"And that's it." Ram finished recapping his trip as he gingerly rubbed the large bruise on his head.
"They're lining up for a confrontation," he said, "both political and military, and Slingshot is the club they'll hold over us. They think they smell the blood of victory, and there isn't a cool head among them."
He turned to Brad.
"Your message was incomplete," he said. "What was left out?"
"Narval's planning guidance on the assault launch point," Brad replied, citing the coordinates, bringing Ram up to date.
They were silent as Ram mulled over his options. Sighing, he rose and stretched his frame, bending slightly to keep his head from scraping against the vault's roof.
"The attack on me must have been approved by Narval," he said. "My feeling is he didn't want to talk to me because his preparations and commitments are too far along. He feared that, had we met, I might get enough from our discussions to see his game plan. I've got to get home — fast." Grinning at Brad, he asked, "OK, how are you going to get me out of this rat's nest and back to my ship?"
##
Narval screeched, face twisted, hands pounding the desk.
"What do you mean, standing there and telling me you've lost track of your people? Not that I give a damn about them, but you gave them a simple job to do, and I want to know, now, where it stands."