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

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.

Zolan peered ahead. Reaching the depot's perimeter was less of a problem than he had anticipated. Following a few short stops to surface stations to inspect military tunnels and comm links, and validate the flitter's flight record, he diverted to a depression between Coldfield and the horizon. Resetting coordinates had taken seconds. Resuming flight, he quickly merged for a short distance with a queue of tugs and taxis along a crowded lane, then veered sharply up toward the Logistics Depot.

Blending his flitter's comm with the flood of electronic signals from nearby tugs and transports at the Gateway, Zolan drew closer to the huge Depot and took shelter in a knot of lashed vessels. Taking several deep breaths, he fixed his eyes and mind on the depot. Concentrating, he constricted and relaxed his neck and shoulder muscles in an irregular pattern, and repeated the rhythm until it invoked a slight pressure high in his left shoulder. The stresses energized the short-range sending device implanted in him prior to the Sentinel's escape.

His words, inaudible beyond his voice box, opened contact with the depot's command post.

"Calling Ditch-digger," he intoned. "Ditch-digger, refer to your k-library program file 6756, and respond on Bootstrap."

He repeated the message and waited. It would take time for the comm technician on duty to work it out. The communications staff would scurry about, searching for the program. Restricted to Sentinel, this contact would be its initial activation.

The receiver in his ear whispered, "This is
Ditch-digger in Bootstrap. Continue."

"Ditch-digger. Scramble 16."

Zolan hunched and tightened his shoulders to switch channels.

The voice came through. "Done."

"I want to speak with Colonel Hanno."

"One moment, please."

A short pause.

"Hanno."

"This is a Sentinel call. Break the seal on your copy of the Sentinel Support Plan and refer to Annex C, Section 21, line numbers 416 to 422. Note the encryption structure. I will cite the line in the structure that authenticates my request for support. Waiting."

Minutes passed. Breaking the seal on the highest classification Sentinel Support Plan was a grave responsibility that Hanno would not take lightly. He would need to do it in the station's security vault with no witnesses present. The comm center would then need to be cleared of personnel other than Hanno before the exchange could proceed. Finally, the receiver whispered again.

"I have the lines you refer to. Continue."

"Note how the authenticator is to be stated,"
Zolan said.

He rattled off a sequence of numbers, letters and symbols. Injecting a short, prescribed silence, he spun off another set. The authenticator was in two parts, each requiring its own style for presentation.

"Authenticator confirmed," Hanno said after a pause. "State request?"

"I'm in a flitter near the Gateway," Zolan said. "Request permission to come aboard and have unattended access to the spunnel transmitter for about five minutes. I will then depart."

"Permission granted. Do you wish an escort from your present position to the dock?"

"Yes, please send an unarmed tug to lead me through the gate, match me up, and point me at the dock. Tug operator and anyone else that observes my presence or the flitter must not repeat must not log the serial number of my flitter or any of its features. Clear all your people to beyond five meters in all direction from the passageways I'll be using, and from the spunnel comm center. I am armed with a hand weapon set for maximum effect without collateral damage to non-organics. My mission requires such precautions. Do you accept these conditions?"

"I accept."

"Noted. Have an unarmed guide at the air lock to precede me to the spunnel console. Instruct him to not speak to me, no questions, and to not interfere in any manner in what I do. When I've completed my work in the comm room the guide is to lead me back to the air lock. The same tug is then to get me through the Gateway, same conditions, and I'll be out of your way. When I'm gone conduct your highest-level UIPS security briefing. This mission is classified UIPS Black. Understood?"

"Understood. Ready?"

"Ready. I am moving toward the Gateway and will be there in two minutes. Have your man flash his reds and greens at one-second intervals. I will respond with standard flitter yellows at the same spacing. Over. Out."

Zolan carefully adjusted the controls to slip the flitter away from the screening vessels. Clear, he maneuvered his craft close to a space buoy that marked the route through Fandango.

A yellow-green striped tug appeared in the distance and grew larger. The Gateway's diameter could expand to pass the largest freighters or close completely. It could be straight or as convoluted as a randomly configured corkscrew. The tug passed through, flashing the agreed-on signals.

Zolan responded. The tug stopped, reversed heading, and waited for him to line up. Inside the force field, the route