The Universe — or Nothing by Meyer Moldeven (summer reads .txt) 📖

shrunk and seamed, and his body collapsed in on itself. The filaments in Zolan's brain crackled and snapped. His brain exploded inside his skull as the message burst out. The rigid suit held his body erect, arms extended toward the Sun.

Standing on the stark and lifeless plain Ram's state-of-the-art modification to Zolan's brain and mind had completed its task.

Chapter THIRTY-SIX

Ram Xindral, representing the UIPS, met with INOR's advance team on Guardian Station 16 to plan protocols and logistics for the upcoming convocation. Planet Pluto had not sent an emissary.

Agreements were quickly concluded and the diplomatic cadre took over to prepare an agenda for the meeting's substance.

Spunnel channels flashed coded messages to home governments in the Outer Region, reported on problems encountered and the options available. Instructions flashed back, rarely agreeing with offered solutions, more often insisting on new approaches that in turn became the subjects of lengthy discourse. When an issue was considered sufficiently clarified for the convocation and reported to the seats of UIPS and INOR Governments, it was almost invariably reopened as an extension of still another issue. This went on and on.

Eventually, an agenda of sorts was fashioned to guide the discussions. It limited itself to an agreement, in principle, which identified the paramount issues of urgent and general concern. The preliminaries over, the advance teams departed for home.

A fleet of UIPS transports escorted by Space Guard entered the Great Space that separated the Guardian and Jovian orbits. Hauled along by a network of mag-beams converging from a score of space tugs came the Conference Disk, two hectometers in diameter and a decameter thick at its hub.

At the agreed upon coordinates the Disk slowed and stabilized. The escorts drew back, clustered and waited.

Docking slips scalloped the Disk's rim, each with its own hoists, articulated and flex-umbilicals, power junctions, and docking, launch and maintenance support facilities. Emergency, fire-fighting, rescue, and med-evac craft dotted the upper and lower surfaces. Anchored, they were ready to service spacecraft or launch instantly to where they might be needed.

Ram and his UIPS technicians, administrators and security specialists boarded the Disk from a utility transport. A INOR team entered through another portal. Members of each team serving a Chief of State inspected the suites assigned to their nation's conferees, made changes to meet personal or cultural needs and, when satisfied, installed the scheduled occupant's accouterments and trappings of Office.

Engineers and technicians swarmed throughout the berths and mooring docks, inspecting and testing equipment and procedures to accommodate their Leader's vessel, and for routine support and emergencies should such arise. They conducted or observed ship handling tests and space rescue capabilities. Finally, the administrators and technicians agreed the facility was ready. The Joint UIPS-INOR Security Team sealed the Disk's portals and posted their guards in armed capsules around the rim and on the Disk's gently curved surfaces.

They waited.

Chapter THIRTY-SEVEN

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."

Chapter THIRTY-EIGHT

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