Chapter TWENTY-ONE
Brad poked his head into Drummer's office at FleetHeadquarters. Drummer, at his desk, bent overa document, cast frequent glances at electronicdisplays on the wall nearby. Racks of datacapsules, no space for them on the busydesk, crowded the floor nearby. A conical viewtank, recessed in the wall to his left, glowedwith symbols of ships and their militarycharacteristics, along with tactical and logisticallinks.
Scanning the monitors and view tank, Drummerhefted a hand control and pressed keys. Eyeshalf-closed, he silently transformed mental imagesinto memoranda and messages. Aware of Brad'spresence, he paused and focused on him in the doorway.
"I thought you planned to take a couple of days offafter Tornado Six," Brad said.
"Can't," Drummer replied, his eyes back to his notes.
"What's happening?"
"Until Tornado Six, our forces functioned asseparate units. Tornado Six was our fleet's firstintegrated operation. The mission succeeded becausewe got away without military opposition. I can'ttrust that sort of luck to hold. We need to refineour tactics, based on our experience with the logdepot and that armed transport, and in anticipationof an early organized response by the UIPS."
Brad appeared uncertain whether to remain ormove on.
"Stand by a moment, Brad."
Drummer resumed recording. Symbols in thetank flashed off and on too quickly for the eye tofollow, but Drummer was no longer giving them hisattention. He touched a glowing disk on the armof his chair, sighed, and leaned back. The view tankcleared to continue its work unobserved.
"I need a break. Here's what's happening, Brad."
He motioned Brad to a seat alongside his desk.
"Narval was impressed at our success, especiallyhow we bluffed our way through it. Just aswell we didn't push too hard and force aneyeball-to-eyeball confrontation. He wants muchmore preparation before we get to that point.I agree, we'll leave that until our next no-noticeinspection."
"Well, we did have a fire fight, of sorts, on theSandbox," Brad interjected.
"By itself, much less significant than the raidswe've made on UIPS patrols and shipping. TheSandbox incident was the ship commander's faulthowever one looks at it. By the way," Drummergrinned. "I suggested to Colonel Hanno thathe chastise the Sandbox's commander aboutallowing his people to attack my agents. Laxdiscipline, and all that."
Brad laughed, but grimly recalled Rimov's wasteddeath. Drummer joined him in the laugh, thenquickly resumed his serious expression. Elbowson desk, hands clasped, he frowned at Brad.
"In categorizing the Sandbox incident'insignificant' I do so only in the context of itseffect on objectives and strategy. In anothersense, it was quite important."
"Oh?"
"Narval was pleased with the way you handledyourself on the Dragon in dealing with Hannoand Bura."
"How did he find out?"
"Scarf's nature, it seems, made him anxious toget a verbatim record of everything said in hispresence during Tornado Six. He was wired, andeverything said in his presence was recorded.Had events gone otherwise, I'm convinced hewould have lifted statements that each of usmade and twisted them to discredit us.
"Putting Scarf in hospital immediately upon returnto base didn't give him the chance to tailor thetranscript. Since he reports directly to Narval,the recordings were sent to the boss from thehospital as soon as Scarf was admitted -- routinesecurity under the circumstances. I heard a shortwhile ago that Narval spent some time in Scarf'shospital room. I can only assume he was questioningScarf on the unedited recording as well as whateverhe witnessed."
"What happens now?"
"Got a call from Narval's office a short while ago.Narval wants to meet you. Call his office ASAPand get a time."
##
Narval's stare was long and searching. He ignoredthe armed guards standing within effective rangeof Brad.
"Sit." Narval pointed to a heavy chair directly infront of his desk. Straight-backed from flat, hardseat to shoulder level, extension clamshells fromthe upper section of the chair curved forwardsharply to form tapered wings.
Brad sat. The clamshells closed in and stoppeda few centimeters from his temple. Wired padsextended and touched his skull at several points.The chair was not comfortable; psychic probesweren't meant to be.
"Tell me about yourself," Narval leaned back,inspected his fingers, and then concentrated ona monitor in the wall behind the chair in whichBrad sat.
"My name is Brad Curtin," Brad began, "and I'mhere with five others to seek sanctuary."
"Tell me about the crimes of which you wereconvicted, the Guardian Station prison to which youwere committed, how you organized your escape,and how it was carried through. You know, of course,that you're undergoing psychic probe. The probecompensates for your awareness of its being usedon you; the validity of the findings is not degraded.I see the monitor from where I sit, so, let's hearyour story."
Brad spoke for fifteen minutes withoutinterruption. He related the events on histransport off Luna, the investigation that ledto his trial, his testimony before the Board,and his arrival at the Guardian Station. Withouthesitation, he swung into the cover scenario thathad been burned deep into his psyche by Ram'stechnicians: how he had selected his accomplices,organized the escape, joined the convoy into thespunnel, and finally, his arrival on Planet Pluto.
Brad let the embedded scripts flow freely. Hetrusted Ram's preparations; his life and the livesof his companions depended on them. Far moreimportant, the Sentinels mission demanded it.Anomalies, he knew, would be sensed immediately,should he even try to color his recounting of thepersonal knowledge and programmed experiencesnow deeply embedded in his mind.
Brad stopped talking; the general questions hadbeen answered. Narval studied the wall monitorbehind Brad, and returned his stare to Brad.
"Let's clear up a few points," he said. "Iunderstand the ship that you, shall we say,expropriated for your escape was no morethan a local utility vessel in the Belt. Yet, fromwhat you say -- and from your ship's log -- yourdestination was the rim. Wouldn't you have had afuel 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 thatour coordinates put us within range of a spunnel nodeso we headed for that. When we got there, severalconvoys were lined up for entry to the SpecialZone. Our ship had UIPS markings and the gatewaywas crowded. We managed to get in the lineup andmade it."
Narval glanced at the monitor.
"I see. Now, the Guardian Station prison, I aminformed, keeps tabs on its inmates using asophisticated surveillance system. How did youmanage to evade observation long enough to getaway?"
"Zolan, a member of our group is anexpert in electronic countermeasures,counter-countermeasures, and so on. The systemon the Guardian Station was installed two to threecenturies ago. It serves fine, I suppose, for theordinary run of inmates confined on the station.Zolan devised a screen behind which we did ourplanning and preparations. When we were ready togo, he rammed both a counter and a counter-counterdevice into the station's sensors. The doublewhammy confused the hell out of the systemlong enough for us to make our getaway."
"That's my next question. It seems to me theSpace 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 aminimum number of ships to do its work in the InnerRegion space lanes. Those lanes are so crowded thatthey need every ship they can muster to maintainorder. On that I speak from long and bitterpersonal experience. Since the secession, manymore Guard vessels are needed along the Beltand their overlap into the Jovian Void; at bestthey're thinly spread.
"Because of the threat to Slingshot that theyperceive in you, the UIPS has been draining bothgroups lately to augment patrols along routesthrough the Outer Region that converge on theSpecial Zone. The additional ships ar
e from theBelt patrols. With all that they already have tocover, expending vital resources to chase a fewescaped convicts just wasn't worth it."
Narval wheezed a chuckle.
"So, you think you are beholden to me for thisindirect assistance. Really feel that way?"
As he asked the question he looked intently atthe 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 aninteresting scenario," Narval said after studyingthe monitor. "The probe, by the way, does notindicate significant deviations from the facts --as you understand them, of course."
Narval waved the guards away. Saluting, they leftthe room, closing the door softly behind them.Narval motioned Brad to a chair of much gentlerdesign alongside his desk. As Brad exchanged seatsNarval swiveled his chair to face him. He leanedforward and grasped Brad's wrist in a puffy grip.
"The interrogation is over," he said. "This littlesession with the probe, along with voice analysesof you and your associates has, up to now, failedto disclose a threat to me or about what you allnow 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 featuresreflected that he expected no less.
Narval's smile was vapid, metallic.
"I commend you for the manner in which yourepresented Drummer and, I add, myself. You didwell with the log depot Commander and that upstarton the transport. I am especially pleased with theway you conducted yourself in that little squabbleon the transport."
"Thank you, Mr. President."
"Now, to more important matters, Brad."
Narval leaned back in his deeply cushioned chairand tented his stubby fingers.
"Your observations on the deployment of UIPSmilitary forces interests me. It supports mysuspicions. The Inner Region's internal Space Guardis constabulary in both organization and mission.Their jurisdiction is confined by the UIPS borders.Their Military Space Force, on the other hand, hasa charter to roam the Solar System -- comparableto ancient laws ensuring open seas and oceans.
"Transfer of fighter craft and pilots from the UIPSSpace Guard to the Military Space Force, I suspect,is now taking place. Many will need to be refittedfor long range operations, and their crews trainedin military concepts and tactics in place of thoseemployed in local constabulary duties."
Narval twisted the rings on his fingers, and histiny eyes seemed to sink deeper into surroundingflesh.
"The greatest single concern of the UIPS is theintegrity of Slingshot and the Special Zone. I amconvinced that the UIPS military forces, once theyattain optimum strength, will attempt to crush me,or at the least, dominate the Zone.
"We must prepare to withstand, to resist, andto triumph over this UIPS aggression in the OuterRegion."
Brad felt Narval's eyes on him.
"You are going to help me to prepare," Narval said.