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

"Excellent, Brad, excellent."

Narval beamed at his new Commander of Combat Operations and twisted his mouth into a malevolent grin.

"One change," he said, eyes on Brad. "Up to now, the objective of your strategic planning and tactics has been the Depot. Now here this: the Depot is no longer the target. Your target is the Slingshot construction site including the 'Terminals'. You are to take control of the entire complex and hold it as my hostage. Adjust your plans, tactics and schedules accordingly."

The air was stale in the alcove adjoining Brad's office. Hodak and Kumiko hovered over a console, entering and manipulating data. They compared computations against hard print charts, entered notes in manuals and drawings spread across a worktable, and mumbled at each other solemnly across the space separating them. Adari studied a large-scale celestial navigational chart tacked to the wall, Zolan tapped at a remote keyboard, and Myra scrutinized a spreadsheet. All were engrossed in their own piece of the action.

Brad, entered and paused to observe them. Myra glanced up, waved absently as her eyes returned to the spreadsheet.

Weaving along the tight aisle to a chair against the far wall, Brad turned the chair about and sat, his arms on the upper crossbar. He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Take five," he said. "Let's talk."

Zolan pressed a key to save his data, Kumiko rolled up her chart, and Hodak put a marker in the manual. Myra and Adari's charts lay where they were as eyes focused on Brad. The room was cramped, space for moving about was tight.

"We have new orders," Brad said.

Zolan grunted, "Ahh, nuts," and frowned at Brad in disgust. Myra groaned and Hodak spit a sullen blast of profanities. Adari shrugged, and Kumiko gave Brad her sweet so-what-else-is-new smile.

Brad recounted his meeting with Narval and Drummer. So that there would be no misunderstandings among them, he repeated Narval's strategy and instructions, finishing with the new target for the assault. The room was silent.

"Now that we know the construction site is the target we'll use it for working out the details for fleet integration, formation and logistics in place of what we had before," Brad rasped. "Better now than after we've launched and met up with our allies. Not much time, though. We'll be working round-the-clock until it's done, checked out, and space and surface Commanders briefed."

He gave orders rapidly.

"Break out the tactical and support plans we worked up for the Combined Fleet's Order of Battle at the Neptune meeting. Myra, rework your admin and medical requirements. Install two dozen psychic probes on the Dragon. We'll need at least that many to check out the loyalty flip-flops Narval expects when we lay the new target on the INOR Commanders, plus accepting Narval as their new Supreme Commander.

"Draft an order to Scarf for Narval's signature to transfer three hundred of his shock troops from our attack transports to the Dragon, and crank its effects into tactics and logistics. Scrounge up enough certified technicians to operate the probes. That'll still leave about eleven hundred troops to secure the Terminals after we take them, which should be enough. Juggle the tactics for that change. If anyone asks, we're using Scarf's troops on the Dragon as flunkies during the victory party. I don't think you need me to draw a picture of the real reason. We've got to reshuffle the entire logistics deck. Your job, Myra. Got it?"

Myra grunted, raised her middle finger, then quickly realigned it with the rest of her hand and snapped off a mechanical salute.

"Got it," she said.

"Kumiko, the targets will cover an area much wider and deeper than you planned for in your original computations. Rework the combined fleet's weapons disposition, analyze our firepower and orient them to the terminals' weak points. Let's talk after we finish here and work up formation options and vectors from rendezvous. Cover surveillance and interdiction against potential threats from UIPS assets in the Special Zone; compute tracking guidance for each type of weapon installed on Plutonian ships, and update target displays for our launchers and guns should it get to that. I especially want you to analyze the combined fleet's Order of Battle to identify our potential vulnerabilities and how an enemy force might exploit them. Provide me with a detailed document in a capsule so I can use it on the Dragon."

Brad turned to face Hodak.

"Re-examine emergency maintenance in this new arena. Our ships will be much further from home base than when the depot was the objective. We can't afford any ships dropping out of the line for repairs.

"Adari, got a big one for you. The other INOR ships will still rendezvous with the Plutonian fleet at Point Icarus, halfway between the depot and the Slingshot work site. Work out the nav for our fleet to the rendezvous; design formations, convergence and other vectors that'll keep the ships out of each other's way. Employ Order of Battle options to lay out the nav for each ship of the combined fleet from Point Icarus to target. Kumiko and I will be working on tac-options and we'll get them to you as soon as they're ready.

"This applies to all: compute, coordinate and commit resources to implement our new orders. OK. Get going."

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 button 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 assigned him, he is to send a flash message to me at the conference site. Assign 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, assume control of the combined fleet and the Terminals. If that's not possible, blast the terminals out of the sky."

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 passed 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 space 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, space 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 mass-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 space-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 space 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 clusters 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 space station out to the Guardians. He had roamed among them all; they were the only home he had known.

A sense of weariness seemed to overpower him; he could not delay. He searched the heavens for a star with which to orient himself. Finding it, he faced the direction wherein lay the secret spunnel booster through which he would send his message. Ram would know how it had come, what it meant, and what it had cost.

Zolan cleansed his mind, except for the message. He closed his eyes and the strength of his concentration brought on trance. A tiny glow, deeply embedded in his subconscious, mushroomed into a pulsing network of charged filaments. His arms and legs throbbed, and the pain of furies cut through his torpor and slowly drained him of life force. In milliseconds, his face