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."