Brad leaned back, drew his legs in and stretched
them straight, heels to the deck. His eyes followed
Ram to the dais and as he turned to face him.
"You and your crew will start intensive training in
intelligence operations using our most advanced
methods. It will cover infiltration, interrogation,
psychological defenses against psychic probes
and other means that might be used to acquire
information from you, under duress or otherwise.
You will absorb intelligence countermeasures and
counter-countermeasures, identification of military
spacecraft and weapons used by both the UIPS
and INOR, analysis of our military capabilities and
those of our adversaries, covert communications
through conventional, unconventional and spunnel
channels, and other tricks of the trade. Your quick
reaction reflexes will be enhanced through means
that will not be apparent to you."
"What does that last part mean?"
"I'll get to it. First, your mission. Your escape
from this Station has been arranged. The pieces
are being moved into place. Your immediate
destination is tanktown Coldfield on Planet Pluto."
The view tank's image of Pluto expanded as did
the gray-black contrasts of the planet's surface.
A white light in a mottled area blinked, drawing
Brad's momentary attention. His eyes returned
to Ram.
"Your initial field of operations is centered in
Coldfield," Ram pointed to the light. "Where you go
from there depends on the contacts you develop
and how well you exploit each opportunity. The tank
town has a permanent population of about fifty
thousand plus about ten thousand transients.
Mix with the transients for starters."
"Get to the mission, Ram," Brad cut Xindral short.
Ram sighed. "We've sent a succession of formal
diplomatic missions to INOR," he said, "including a
few to the renegades that now run Planet Pluto.
We've asked them repeatedly to not interfere with
the Slingshot program. We've emphasized to each
INOR government that Slingshot is as important
to them as it is to us. They're not listening. We're
still pressing diplomatic means, meanwhile, our
logistics is being disrupted by Pluto's President
Narval's hoodlums."
"How does this team fit in?"
"If we send in a military force to sweep away
these scoundrels, our action will be seen as an
imperialist intrusion into the Outer Region. It
will create such resentment among the governments
out there that the Slingshot schedule cannot help
but suffer serious harm. Getting INOR's cooperation
will also become more difficult than ever.
"Maybe, if we gather enough hard evidence of
a conspiracy and confront them with it, they'll
change their ways. Right now, they're blaming the
attacks on partisans over whom they say they
have no control. We don't buy that. We need you
to gather and send confirmations to us and, while
you're doing that, disrupt the plans and weapons
being marshaled against us. Use whatever
initiatives you can devise on site. Go where you
need to, do whatever it takes to frustrate our
adversaries."
"What happens if we fail?"
"Failure is unacceptable. As long as you or any
of your people are alive and useful to us we'll get
through to you and we'll expect you to keep us
current on developments."
"Big order."
"Yes, it is."
"I am, or rather, I was, skipper of a space
freighter," Brad said, tenting his hands. "I know
almost nothing of military operations, intelligence
gathering, and especially covert actions, whatever
those might entail. I'm not familiar with space
weapons except for garden-variety small arms. Other
than Kumiko, I gather that the members of this team
are not experts in the weapons and explosives we
are likely to encounter or use. You're sending us
in against a rough crowd, from the way you describe
them. Aren't you risking a lot on us?"
"Absolutely."
"I refuse."
"You're not being given the choice. Neither are
the others."
"I can withhold my cooperation."
"I repeat, Brad, you have no choice."
Ram paused, eyeball to eyeball with Brad,
whose eyes had gone cold. Ram's voice went as
flat as when he had read the group their orders.
"You will be psychologically adjusted as you
progress through this indoctrination. The
'adjustment', for want of a better term, is
necessary for several reasons. It applies to
the entire team."
Brad stared.
"What does that mean?"
"Just that we can't afford to let normal human
weaknesses and scruples interfere the mission."
"The hell you say," Brad raised his voice. "You're
telling me we're expendable?"
"You're in covert intelligence work, Brad, and
you'll be in the enemy's camp. Doesn't that
answer your question?"
"Come on, dammit."
Meeting Brad's eyes, Ram shrugged.
"Each of you will be full to the brim with
motivational boosters to keep you oriented to
the mission. You won't stray, whatever the
temptations. We'll install undetectable barriers
against psychic probes; then there are..."
"Damn you, Ram." Brad cut in, his voice crackling
with rage. "You sons of bitches are going to
robotize us. Expendable is bad enough; you're
programming us into suicide."
"Not quite, Brad. Hear me out."
Ram paced restlessly as he spoke, his tall, slender
frame swaying, his head changing direction to
maintain eye contact.
Brad rose and stood erect, legs apart, fists on
hips, fury pouring out in his body language.
"Your team has just been assembled," Ram said,
"yet we don't have a moment to lose to get you
in place and operational. Orientation and training
will allow no more than four sleeps. The special
knowledge and skills each you needs for this
mission will be implanted into your conscious and
subconscious minds, and, as it suits our needs,
into your survival instincts. We have a long
history at this game."
Brad rose and strode angrily up the aisle to the
door and pressed the panel that would slide it
open. The panel did not function. Other than raise
his eyes to follow him to the door, Ram continued
talking as if Brad had remained nearby. After a
moment's hesitation, Brad returned to his seat.
Ram paused and gazed at Brad sympathetically.
"If you're all going to operate like a well-lubed
machine, without appearing to be doing so," he
said, "you'll need all the gimmicks we can hang on
to each of you."
Ram shrugged and went on, "News of your escape
will be broadcast system-wide; all part of the cover.
They'll be suspicious for quite a while, but you've
got to infiltrate, despite the risks.
"The mission has many subtleties; you must all
understand how they interact. Above all, you must
never, despite the most extreme interrogation,
betray the mission. In that sense, yes, you are
expendable. Small comfort, I know, but insurance
against betrayal will entail a simple psy-mod."
"Is there to be a complex one?"
"Yes."
"Let's have it all, man."
"If you are to join these terrorists, pirates, or
whatever they are, your characters must be suitable
to blend with theirs. On the one hand, you will be
loyal to each other and to us; on the other, you,
and I mean each of you, will lie, cheat, bribe,
subvert, sabotage, and kill for the mission, and
if it serves our greater purpose, act convincingly
against us. That's one complex psy-mod."
"There's more?"
"There's communications and one other. About
comm, off-planet messages from Planet Pluto,
especially through spunnel channels, are under
the tight control of Pluto's insurgent government.
Transmission facilities are under constant heavy
guard. You'll all be checked out by the Pluto's
security people to make sure none of you are
carrying prohibited comm gear or are otherwise
wired."
"The 'other'."
"Last resort. It's need-to-know, if and when
needed. When you become aware of the
crisis to which it applies it will surface in your
consciousness and in the mind of one other member
of your team. You'll each know what to do."
"Sounds like a jolly crowd."
Ram grinned.
"I'm sure you'll all have a party. Back to comm:
the Log Depot and the Terminal work sites
have spunnel centers. Zolan will have the access
codes to the Log Depot. At all costs, keep the
construction site from becoming involved in
this intelligence operation. If word got out that
we used the Terminals for covert intelligence
or military transmissions, the Outer Region
governments would blow their collective tops.
We can rationalize using the Log Depot if we
experience piracy and harassment of our
transports and citizens. It'll be extremely
dangerous to go beyond that."
"No chance of using the Pluto comm center?"
Brad asked.
"Don't count on it." Ram replied grimly.
"What happens afterward, assuming that we
survive? Also, can what you're doing to each
of us be reversed so that we can return to
what, for us, would be normal?"
"In the order you raise them: first, after this
is over you will all be free citizens, records
cleared, and we'll help you to return to your
former lives, or reasonably close to what they
were; second, the mods are reversible and you
will all be de-programmed.
"You mention survival, Brad. You may be searching
for assurance that you'll come through alive. I
can't give you that assurance, for you or for your
team. In all sincerity, I think that you and your
team have less than an even chance for survival.
Understand then, the name of the game is dare,
but not stupidly."