Zolan walked into Brad's office and dropped intoa chair, clearly exhausted.
"How'd it go?"
"Couple of dozen screen generators in positionsunside," Zolan hefted a small, flat control in hishand as he spoke, then tossed it on the desk.
"The energizer," he said quietly.
Brad turned the control in his hands as he examinedeach safety lock. He slipped the control into apocket.
"Narval leaves for the conference in a few hours,"he said, almost in a whisper. He could not hide hisdeep sadness.
They rose and walked together toward the door.Without speaking, Zolan left and disappeared arounda bend in the corridor.
The hour of Narval's departure brought a whirl ofexcitement to Coldfield. The transit strip from theofficial residence to the President's air lock hadbeen stopped, scrubbed clean, and a padded chairinstalled on it for Narval's comfort.
Narval boarded the strip, accompanied by hispersonal guards. The guards took protectivepositions ahead, behind, and along the strip'sedges, completely surrounding their leader. Thestrip began to move and maintained a slow, steadypace until Narval was abreast the air lock; it cameto a smooth stop.
The air lock had been decorated with flags andbunting; a red carpet extended from the strip tothe air lock. Narval swept in and passed throughthe inner compartment.
The Revenge, Narval's luxurious spunnel yacht wasmoored to pylons above the air lock. The yacht'scommander, Captain Ras Hamdia, stood stiffly atthe head of a line of ship's officers inside its portal.
A set of taut, parallel cables rose from the airlock to the ship. Fastened to the cables at thesurface, Narval's personal red and black liftcapsule was ready to transfer him aloft withoutthe inconvenience of donning a space suit.
Narval entered the lift with an officer who doggedthe doors and flashed the ready signal.
"Up, easy," the ship's captain ordered.
The lift rose slowly until it reached the Revenge'sportal. An articulated crane grasped the cabingently, drew it inboard along slackened cables andlowered it to a mobile platform. Suited techniciansdashed forward to disengage the cables, and thecapsule was pushed inside.
Narval safely aboard, space tugs encircledthe Revenge and took positions along its hull.Mag-beams flashed across. The Revenge disengagedfrom the mooring tower and drifted off. The tugsnudged it along to a hundred kay above the dome,cut their mass-attractors and the ship disappearedinto the node of the Planet Pluto Spunnel.
Narval was off to his destiny.
##
Zolan stood among a throng of space-suited citizensbelow the Revenge, from where he watched itascend and move off. Minutes later, none but Zolanremained.
Aware of his awesome responsibility, a sense ofserenity in the power of his will suffused Zolan'sbeing. He had been faithful to the science and artof his chosen profession, and his devotion to theSentinels' mission had enriched his harmony withall about him. It had come to this.
Tilting his head back in the clear plastic helmetof his suit, Zolan watched the Revenge enter thespunnel node. He lost interest and headed for aspace taxi.
Climbing aboard, he punched in his identifier codeand the coordinates for a tunnel warehouse fiftykay distant where he had a clearance on file. Thetaxi digested the data, reported to its mastercontrol inside Coldfield, and received the requiredpermission. The taxi rose briskly in a tight turnand accelerated toward a range of low hills.
Out of sight beyond a hillock, Zolan reachedinto the circuitry behind the instrument panel,manipulated connections, and punched in newcoordinates. The taxi paused and aligned to thenew course, Zolan's hands on its manual controls.The advance notification to control center wasinoperative.
Charon grew in size up ahead as the taxiapproached. Zolan stabilized the flitter to hoverstationary barely a meter above the frozen methane.As he disembarked, Zolan reached behind theinstrument panel and readjusting the circuits.Transmissions from the taxi's computer wouldsoon resume and indicate a routine return from thepreviously entered destination. Zolan watched thetaxi out of sight.
The distant tiny sphere that formed the solar Sunwas a wonder to behold against the black velvet skyand the clusters of distant galaxies. He absorbedonce more the splendor of the planets in theirgraceful courses around the giver of life. Herecalled and visualized each planet, natural andartificial satellite and space station out to theGuardians. He had roamed among them all; theywere the only home he had known.
A sense of weariness seemed to overpower him; hecould not delay. He searched the heavens for a starwith which to orient himself. Finding it, he facedthe direction wherein lay the secret spunnelbooster 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 hisconcentration brought on trance. A tiny glow,deeply embedded in his subconscious, mushroomedinto a pulsing network of charged filaments. Hisarms and legs throbbed, and the pain of furies cutthrough his torpor and slowly drained him of lifeforce. In milliseconds, his face shrunk and seamed,and his body collapsed in on itself. The filamentsin Zolan's brain crackled and snapped. His brainexploded inside his skull as the message burst out.The rigid suit held his body erect, arms extendedtoward the Sun.
Standing on the stark and lifeless plain Ram'sstate-of-the-art modification to Zolan's brainand mind had completed its task.