plutonian fleet at Point Icarus, halfway between the depot and the Slingshot work site. Work out the nav for our fleet to the rendezvous; design formations, convergence and other vectors that'll keep the ships out of each other's way. Employ Order of Battle options to lay out the nav for each ship of the combined fleet from Point Icarus to target. Kumiko and I will be working on tac-options and we'll get them to you as soon as they're ready.

"This applies to all: compute, coordinate and commit resources to implement our new orders. OK. Get going."

Brad motioned Zolan and Hodak closer.

"I'm putting a fast utility under your command, Zolan. Your number one job is to build, harmonize, test and whatever else it takes to create a communications interference generator. Camouflage and position it between the Planet Pluto Special Zone and all sunside comm boosters, both spunnel and conventional. Set it up to activate by remote. The screen must have enough spread to block all messages, incoming and outgoing from Planet Pluto, the combined fleet, plus the depot area and the Slingshot terminals. Exception: Narval wants us to flash him a message as soon as we've taken the objective and turned the ships' Commanders. Fix the barricade so that we can shoot a one-time flash-spunnel message through to him. Clear?"

"Clear. When?"

"Now. I'll go with you to the tunnel where the generators are stored to make sure we select the best of the lot. Hodak, you come with us to give 'em a condition check. We can't afford chances with this equipment."

##

Narval removed the tiny ear piece through which he had listened to Brad give his orders, smiled with satisfaction, and pressed a button along the edge of his desk.

"Scarf out there?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"In."

Scarf sidled in and stood deferentially at the entry.

"Don't just stand there, you idiot," Narval snapped. "Get up here where I can talk to you."

Scarf hastened forward and halted a couple of meters from the desk. He held his helmet in one hand and saluted with the other.

"Here are my orders to you for while I'm gone. Double the guards on Planet Pluto's spunnel transmitter. No Plutonian communications are to be permitted to destinations outside the Special Zone. One exception: I've given Drummer orders that when he completes the tasks I've assigned him, he is to send a flash message to me at the conference site. Assign reliable technicians to open the spunnel center for only that one outgoing message."

"Yes, sir."

"Figure out some way to be aboard the Dragon during the operation. Watch Drummer; I still don't trust him. If he tries to undermine my authority while I'm away, shoot him."

"It'll be a pleasure, sir. What about Brad and his buddies?"

"If they resist my orders, kill them. If it does get to that, send me a spunnel flash after you've done it. If you do kill Drummer and Brad, assume control of the combined fleet and the Terminals. If that's not possible, blast the terminals out of the sky."

Chapter THIRTY-FIVE

Zolan walked into Brad's office and dropped into a chair, clearly exhausted.

"How'd it go?"

"Couple of dozen screen generators in position sunside," Zolan hefted a small, flat control in his hand as he spoke, then tossed it on the desk.

"The energizer," he said quietly.

Brad turned the control in his hands as he examined each safety lock. He slipped the control into a pocket.

"Narval leaves for the conference in a few hours," he said, almost in a whisper. He could not hide his deep sadness.

They rose and walked together toward the door. Without speaking, Zolan left and disappeared around a bend in the corridor.

The hour of Narval's departure brought a whirl of excitement to Coldfield. The transit strip from the official residence to the President's air lock had been stopped, scrubbed clean, and a padded chair installed on it for Narval's comfort.

Narval boarded the strip, accompanied by his personal guards. The guards took protective positions ahead, behind, and along the strip's edges, completely surrounding their leader. The strip began to move and maintained a slow, steady pace until Narval was abreast the air lock; it came to a smooth stop.

The air lock had been decorated with flags and bunting; a red carpet extended from the strip to the air lock. Narval swept in and passed through the inner compartment.

The Revenge, Narval's luxurious spunnel yacht was moored to pylons above the air lock. The yacht's commander, Captain Ras Hamdia, stood stiffly at the head of a line of ship's officers inside its portal.

A set of taut, parallel cables rose from the air lock to the ship. Fastened to the cables at the surface, Narval's personal red and black lift capsule was ready to transfer him aloft without the inconvenience of donning a space suit.

Narval entered the lift with an officer who dogged the doors and flashed the ready signal.

"Up, easy," the ship's captain ordered.

The lift rose slowly until it reached the Revenge's portal. An articulated crane grasped the cabin gently, drew it inboard along slackened cables and lowered it to a mobile platform. Suited technicians dashed forward to disengage the cables, and the capsule was pushed inside.

Narval safely aboard, space tugs encircled the Revenge and took positions along its hull. Mag-beams flashed across. The Revenge disengaged from the mooring tower and drifted off. The tugs nudged it along to a hundred kay above the dome, cut their mass-attractors and the ship disappeared into the node of the Planet Pluto Spunnel.

Narval was off to his destiny.

##

Zolan stood among a throng of space-suited citizens below the Revenge, from where he watched it ascend and move off. Minutes later, none but Zolan remained.

Aware of his awesome responsibility, a sense of serenity in the power of his will suffused Zolan's being. He had been faithful to the science and art of his chosen profession, and his devotion to the Sentinels' mission had enriched his harmony with all about him. It had come to this.

Tilting his head back in the clear plastic helmet of his suit, Zolan watched the Revenge enter the spunnel node. He lost interest and headed for a space taxi.

Climbing aboard, he punched in his identifier code and the coordinates for a tunnel warehouse fifty kay distant where he had a clearance on file. The taxi digested the data, reported to its master control inside Coldfield, and received the required permission. The taxi rose briskly in a tight turn and accelerated toward a range of low hills.

Out of sight beyond a hillock, Zolan reached into the circuitry behind the instrument panel, manipulated connections, and punched in new coordinates. The taxi paused and aligned to the new course, Zolan's hands on its manual controls. The advance notification to control center was inoperative.

Charon grew in size up ahead as the taxi approached. Zolan stabilized the flitter to hover stationary barely a meter above the frozen methane. As he disembarked, Zolan reached behind the instrument panel and readjusting the circuits. Transmissions from the taxi's computer would soon resume and indicate a routine return from the previously entered destination. Zolan watched the taxi out of sight.

The distant tiny sphere that formed the solar Sun was a wonder to behold against the black velvet sky and the clusters of distant galaxies. He absorbed once more the splendor of the planets in their graceful courses around the giver of life. He recalled and visualized each planet, natural and artificial satellite and space station out to the Guardians. He had roamed among them all; they were the only home he had known.

A sense of weariness seemed to overpower him; he could not delay. He searched the heavens for a star with which to orient himself. Finding it, he faced the direction wherein lay the secret spunnel booster through which he would send his message. Ram would know how it had come, what it meant, and what it had cost.

Zolan cleansed his mind, except for the message. He closed his eyes and the strength of his concentration brought on trance. A tiny glow, deeply embedded in his subconscious, mushroomed into a pulsing network of charged filaments. His arms and legs throbbed, and the pain of furies cut through his torpor and slowly drained him of life force. In milliseconds, his face shrunk and seamed, and his body collapsed in on itself. The filaments in Zolan's brain crackled and snapped. His brain exploded inside his skull as the message burst out. The rigid suit held his body erect, arms extended toward the Sun.

Standing on the stark and lifeless plain Ram's state-of-the-art modification to Zolan's brain and mind had completed its task.

Chapter THIRTY-SIX

Ram Xindral, representing the UIPS, met with INOR's advance team on Guardian Station 16 to plan protocols and logistics for the upcoming convocation. Planet Pluto had not sent an emissary.

Agreements were quickly concluded and the diplomatic cadre took over to prepare an agenda for the meeting's substance.

Spunnel channels flashed coded messages to home governments in the Outer Region, reported on problems encountered and the options available. Instructions flashed back, rarely agreeing with offered solutions, more often insisting on new approaches that in turn became the subjects of lengthy discourse. When an issue was considered sufficiently clarified for the convocation and reported to the seats of UIPS and INOR Governments, it was almost invariably reopened as an extension of still another issue. This went on and on.

Eventually, an agenda of sorts was fashioned to guide the discussions. It limited itself to an agreement, in principle, which identified the paramount issues of urgent and general concern. The preliminaries over, the advance teams departed for home.

A fleet of UIPS transports escorted by Space Guard entered the Great Space that separated the Guardian and Jovian orbits. Hauled along by a network of mag-beams converging from a score of space tugs came the Conference Disk, two hectometers in diameter and a decameter thick at its hub.

At the agreed upon coordinates the Disk slowed and stabilized. The escorts drew back, clustered and waited.

Docking slips scalloped the Disk's rim, each with its own hoists, articulated and flex-umbilicals, power junctions, and docking, launch and maintenance support facilities. Emergency, fire-fighting, rescue, and med-evac craft dotted the upper and lower surfaces. Anchored, they were ready to service spacecraft or launch instantly to where they might be needed.

Ram and his UIPS technicians, administrators and security specialists boarded the Disk from a utility transport. A INOR team entered through another portal. Members of each team serving a Chief of State inspected the suites assigned to their nation's conferees, made changes to meet personal or cultural needs and, when satisfied, installed the scheduled occupant's accouterments and trappings of Office.

Engineers and technicians swarmed throughout the berths and mooring docks, inspecting and testing equipment and procedures to accommodate their Leader's vessel, and for routine support and emergencies should such arise. They conducted or observed ship handling tests and space rescue capabilities. Finally, the administrators and technicians agreed the facility was ready. The Joint UIPS-INOR Security Team sealed the Disk's portals and posted their guards in armed capsules around the rim and on the Disk's gently curved surfaces.

They waited.

Chapter THIRTY-SEVEN

Drummer and Brad walked the corridor leading to the Dragon's bridge. The battle cruiser, aligned with its sisters in countdown on catapults in galleries and tunnels across Planet Pluto, was minutes from launch to Point Icarus.

Accompanied by a party of officers, Brad had completed the final formal inspection and sign-off of the Plutonian warships committed to the operation. Myra, Hodak, Adari and Kumiko had trailed along as specialists, respectfully responding to technical questions tossed at them by the official inspection party.

The Sentinels took Zolan's death hard, aware but unable to share their grief with words that might be overheard by their enemy. They were in a somber mood difficult to hide, and Kumiko's eyes were red-rimmed. She spoke little.

Moving from one tunnel and gallery hangar to another, the inspection team had checked the readiness of command and control, function systems, weapons readiness, logistic support and all that bore on their mission. Openly enthusiastic and congratulatory to ships' crews on what he observed, Brad was inwardly appalled at the strength of Narval's fleet. Combined with the INOR forces coming to join them at Point Icarus, the slim forces that the UIPS maintained in the Plutonian Special Zone faced an overwhelming adversary.

At the companionway to the command deck, Brad deferred to Drummer. Drummer acknowledged the courtesy with a slight smile and nod. They ascended, and Brad closed the door.

Drummer strode to the forward bulkhead, paused, and drew a small device from his pocket. He moved casually about the compartment, meanwhile reading the device's indicators. Brad watched him in silence. After two full turns Drummer pocketed the device and faced Brad.

"Routine precautions," Drummer said with a shrug. "This deck compartment is free of both sight and sound bugs. How did the inspection go? Are we prepared and on schedule?"

"A few glitches here and there, but nothing serious. I've instituted corrective actions, and we'll be ready."

Drummer nodded uneasily. Brad waited. Drummer's next words came with awkward hesitation.

"Ah — when Narval gave us his final orders, I — ah — sensed, correct me if I'm wrong, some misgivings on your part."

"Misgivings? What do you mean?"

"Before we proceed, I must have your word that whatever we discuss here will be held by you in the strictest confidence. Have I your word?"

Brad stared long and hard at Drummer. He thought back to Scarf's accusations and threats preceding the fight in the Charnel Pit. Did Drummer really support Narval? What was Drummer's real objective? Time was short; yet Brad had to be certain.

"You have my word."

"Now respond to my first statement."

"Affirmative."

Drummer gave a heavy sigh and motioned Brad to a bench along a bulkhead. They sat and stared at the bulkhead opposite.

"How far will you go to take the Terminals?"
Drummer asked.

"Destructively?"

"Yes."

"You're in command of the combined fleet, Drummer.
You tell me."

A deep silence settled between them. Drummer brought his eyes around to where he could observe Brad's profile. His breath became shallow.

"What I now say to you, Brad, puts my life in your hands, but say it I must." He paused, as if to gather strength and conviction, and to organize his thoughts. "I believe that Narval is deranged. He would rather see the Solar System's civilization's grovel in the dust than have them advance, even survive, without him as their ruler."

"Are you suggesting he be stopped?"

"He must be."

"How?"

"I hoped you would know."

"Me? Why me?"

"You've become the authority on the capabilities and tactics of this operation. The Plutonian military Commanders respect you as a leader and as a professional, as do the Commanders of the ships soon to join us. Need I say more?"

Brad turned to face Drummer.

"How far do you commit yourself?"

"My life."

"It will take that, and more."

"What do you mean?"

"Betrayal strips men of — I believe the word is — honor. Would you accept being a traitor to President Narval?"

"If it will bring an end to this madness."

"Are you willing to follow my orders — without question?"

"To what purpose?"

"Your words: the end of this madness."

"Define your terms, man. Tell me in your words, not mine, to what end I commit my life, and as you put it, my honor."

"Confusion and disruption throughout the combined fleet, destruction of Plutonian warships and, possibly, those of all INOR; no assault on the Terminals and, ultimately, removal of Narval from any position of authority in the Outer Region."

Drummer nodded slowly.

"I commit myself to that purpose. And yourself?"

"Committed."

A knock on the door. The crewman peered in.

"Comm-center has a classified Category One spunnel message for you, Admiral Drummer," he said. "It's in the President's personal code, sir, to which only you have the keys. Have I your permission to pick up the message and bring it to you?"

"Never mind," Drummer replied. "We're heading back under the dome. I'll get it."

##

Drummer read again the message he had decoded and handed it to Brad who quickly scanned and silently returned it. Drummer glanced at the message again and placed it slowly in the middle of his desk. The communication bore the dispatch symbols of the Revenge within the past hour. The text was brief:

"Narval to Drummer. We have left the spunnel node nearest the conference site, now two hours distant. Your launch at target must be consistent with the conference schedule just provided to me by the Conference Controller.

"Based on conference agenda and schedule I order you to energize the communications barrier immediately upon receipt of this message. Further, I order you to have allegiance sworn to me by Commanders of all INOR ships' officers and the Director of the Slingshot Construction Site not more than four hours following receipt this message. Spunnel flash to me through the barrier 'mind only' immediately upon taking the objective. Spunnel flash immediately to me your understanding of this order."

Chapter THIRTY-EIGHT

The soft clicks of switches opening and closing and the soft thunks of levers rammed home were the only sounds on the Dragon's command deck as Drummer and Brad climbed the companionway.

Captain Hyk, standing on the bridge platform above the command deck, took them in with a quick glance, nodded, and continued about his business directing and observing the Dragon entering launch.

Brad followed Drummer to a computer in a tiny alcove on a balcony above the plotting table. They swung seats out from under the table on which the console rested, sat, and Brad entered his DNA ID and password. He followed with instructions that brought a series of real-time graphics across the monitor.

Selecting first one, then another, the two men studied the displays, as they pointed and commented on their observations. Drummer straightened.

"Recap, Brad," he ordered.

Brad tapped keys and the screen listed each
Plutonian ship in the Assault Force and its
Commander in one column and the readiness level
for launch in the other.

Brad pointed at the highlighted "Fleet readiness 92 percent."

"Allies?"

"Made the trip from home stations along diverse routes and under detection wraps. They're inside the comm-barrier an hour from Point Icarus. It'll take us that long to launch, form up, do the distance, and position ourselves to receive them."

A crewman's head appeared at the head of the companionway, looked about and fixed on Drummer.

"Call from security up at the tunnel entrance, sir.
Visitor to see you."

"Who is it?"

"Major Scarf, sir. Says he has urgent business to discuss with you."

Drummer and Brad exchanged glances. Hyk immediately
gave his full attention to his monitor's screen.
Drummer knew that neither he nor Hyk could refuse
Scarf's request to come aboard. He addressed Hyk.

"Any objections, Har?"

"None, Admiral."

"Very well," Drummer glanced toward the messenger.
"Escort Major Scarf to my quarters."

##

The compartment was small, not built for comfort.
Scarf's massive frame crowded the space.

"I'm coming along." Scarf's tone was brusque.

"The hell you are." Drummer's was equally blunt.

Brad eyed Scarf. "Your job is on the surface," he said. "What purpose can you serve by tagging along?"

Scarf looked from Drummer to Brad and back, not sure whom he should address. He chose Drummer.

"Coldfield and the surrounding areas are under full control of my security forces. I've left my deputy in charge, and he can contact me within seconds should that be necessary. With Narval away and us here, there's not much going on in the Command Section."

Scarf tapped Drummer's chest with his forefinger, "you've got more'n a thousand of my best troops for occupation duty on the Terminals. They're mine and I'm gonna lead them when they go into action. I'm moving in over my on-site troop commander, that's all. What's more, I understand you've reassigned some of my troops to this wagon. That's fine with me. I'll just move in with them, and assume direct command until they're back with the main group. Entirely proper for me to do this as chief of their Service."

Brad thrust his hands into his pockets to hide the fists they had formed. His mind worked furiously on the new threat.

"Our plans are complete, Scarf," he said. "If you remain, we expect you to follow orders from the Fleet Commander."

Scarf, sure of his victory, showed his pleasure.

"Sure, sure," he said, a grin creasing his face, waving the proviso away with the back of his hand. "Anything the boss says. It's your show. I understand."

Taking Drummer's silence as acquiescence, Scarf pivoted in the small space and squeezed out of the compartment. He barked at the guard to escort him to the officer-in-charge of the troop detachment.

Drummer issued the launch order. One following the other, the warships catapulted off of their launch tracks, rose swiftly into space, and formed up behind mine sweepers Scamp, Varlet and Scalawag. The battle cruisers Dragon and Tiger, guarded by destroyer screens and support ships, turned toward Point Icarus.

Three million kay ahead, the Slingshot terminals appeared as just another unblinking light in a runnel of multicolored jewels.

Slingshot had always been real to Brad; in the deepening crisis for humankind's survival its purpose was profound. It had been so to him as far back as he could remember.

Brad keyed the Slingshot complex closer on a nearby computer screen. Generally familiar with the schematics of the Slingshot stations, he was overwhelmed by the two enormous cones and their peripherals, which configured the Terminals' hoppers. Each terminal, almost three kay across its base, formed an intricate maze of interlocked spars, beams, panels, conduit and modules.

The Slingshot stations were centers of activity. Inside and out, the work areas were crowded. In all directions were massive and intricate fusion generators, transformers and power distribution systems; dozens of spherical, rectangular and cylindrical workshops and clusters of habitat, first aid stations, transports and tugs and barges pushing, pulling, warping and traversing. It was a picture of enormous structures and modules spread across the visible space ahead. The scene was geometric, multidimensional, and seemingly chaotic.

Separated from each other by more than a hundred kay of open space, the Terminal schematic expanded rapidly on the Dragon's screens as the fleet narrowed the gap. At Point Icarus the Slingshot construction site filled more than half the view tanks space.

Brad and Drummer watched as changes occurred hastily throughout the Terminals' space. Lights dimmed or blacked out entirely; others increased intensity. Three destroyers darted through the protective force field's gates, deployed, and took defensive positions. A mine-layer advanced, came about and laid a pattern of tac-nuclear eggs.

The Plutonian Assault Force had been quickly detected. Their intentions obvious, Slingshot's managers prepared as best they could to defend themselves. Scores of transports were lined up to escape through the gateway; those that had reached the outside lumbered away toward deep space.