Drummer touched a switch connecting him to the bridge.
"Captain," he said. "Launch the Dragon. Take your position at the coordinates I gave to you. Activate our comm system to the depot."
The ship shuddered as it shot from the gallery and headed for the concentration of spacecraft above Pluto. It slowed as it passed through the umbrella formation and stopped fifty kay from the nearest transport.
Time lapse from launch was less than two minutes.
Surprise was complete; the effect, paralyzing.
All movement around the depot slowed to a halt. The intranet filled with "What the hell's going on?", "Who are these guys?", and "Bring on the dancing girls." Then, suddenly, the channels blanked, replaced by silence.
Drummer keyed his microphone open and handed it to Brad.
Brad took on a harsh tone.
"Attention: Commander of Slingshot Logistics Depot and Masters of all vessels, inside or outside the Fandango Force Field. The national interests of the Government of Planet Pluto demands compliance with Plutonian laws by all persons and properties within its jurisdiction. You and your vessels and the Logistics Depot are in Plutonian territory, therefore, our laws apply to you.
"The Fleet Commander of this Plutonian Security
Force wishes to speak with the Commander of the
Slingshot Logistics Depot. Depot Commander, please
identify yourself and stand by. Acknowledge."
Silence. Thirty seconds.