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 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.