Drummer paced the command deck of the Plutonian
flagship Dragon, Brad nearby. Scarf, sprawled in
an open accello-net fastened to a nearby bulkhead,
watched and listened.
The ship vibrated as it moved along the launch rail
leading to the mouth of the tunnel hanger. Captain
Hyk, the ship's Commander, hunched over a control
computer on the nearby bridge and snapped orders
to his Operations Officer. Both cast sideways glances
at Scarf, discomfited by his presence.
Brad visualized the scene on the bridges and flight
decks of the more than two dozen warships, ranging
from cruisers to fighters that formed the task
force. All were in final countdown for launch from
tunnels and galleries cut into reinforced chasms
across a hundred kay of Pluto's surface.
At Drummer's invitation, Brad analyzed the launch
schedule and deployment pattern. He had tactfully
suggested substantive alterations to minimize
warning time to the depot and its nearby
transports. After some debate, during which
Brad repeatedly justified his proposals to skeptical
ship commanders, they were computer-tested,
modified and accepted.
Brad knew he was on trial. Ram's words surfaced
as he scanned the bridge: "...you will lie, cheat,
bribe, subvert, sabotage, and kill for us, and
should our greater purpose call for you to do so,
against us."
"This one," he mused, ironically, "is on the
'against us' side of the ledger."
Hodak appeared at the entry to the command deck
and beckoned to Brad. As Brad approached, Scarf rose
and sauntered in their direction, seemingly scrutinizing
instrument dials and panels along the way. His ears
seemed to throb with the effort of eavesdropping.
"I've gone over the maintenance and operations
checklists for all ships and technical support
committed to this mission, as you told me to,"
Hodak said, "and then spot-checked them against
installed equipment. We've only been on this
job a couple of days, so I couldn't probe to any
meaningful depth."
He heaved a deep sigh. "From what I've seen so far,
Brad, the systems are not as well-maintained as they
should be, and much of the data and crew training
are not applicable or out of date.
"My recommendation is that as soon as we get back
we conduct a hard-nosed professional inspection
of the fleet to pinpoint all the cats-and-dogs these
dunderheads have jerry-rigged into the equipment
and the software. We gotta give priority to the
checklists that need to be updated to correspond
with installed equipment. No two ships have the
same configuration, so each checklist will have
to be tailored. That's only the first step, and it'll
be one helluva lotta work."
"Drummer's main concern right now is getting
through this operation without using weapons
or incurring a technical breakdown," Brad said.
"Either one will detract from the image we're
trying to build. He should know ASAP what you
found. I'll pass it along to him. Stand by with
Kumiko in case Drummer needs some technical
advice on weapons or engineering."
"Right."
Hodak turned to leave, and his eyes met Scarf's.
Hodak grinned, and gave Scarf a thumbs up. Scarf
glowered and turned away, moving back to the net.
Hodak disappeared down the passageway.
The ship advanced along a rail into a gallery at
the mouth of the tunnel. Captain Hyk turned
to Drummer.
"The Dragon is at launch station," he said.
Drummer and Brad stepped from the command deck
to a small balcony overlooking a shallow pit covered
by a pale, translucent screen. A network of lines,
representing tunnels and galleries, formed on the
screen, each incorporating a tiny, yellow moving
and blinking light to indicate a warship under
Drummer's command. As each light reached launch
position, it halted and changed from yellow to
green. Drummer and Brad watched the last of
the yellows convert. All green, ready to launch.
Drummer picked up a microphone, Brad beside him.
"This is Drummer," he said. "Operation
authenticator Tornado Six. Execute. First wave.
Launch."
Five green lights flashed to red and disappeared,
on their way to predesignated stations outside
Fandango: one off each blunt end of the Depot
cylinder and the remainder at the entry to the
gateway force field.
Ten seconds later Drummer repeated his codes and
launched the second wave. The corresponding lights
on the screen flashed red and out. New green lights
appeared in their place, this time moving in arcs
converging on the cylinder centered in a sphere:
the depot in its force field cocoon.
The converging lines massed, reformed, and spread
into a pattern resembling the spoke tips of an open
umbrella, with the Gateway, the crowded transports
and the depot centered at what would be the
umbrella's handgrip.
##
Drummer turned his head and looked at Brad.
"Went off rather well," he said.
"Seems so. That was the easy part. I don't envy
you the next."
Drummer touched a switch connecting him to the
bridge.
"Captain," he said. "Launch the Dragon. Take your
position at the coordinates I gave to you. Activate
our comm system to the depot."
The ship shuddered as it shot from the gallery and
headed for the concentration of spacecraft above
Pluto. It slowed as it passed through the umbrella
formation and stopped fifty kay from the nearest
transport.
Time lapse from launch was less than two minutes.
Surprise was complete; the effect, paralyzing.
All movement around the depot slowed to a halt.
The intranet filled with "What the hell's going on?",
"Who are these guys?", and "Bring on the dancing
girls." Then, suddenly, the channels blanked,
replaced by silence.
Drummer keyed his microphone open and handed it
to Brad.
Brad took on a harsh tone.
"Attention: Commander of Slingshot Logistics Depot
and Masters of all vessels, inside or outside the
Fandango Force Field. The national interests of the
Government of Planet Pluto demands compliance
with Plutonian laws by all persons and properties
within its jurisdiction. You and your vessels and
the Logistics Depot are in Plutonian territory,
therefore, our laws apply to you.
"The Fleet Commander of this Plutonian Security
Force wishes to speak with the Commander of the
Slingshot Logistics Depot. Depot Commander, please
identify yourself and stand by. Acknowledge."
Silence. Thirty seconds.
"Logistics Depot. This is the Plutonian Security
Force. The message we sent you moments ago was for
the Depot Commander. Did you read? Acknowledge."
The reply came.
"Your message received. Please identify Fleet
Commander."
Brad and Drummer exchanged glances. Drummer
chuckled.
"The formalities must be observed," he chuckled,
his tone dry. "Tell him."
Brad keyed the mike.
"Fleet Commander Deke Drummer." He put a rasp
into his voice. "Now, get on with it."
Another voice came on.
"Colonel Hanno here. I'm the Depot Commander.
What the hell game are you playing, Drummer?"
Brad's tone turned icy.
"Let's get one point straight, Colonel Hanno. You
will be speaking with a Fleet Commander with the
rank of Admiral. Should you need to be reminded,
Planet Pluto is a sovereign and independent nation,
and you are a guest within our borders. Your choice
of words is offensive. Do you read?"
A long pause.
"I read."