The Universe — or Nothing by Meyer Moldeven (i like reading .txt) 📕

to Narval, the recordings were sent to the boss from the hospital as soon as Scarf was admitted — routine security under the circumstances. I heard a short while ago that Narval spent some time in Scarf's hospital room. I can only assume he was questioning Scarf on the unedited recording as well as whatever he witnessed."

"What happens now?"

"Got a call from Narval's office a short while ago. Narval wants to meet you. Call his office ASAP and get a time."

##

Narval's stare was long and searching. He ignored the armed guards standing within effective range of Brad.

"Sit." Narval pointed to a heavy chair directly in front of his desk. Straight-backed from flat, hard seat to shoulder level, extension clamshells from the upper section of the chair curved forward sharply to form tapered wings.

Brad sat. The clamshells closed in and stopped a few centimeters from his temple. Wired pads extended and touched his skull at several points. The chair was not comfortable; psychic probes weren't meant to be.

"Tell me about yourself," Narval leaned back, inspected his fingers, and then concentrated on a monitor in the wall behind the chair in which Brad sat.

"My name is Brad Curtin," Brad began, "and I'm here with five others to seek sanctuary."

"Tell me about the crimes of which you were convicted, the Guardian Station prison to which you were committed, how you organized your escape, and how it was carried through. You know, of course, that you're undergoing psychic probe. The probe compensates for your awareness of its being used on you; the validity of the findings is not degraded. I see the monitor from where I sit, so, let's hear your story."

Brad spoke for fifteen minutes without interruption. He related the events on his transport off Luna, the investigation that led to his trial, his testimony before the Board, and his arrival at the Guardian Station. Without hesitation, he swung into the cover scenario that had been burned deep into his psyche by Ram's technicians: how he had selected his accomplices, organized the escape, joined the convoy into the spunnel, and finally, his arrival on Planet Pluto.

Brad let the embedded scripts flow freely. He trusted Ram's preparations; his life and the lives of his companions depended on them. Far more important, the Sentinels mission demanded it. Anomalies, he knew, would be sensed immediately, should he even try to color his recounting of the personal knowledge and programmed experiences now deeply embedded in his mind.

Brad stopped talking; the general questions had been answered. Narval studied the wall monitor behind Brad, and returned his stare to Brad.

"Let's clear up a few points," he said. "I understand the ship that you, shall we say, expropriated for your escape was no more than a local utility vessel in the Belt. Yet, from what you say — and from your ship's log — your destination was the rim. Wouldn't you have had a fuel problem?"

"We thought at first that we would. Our plan, originally, was to get to a refueling station, replenish our energy packs, and take it from there. When we checked our bearings, we discovered that our coordinates put us within range of a spunnel node so we headed for that. When we got there, several convoys were lined up for entry to the Special Zone. Our ship had UIPS markings and the gateway was crowded. We managed to get in the lineup and made it."

Narval glanced at the monitor.

"I see. Now, the Guardian Station prison, I am informed, keeps tabs on its inmates using a sophisticated surveillance system. How did you manage to evade observation long enough to get away?"

"Zolan, a member of our group is an expert in electronic countermeasures, counter-countermeasures, and so on. The system on the Guardian Station was installed two to three centuries ago. It serves fine, I suppose, for the ordinary run of inmates confined on the station. Zolan devised a screen behind which we did our planning and preparations. When we were ready to go, he rammed both a counter and a counter-counter device into the station's sensors. The double whammy confused the hell out of the system long enough for us to make our getaway."

"That's my next question. It seems to me the
Space Guard should have been after you immediately.
How is it they let you get away?"

"I think I owe you the credit for that."

"Me?"

"That's the way I figure it. The Guard needs a minimum number of ships to do its work in the Inner Region space lanes. Those lanes are so crowded that they need every ship they can muster to maintain order. On that I speak from long and bitter personal experience. Since the secession, many more Guard vessels are needed along the Belt and their overlap into the Jovian Void; at best they're thinly spread.

"Because of the threat to Slingshot that they perceive in you, the UIPS has been draining both groups lately to augment patrols along routes through the Outer Region that converge on the Special Zone. The additional ships are from the Belt patrols. With all that they already have to cover, expending vital resources to chase a few escaped convicts just wasn't worth it."

Narval wheezed a chuckle.

"So, you think you are beholden to me for this indirect assistance. Really feel that way?"

As he asked the question he looked intently at the monitor. Brad, in turn, watched Narval's eyes.

"I can't see it any other way, Mr. President."

Narval grinned.

"Your answers to my questions present an interesting scenario," Narval said after studying the monitor. "The probe, by the way, does not indicate significant deviations from the facts — as you understand them, of course."

Narval waved the guards away. Saluting, they left the room, closing the door softly behind them. Narval motioned Brad to a chair of much gentler design alongside his desk. As Brad exchanged seats Narval swiveled his chair to face him. He leaned forward and grasped Brad's wrist in a puffy grip.

"The interrogation is over," he said. "This little session with the probe, along with voice analyses of you and your associates has, up to now, failed to disclose a threat to me or about what you all now know of my plans and military capabilities. You seem to be what you claim. Nevertheless, you remain under scrutiny."

Brad shrugged and remained silent; his features reflected that he expected no less.

Narval's smile was vapid, metallic.

"I commend you for the manner in which you represented Drummer and, I add, myself. You did well with the log depot Commander and that upstart on the transport. I am especially pleased with the way you conducted yourself in that little squabble on the transport."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"Now, to more important matters, Brad."

Narval leaned back in his deeply cushioned chair and tented his stubby fingers.

"Your observations on the deployment of UIPS military forces interests me. It supports my suspicions. The Inner Region's internal Space Guard is constabulary in both organization and mission. Their jurisdiction is confined by the UIPS borders. Their Military Space Force, on the other hand, has a charter to roam the Solar System — comparable to ancient laws ensuring open seas and oceans.

"Transfer of fighter craft and pilots from the UIPS Space Guard to the Military Space Force, I suspect, is now taking place. Many will need to be refitted for long range operations, and their crews trained in military concepts and tactics in place of those employed in local constabulary duties."

Narval twisted the rings on his fingers, and his tiny eyes seemed to sink deeper into surrounding flesh.

"The greatest single concern of the UIPS is the integrity of Slingshot and the Special Zone. I am convinced that the UIPS military forces, once they attain optimum strength, will attempt to crush me, or at the least, dominate the Zone.

"We must prepare to withstand, to resist, and to triumph over this UIPS aggression in the Outer Region."

Brad felt Narval's eyes on him.

"You are going to help me to prepare," Narval said.

Chapter TWENTY-TWO

Drummer expected the call.

"Drummer," Narval said as the door closed behind the guard and they were alone, "UIPS perception of me as a threat can be as effective a weapon as my transforming the threat into the deed itself."

Drummer chose caution. "How so, Mr. President?"

Narval peered sharply at Drummer as he leaned his heavy body back, and folded ring-encrusted hands across his paunch. He shifted his gaze to the ceiling and half-closed his eyes.

"The UIPS now perceives us as having demonstrated a capability for military actions against their vital interests. If we follow up with threats and menacing gestures against Slingshot, the effect may unnerve them, to say the least. How do you see it?"

"It seems to me we've gone far beyond mere threats," Drummer's tone, now grim, continued. "Raiding and harassing their transports, attacking and destroying UIPS patrollers in the Zone, and now, the inventory tax. We formally notify them by Proclamation that we'll lay siege to the Log Depot, we've boarded one of their armed transports and disabled its armaments. These are not empty threats and impetuous gestures."

"Even so, they are prologue, Drummer. Hear me."

Narval twisted his rings, first in one direction then opposite. Lowering his eyes to his hands, he paused often between words, choosing them with care.

"Here in the Outer Region, the separate nations are convulsed by internal struggles for power both internal to their sovereignty and within the family of independent satellites that orbit their host planet. Their political philosophies are diverse, lack cohesion, and have powerful advocates or opponents, some openly, others covert. The Heads of State are insecure and fear political coups. Rapid changes in leadership cannot be ruled out."

Drummer watched Narval eyes caress his entwined fingers.

"If new leaders arise and take over the reins of power from incumbents, so much the better for me. New governments will need time to become entrenched, create lines of authority and accountability, and install bureaucracies responsive to the wishes of a new elite. I repeat, confusion in the ranks, within other governments, is to my advantage."

"Can you count on such events materializing?"

"Of course not."

Narval wagged a finger at Drummer.

"But the uncertainty within regimes that these disruptions can, and may occur, dissipates and weakens their energies. If they fear enemies from within, and suspect enemies from outside, then they are diseased and warrant being replaced by a daring and skillful master."

"Who might that be?"

"Me."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Then listen carefully, because you play a vital role in my plans."

Narval motioned a now openly apprehensive Drummer to the chair beside his desk. As Drummer sat, Narval leaned close.

"My strategy has two facets: one involves INOR, the other, the UIPS. They are interdependent."

Unfolding his clasped hands, Narval's fingers drummed the desk.

"I repeat, with INOR in turmoil no head of state can feel secure. New philosophies surface and attract supporters, occasionally, even strong leaders. If forces with objectives opposing mine move into the Outer Region, I will not sit by idly. I will intervene, even if it means imposing the most stringent discipline and controls."

"With respect, President Narval, does Planet Pluto have the right to intervene into the affairs of other nations?"

Narval scowled, recovered, and snickered.

"Power gives us rights we would not have otherwise. When the old United Planetary System decided to use Planet Pluto as the forward base for Slingshot, they invested the planet with some of their most advanced technologies. Other communities throughout the Outer Region are just that: places where people live, work, play, consume and little else.

"Slingshot has given Planet Pluto a far greater role in the solar scheme. And now, a role that was entirely unexpected when Slingshot was first planned, dissolution of the unified solar government released us from UIPS domination. We gained opportunities to fashion and strengthen an infrastructure, and freedom to confuse our INOR neighbors with a melange of schemes to satisfy their greed. Slingshot technology, facilities, and materiel give to us, more than to any other member of INOR, the means to attain our aspirations. Power creates its own logic, Drummer.

"To answer your question: I will intervene into the affairs of other nations when it is to my benefit to do so."

Narval's hands clenched into fists. He pounded the top of his desk in a tattoo as he glared at Drummer through eye slits embedded in fat.

"Understand me, Drummer," Narval shrilled. "I will be the dominant force in INOR, and that's only the beginning."

Narval quieted, each warily observing the other. Hesitatingly, Drummer tried to respond to Narval's incredible declaration.

"Is that what's behind your recent Proclamation to the UIPS on a new foundation for interregional relationships?"

"Partly."

"What else is there?"

"Unfortunately, we cannot repeat Tornado Six. When I approved it, I intended it as a one-time operation to, shall we say, test the waters. It succeeded through your command, and the extraordinary initiative of Brad Curtin. We must now go on to other probing and design new confrontations from which the