Chapter 2

Rymer Camari, President of the United Inner Planetary System entered his official residence’s conference room in a brisk walk, a loose, gray ankle-length robe draped about his thin shoulders. He nodded perfunctory greetings to his Ministers of Intelligence and Diplomatic Protocols, and to the Commander of the UIPS Space Forces as he took his seat at the head of the long table. An abundant mane of white hair framed his aged features; his stony glare reflected the rage they shared.

A panel in the wall slid upward to reveal a two-meter square well. A cylindrical view tank filled its available space. The tank cleared to the United Inner Planetary System’s standard simulation. Colored and geometric symbols glowed the real time positions of UIPS planets and their natural and artificial satellites and outposts, schema of space traffic lanes, space spunnel booster stations, the Asteroids, and the twenty Guardian Stations equidistant along the Asteroids’ outer perimeter.

Stroking a key embedded nearby in the table the President brought the Strategic Concepts Computer on line. “Computer,” he said, “integrate these proceedings into the database. Follow, analyze in depth across-the-board and display.”

Turning to the Space Force Commander he said, “What’s the situation, Jim?” His voice was flat with the effort to control his anger.

Admiral Jim Selvin, shifted his stocky torso about to ease his discomfort. Battle-flinty eyes cast a quick baleful glance at his colleagues and turned to face the President. Thin lips, slashed across his rough-hewn face, twisted as he spoke.

“There’s little to add to what we had an hour ago,” he said. “Two good pilots dead; two impossible-to-replace patrollers destroyed.”

Rubbing his chin vigorously, he grated, “We confirmed that the bandit beamer drew back into an underground tunnel that cuts into an ice gorge south of Coldfield. Their weapons’ cache is even now being approached by unidentified tugs. No doubt that they’re Narval’s thugs and they’re going to clamp a tow beam on the stores and haul them off to some subsurface storage or assembly shop. Once the weapons are assembled, installed and calibrated we could be on the receiving end of more nastiness.”

Leaning forward over the table, he looked directly at the President. His hand transformed into a fist, and he pounded the table in cadence with his words.

“Mr. President,” he said, “the real hell of it is we can’t stop them, and we’ve got no one to blame but ourselves. It’s downright unrealistic to keep our self-defense forces in the Special Zone so far below what’s needed to protect our vital interests.”

“What do you suggest, Jim,” the President shrugged, “break our treaties with the Outer Region? What’ll that get us?”

Jim looked directly into the President’s eyes. “But they’re the ones violating the treaties,” he growled. “If we’ve ever needed irrefutable evidence, we’ve just had it rammed down our throats. We’d better get off our duffs and do something.”

Allen Dynal, Minister for Intelligence, nodded in agreement, but did not speak. His turn was coming.

Selvin leaned back, turned his head to scowl at the view tank. Together, they contemplated the forming scene.

The Admiral’s outburst had given subject matter guidance to the computer. The display shifted to the Planet Pluto Special Zone. Two tiny red lights flashed rapidly at the coordinates where the attacks had occurred. A steady blue light tracked the hijacked stores.

Selvin continued. “The entire sector from which this attack was launched is honeycombed with utility passages and subsurface supply and maintenance shops,” he said. “They date back to when our earliest construction cadres went in. The subsurface should have been returned to its original state when we had no further use for the tunnels and galleries. We did start to collapse the ice walls and overheads; obviously, we didn’t get very far.”

Selvin sighed, heavily.

“Understandable,” he went on. “Hundreds of junctions and cutouts were dug to serve one-time needs. They were never mapped. The same can be said for subsurface technical facilities. No question that many are still usable.”

The view tank’s image blurred, then cleared to show a broad expanse of Pluto’s barren surface out to the planet’s horizon. A white, steady glow identified Coldfield, the surrounding red and blue lines identified scores of subsurface passageways and rutted trails that curved away from the domed city in all directions.

“There’s no doubt that the underground passages and caverns are being used by Narval as maintenance and operations hangars for his fleet,” Selvin said returning his eyes to Camari. “Many have enough room to accommodate nuclear energy capsules, ship and equipment repair shops, and catapult launchers. Pseudo-gravity enhancers during construction stabilized the floors. Foundations are secured deep in the frozen surfaces, and bonded well enough, so that even under the planet’s low density, they’ll take the weight of battle wagons.”

The silence hung heavily as Selvin glared at the view tank. His voice rasped. “They must have installed heavy screens in the overheads. Many of our penetration readings are dim, even with our most advanced sensors.”

“That’s all I have for now, Mr. President,” he said, leaning back. Absently, his stubby fingers drummed the tabletop. He caught himself and glanced about guiltily as he drew his hands back to the edge of the table.

Camari’s eyes moved on to a somber-faced ancient who gravely returned his stare. “Let’s hear the intelligence review, Allen,” the President said.

The Minister for Intelligence placed his clasped hands before him on the table and spoke. His voice was hoarse, low and intense, and his eyes moved from the President to Jim Selvin, who faced him grimly.

The view tank flickered, clouded and cleared to an overview of the Outer Region. The scale reduced planets, satellites, and stations to the colored pinpoints of light with which they all were long familiar. The computer adjusted to focus on a magnified Plutonian sector. The Uranus and Neptune orbits, although contained within the tank displays, were cut out by the compression. The Slingshot Construction Site rode the rim.

“Updating, the latest reports of military construction, commitments and political realignments among the Outer Nations are ominous,” Allen said. “They’re pledging themselves to each other through mutual assistance pacts and are building military spacecraft, weapons and support systems to back up their agreements.”

Pointing thoughtfully with his right forefinger at his left palm, Allen updated the military assets of each opposing nation, and correlated its potential capabilities to economic resources over the coming decades and centuries until Slingshot reduced the solar system’s deficits. He wove into his analysis the effects of orbital dynamics on normal and spunnel transit times from each Inner and Outer Region point-of-origin to the Slingshot work sites. He moved on to the status of weapons research and development, and identified the locations of the Outer Region’s weapons manufacturing sites and military training facilities.

“The long-term defense of Slingshot through purely military means,” he added, following a deep breath, “especially in protecting our routes and the Log Depot, is, as Jim stated, not possible given the prevailing circumstances. The so-called members of the Independent Nations of the Outer Region are expanding their field of operations, and they get generous support from satellite collectives and individual sympathizers throughout the region.