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.