Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
Brad leaned back in his chair both hands pressed against the table's edge, arms straight.
"Your governments have agreed to a united front against the UIPS, otherwise you wouldn't be here. Your Heads of State sent you. We're military men, not politicians or clever diplomats. What does that tell you?"
Silence.
"Then I'll say it. We're here to plan a military action. That's what we do. The decision on whether the plan is implemented is up to INOR politicians and diplomats. That's how they earn their keep. The target has been made known to you. Our immediate task is to assess the forces we will have available and operational to do the job. For that I need to know your capabilities, now and for the time they will be committed to the combined operations. Let's start with the Jovian System."
Brad fixed his eyes on Captain Yargoul.
Time stretched, no one moved. Finally, at a nod from Captain Yargoul, a gaunt spacer seated behind him reached into a pocket, withdrew a capsule and tossed it toward the front. It floated gracefully at Zolan in the light gravity. Zolan caught the capsule, turned, inserted it into a slot at the base of the tank and pressed a key on the rod.
The tank shimmered, cleared, and in rapid succession flashed images of battle cruisers, destroyers and support ships. Data unreeled across the lower section of the tank, listing ship's armament and ship's readiness rating.
The recording completed, Zolan withdrew the capsule and returned it in the same manner as received. Another floated toward him, preceded by a growl "Titan." The routine repeated, and within a short time, the major INOR platforms and weapons for a combined assault on the Logistics Depot had been recorded and rated for readiness.
When the last capsule had cleared the tank Zolan's fingers raced across the console's keypad and the screen recapped the inputs. The Logistics Depot reappeared high up in the tank wrapped in its protective cocoon, and lines of transports loading and off-loading cargoes or waiting their turns.
The scene contracted, and the vacated space filled with numbers and codes representing the few UIPS recon-patrollers in the Plutonian sector followed by a tabulation of INOR's combined assault fleet. The computer presented INOR's combined fleet's Order of Battle, and stabilized.
The assembled commanders, master strategists and tacticians all, pointed, commented, and proposed options on the employment of ships, formations and weapons. Zolan keyed their suggestions into the computer and the results appeared in the tank. Finally, there were no further options. Brad nodded.
"Mark it and distribute a copy to each Commander present," he said, and turned back to survey the group around the table. He waited.
Captain Yargoul cut the brief silence.
"What we have, so far, is a textbook tactical disposition of forces around a theoretical objective. The reality will depend on the strategic plan for the operation and what we expect will come out of it. When do we get to that?"
Brad grinned.
"That will be made known to you at the appropriate time."
##
Brad and Zolan walked silently down the ramp from the Condor and boarded the outbound strip. Skirting knots of commuters they faced outward in a momentarily vacant slot for two along the edge of the fast moving lane. Opportune and random, the location was as secure as any from eavesdropping.
"I briefed Narval an hour ago," said Brad. "He's certain that he can get the INOR leaders to join for a healthy share in the prize. I've been ordered to plan for a combined operation to take the depot."
"When?"
"He's sitting on that. What he wants from me now is to portray an integrated assault by INOR combined forces from a point halfway between the depot and the Slingshot construction site. I'm to work out the details and keep each element on a timeline from launch to full military control of the objective."
"Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
"Talk to me."
"Setting the launch point against the depot from a couple of million kay outbound from the Plutonian orbit doesn't make sense. It's especially suspicious when you consider that the INOR forces will be coming from sunside of Pluto and therefore sunside of the depot — the presumed target less than a half million kay from here. Why not have the fleet rendezvous closer to the target?"
"My question, precisely."
"How do you see it?"
"I'm not sure yet. Narval did say to crank in diversionary tactics that would draw the Terminals' defensive forces away from their normal ops zone."
"That's weird."
"Agreed. He's setting it up this way to maximize his options, he says. The final decision, he said, needn't be made until the final moments. Confuse the enemy and all that."
"Are you saying the same plan can be used against the Terminals?"
"Absolutely. Oh, a few formation and tactical switches but they can be made in the field as the fleet switches targets."
"Would it work?"
"A bit of delay, but I'm sure it would. But at whichever target Narval's final order sends the fleet, the results would be a disaster for the UIPS. The real target's spunnel lines will crash, destabilization will disrupt the entire Slingshot construction schedule. We'll have lost the launch window."
More commuters swung aboard the strip and crowded their space. Brad and Zolan eyed them; time to split.
"What now?", Zolan asked.
"Not much choice." Brad replied in a whisper. "Use the depot spunnel facility to get word to Ram. Don't take any nonsense about getting to Hanno. Once you're through to him, you shouldn't have an access problem. So get to the depot, shoot the burst, and get back here without being spotted."
"The message?"
"Narval's instructions to me. Everything we learned at the meeting off Neptune, especially the Order of Battle capsule with the options on formations for the combined fleet. List the types of weapons and warheads installed on each INOR ship of the line and the coordinates for rendezvous and launch at the depot as the target.
"That'll get them as suspicious as we are. Crank in what the coordinates might be if Narval makes last minute switches. Point Icarus is the designated code name for the INOR rendezvous. Include that. Tell Ram I said to get his fighting folks off their butts and earn their keep."
Brad shifted, stepped over to a slower lane, and from there off the strip. He disappeared among the pedestrians. Zolan remained where he was for a distance, disembarked and strolled about near an air lock as he mind-impressed his message on a comm capsule.
Colonel Hanno will be surprised, Zolan mused as he pushed his way into the suiting-up room. Contemplating his mission, it might take a bit of time for Hanno to respond and track the code, interpret the instructions, and acknowledge what they required of him. He would need to push Hanno hard.
He selected and checked a suit for fit, fresh fluids, air and communications. Climbing in and closing up, he stepped under a helmet rack, drew it down, rotated mating surfaces, closed and locked the seals. The automatic self-test devices hummed pressure checks, and indicators glowed as the life support systems balanced internally. The suit inflated, held for several seconds, and subsided to normal. A tiny light above the inside visor glowed green to show status as ready.
Passing through the outer air lock Zolan turned toward a line of flitters. A guard watched him approach, rifle held casually across his chest.
"OK," said the guard when Zolan was within five meters. "Hold it there. What's on your mind?"
"Name's Zolan. I need a long range flitter for a hop into the outback."
"Let's see your authorization."
"What authorization?"
The guard's head wagged in his helmet.
"Y'gotta have authorization for a distant destination, buddy. That's orders. Otherwise, take a taxi."
"Orders, hell," Zolan growled. "I can't get where I have to go using a taxi. I can't do my work with you security types puttin' the chocks to me for 'orders' each time I need to check a work site." His tone became scathing. "Get your superior on-line and tell him my name and what I want. If he has any questions, tell him to check with Brad Curtin on President Narval's staff. C'mon now. Move, man, move."
The guard's manner changed with the name-dropping.
"Yes sir," he said. "Right away, sir."
Zolan's comm contact with the guard went on hold as the guard switched to another line. Ignoring the guard, Zolan surveyed several nearby utilities.
Moments later his line with the guard reopened.
The guard's voice was deferential.
"Clearance received, sir," he said. "Got a real good single-seater here for you. Just came out of the maintenance shops. All systems have been checked and she's ready to go. Shall I warm her up and crank in the coordinates for you, sir?"
"That's OK," Zolan replied, "I'll do the set ups myself. I've got several places to visit and want to work out the trip on the box so I don't waste any more time. Which bird?"
"Follow me, sir."
Moving along the line the guard stopped at a low-slung framework from which a crude cage hung suspended, held in position by braces angling in from connecting structures. Behind the cage, halfway along a shaft running aft, hung a tiny nuclear power plant. Nozzles of cone-shaped propulsion units on gimbals hung in neutral. That would change as soon as Zolan inserted his coordinates and activated the thrusters.
"Here she is, sir," the guard exclaimed, proudly, offering Zolan a checklist. "All yours."
"Right," Zolan grunted. Shifting his eyes critically from the checklist to flitter and back, he walked around the tiny flyer inspecting the spars for alignment and cracks. Moving to the power plant he examined the reactor's cover and seals for seepage and the thruster nozzles and gimbals for cracks and wear. Finally, satisfied after scrutinizing the instrument panel, he stepped back, initialed the checklist and handed it to the guard.
"Looks OK on the outside," he said. "I'll check out the warm up. If it cooks OK, I'm out of your way."
He squeezed into the cage, set and activated the reactor. Observing the power levels rise on the gauges, his fingers stroked the flitter's keys and levers. He tapped his coordinates into the nav-comp as the plant warmed.
The guard moved closer.
"Know how to set her? Maybe I can help, sir."
He stuck his head into the crowded space and watched the computer screen flip through the coordinates that Zolan inserted. The screen stabilized and reflected a series of vectors. The guard studied them. Zolan ignored him.
Zolan adjusted the torso belts and rechecked the reactor and weight-and-balance indicators. He heaved a heavy sigh.
"Well, time to hit the road," he said. "Stand back, man, I'm taking her up."
The guard stepped back and saluted. Zolan moved the power lever and directional controls. The framework and cage quivered and the flitter lifted up and away.
Looking down, Zolan saw the guard bending backward, watching his direction of flight.
"Hope he got them all down right," he thought as he entered new data into the computer.