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.