Chapter 15

Narval slouched back into his overstuffed chair. Drummer faced him from across the enormous ebony-composite desk.

Bringing his hand close, Narval searched for a fingernail that demanded his attention.

“President Camari must accept that we have the military forces to impose our will on Slingshot,” he said, momentarily shifting his eyes to Drummer. “If he does not accept my offer I want to ram it down his throat. Have you come up with an action to implement our new policy?”

“I have.”

“Lay it out.”

“With no advance notice, impose the inventory tax on all Slingshot supplies on board the Depot and on UIPS vessels on both sides of the Fandango force field. The first step is to conduct our own inventory of UIPS property in Plutonian space; to do that we must have on site access to the Depot’s records, and spot check the records against the assets. The presence of our military forces in space close to the Depot will back up our inventory staff. Businesslike, formal, and highly visible.”

“Why don’t you use that tactic on the dozens of Slingshot laboratories and assembly centers here on Pluto’s surface? Seems to me that would be less risky.”

“For good reasons, Mr. President. We need an exercise that is sufficiently visible, even spectacular, to make both the UIPS and our INOR allies respect our will and capabilities to use organized military forces throughout our legitimate jurisdiction. A surface operation on Pluto will be barely noticed and not impress them with our military strength.”

“How do you expect the Depot to react?”

“At first, with confusion. The Depot Commander will try to bluff. Meanwhile, he’ll spunnel an alarm to Earth and insist on guidance. We must not accept delay.”

“What if you meet resistance?”

“Overcome it. Set an example. After all, we are exercising our rights as a sovereign nation.”

“And after the inventory?”

“If peacefully accomplished, we withdraw. We’ll spunnel formal documentation to the UIPS on the amount of taxes due, the schedule for payment and penalties for delinquencies.”

“The penalties?”

“I have several in mind. Fines for minor delays, blockade of the depot and, eventually, military action should they get nasty.”

“How soon can you launch?”

“Three days.”

“Do it.”

Drummer turned to leave. Narval raised his jeweled hand. Drummer paused and turned back.

“What’s this I’ve heard from Scarf about you taking a pack of escaped Inner Region convicts under your wing?”

“There’s more to it than that,” replied Drummer. He filled in the gaps.

Narval scrutinized his fingernails as Drummer talked.

“I’m surprised to hear you patronize drinking establishments where such raffish elements gather,” Narval murmured around the focus of his attention.

“I feel it my duty to get about, to see, and to listen. There is much to learn by observing our people going about their daily lives. The Charnel Pit is one of the few places in Coldfield where people gather to relax and talk.”

Narval peered sideways at Drummer from narrowed eyes.

“Hm, you see and you listen to the people. What else, I wonder? Do the people also see and listen to you? What do you tell them, Drummer?”

“I tell them nothing, President Narval. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, let it go for now. Back to your little brood. You say they’re experienced spacers, and you’ve checked the facts of their escape. You know we’re short-handed in technicians for the military fleet. Can we use them?”

“I’m not certain that I trust them,” Drummer responded.

“Test them.”

“How?”

“Take them along on the inventory operation.”

“ ... and?”

“As I say, test them. Force whoever is leading them into a difficult situation. Keep him close to you and watch how he works himself out of it. If he does well, throw him to another pack of wolves. Get him and his gang involved, deeper. Make them prove themselves. When you’re satisfied, bring them up to a level where we’re squeezing from them all they have that’s useful to us.”