The Universe - or Nothing Part 41

Brad motioned Zolan and Hodak closer.

"I'm putting a fast utility under your command, Zolan. Your number one job is to build, harmonize, test and whatever else it takes to create a communications interference generator. Camouflage and position it between the Planet Pluto Special Zone and all sunside comm boosters, both spunnel and conventional. Set it up to activate by remote.

The screen must have enough spread to block all messages, incoming and outgoing from Planet Pluto, the combined fleet, plus the depot area and the Slingshot terminals. Exception: Narval wants us to flash him a message as soon as we've taken the objective and turned the ships' Commanders. Fix the barricade so that we can shoot a one-time flash-spunnel message through to him. Clear?"

"Clear. When?"

"Now. I'll go with you to the tunnel where the generators are stored to make sure we select the best of the lot. Hodak, you come with us to give 'em a condition check. We can't afford chances with this equipment."

Narval removed the tiny ear piece through which he had listened to Brad give his orders, smiled with satisfaction, and pressed a b.u.t.ton along the edge of his desk.

"Scarf out there?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"In."

Scarf sidled in and stood deferentially at the entry.

"Don't just stand there, you idiot," Narval snapped. "Get up here where I can talk to you."

Scarf hastened forward and halted a couple of meters from the desk. He held his helmet in one hand and saluted with the other.

"Here are my orders to you for while I'm gone.

Double the guards on Planet Pluto's spunnel transmitter. No Plutonian communications are to be permitted to destinations outside the Special Zone.

One exception: I've given Drummer orders that when he completes the tasks I've a.s.signed him, he is to send a flash message to me at the conference site. a.s.sign reliable technicians to open the spunnel center for only that one outgoing message."

"Yes, sir."

"Figure out some way to be aboard the Dragon during the operation. Watch Drummer; I still don't trust him. If he tries to undermine my authority while I'm away, shoot him."

"It'll be a pleasure, sir. What about Brad and his buddies?"

"If they resist my orders, kill them. If it does get to that, send me a spunnel flash after you've done it. If you do kill Drummer and Brad, a.s.sume control of the combined fleet and the Terminals.

If that's not possible, blast the terminals out of the sky."

Chapter THIRTY-FIVE

Zolan walked into Brad's office and dropped into a chair, clearly exhausted.

"How'd it go?"

"Couple of dozen screen generators in position sunside," Zolan hefted a small, flat control in his hand as he spoke, then tossed it on the desk.

"The energizer," he said quietly.

Brad turned the control in his hands as he examined each safety lock. He slipped the control into a pocket.

"Narval leaves for the conference in a few hours,"

he said, almost in a whisper. He could not hide his deep sadness.

They rose and walked together toward the door.

Without speaking, Zolan left and disappeared around a bend in the corridor.

The hour of Narval's departure brought a whirl of excitement to Coldfield. The transit strip from the official residence to the President's air lock had been stopped, scrubbed clean, and a padded chair installed on it for Narval's comfort.

Narval boarded the strip, accompanied by his personal guards. The guards took protective positions ahead, behind, and along the strip's edges, completely surrounding their leader. The strip began to move and maintained a slow, steady pace until Narval was abreast the air lock; it came to a smooth stop.

The air lock had been decorated with flags and bunting; a red carpet extended from the strip to the air lock. Narval swept in and pa.s.sed through the inner compartment.

The Revenge, Narval's luxurious spunnel yacht was moored to pylons above the air lock. The yacht's commander, Captain Ras Hamdia, stood stiffly at the head of a line of ship's officers inside its portal.

A set of taut, parallel cables rose from the air lock to the ship. Fastened to the cables at the surface, Narval's personal red and black lift capsule was ready to transfer him aloft without the inconvenience of donning a s.p.a.ce suit.

Narval entered the lift with an officer who dogged the doors and flashed the ready signal.

"Up, easy," the ship's captain ordered.

The lift rose slowly until it reached the Revenge's portal. An articulated crane grasped the cabin gently, drew it inboard along slackened cables and lowered it to a mobile platform. Suited technicians dashed forward to disengage the cables, and the capsule was pushed inside.

Narval safely aboard, s.p.a.ce tugs encircled the Revenge and took positions along its hull.

Mag-beams flashed across. The Revenge disengaged from the mooring tower and drifted off. The tugs nudged it along to a hundred kay above the dome, cut their ma.s.s-attractors and the ship disappeared into the node of the Planet Pluto Spunnel.

Narval was off to his destiny.

Zolan stood among a throng of s.p.a.ce-suited citizens below the Revenge, from where he watched it ascend and move off. Minutes later, none but Zolan remained.

Aware of his awesome responsibility, a sense of serenity in the power of his will suffused Zolan's being. He had been faithful to the science and art of his chosen profession, and his devotion to the Sentinels' mission had enriched his harmony with all about him. It had come to this.

Tilting his head back in the clear plastic helmet of his suit, Zolan watched the Revenge enter the spunnel node. He lost interest and headed for a s.p.a.ce taxi.

Climbing aboard, he punched in his identifier code and the coordinates for a tunnel warehouse fifty kay distant where he had a clearance on file. The taxi digested the data, reported to its master control inside Coldfield, and received the required permission. The taxi rose briskly in a tight turn and accelerated toward a range of low hills.

Out of sight beyond a hillock, Zolan reached into the circuitry behind the instrument panel, manipulated connections, and punched in new coordinates. The taxi paused and aligned to the new course, Zolan's hands on its manual controls.

The advance notification to control center was inoperative.

Charon grew in size up ahead as the taxi approached. Zolan stabilized the flitter to hover stationary barely a meter above the frozen methane.

As he disembarked, Zolan reached behind the instrument panel and readjusting the circuits.

Transmissions from the taxi's computer would soon resume and indicate a routine return from the previously entered destination. Zolan watched the taxi out of sight.

The distant tiny sphere that formed the solar Sun was a wonder to behold against the black velvet sky and the cl.u.s.ters of distant galaxies. He absorbed once more the splendor of the planets in their graceful courses around the giver of life. He recalled and visualized each planet, natural and artificial satellite and s.p.a.ce station out to the Guardians. He had roamed among them all; they were the only home he had known.