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."