The Universe - or Nothing | Page 3

His eyes ranged the banks of flickering lights around him. An
aberrant indicator caught his eye and he mind-stroked a sensor control. Satisfied, he
moved on; the greens held firm.
Planet Pluto arced into view from starboard, half a million kay distant. The mottled
moonlet, Charon, orbited the mother planet tightly. Only tanktown Coldfield's dome and
its hard unblinking lights broke Pluto's drab crust. A dozen or so rutted trails formed a
network that connected encapsulated outposts to each other and to Pluto's solitary city.
The recon-patroller's omni-directional screen displayed the huge cylinder that floated in
space behind him, its gravity-enhanced rotation barely perceptible to O'Hare's vision.
Five-meter high orange letters glowed brightly along its blunt bow and stern, and on each
quarter sector of its exposed surface, proclaiming the huge cylinder as the UIPS
SLINGSHOT LOGISTICS DEPOT.
Space transports, no two alike, rode their magnetic-beam's moorings along the Depot's
flanks. Space tugs and barges labored in all directions, taxis charged about, and
space-cranes swayed above dozens of platforms that protruded from the Depot's hull.
Leviathans off-loaded to barges as other ships in a multitude of shapes and sizes grappled
with cargo from flex-conveyers that snaked from the Depot's gaping portals. Slender,
multi-armed space cranes raised and lowered crates, bundles and modules, and arranged,
aligned, connected and disconnected gear and cargo in all directions.
Aggregations of netted or tethered girders, platforms, multi-meter-wide conduits in
hundreds of shapes and lengths, and modules linked by stabilizer-beams crossed open
spaces, pulled or pushed by robot tugs controlled from the station's cargo control centers.
In trains or clusters, machines traversed the open stretches between the Depot's portals

and nearby transports in their final step toward a long journey.
The brightly checkered Depot slipped from O'Hare's screen. A deployment station to
O'Hare and hundreds of his colleagues, and to more than four centuries of his
predecessors, the Depot was as much home to him as his permanent station afloat in
space between Earth and Luna.
"Time," O'Hare silently flashed the code that opened his spunnel channel to Keeper.
"This is a Slingshot Tac Ops from Red Fox to Keeper. I am hot to trot on Point Charlie
off Fandango Force Field. All coordinates green for Scout Operation Xray Delta slash
Four. Time for go is 2112 slash 14 Solar. Keyed to transmit status on Spunnel Channel
9212, scramble 38. Confirm. Over."
The response was equally silent, registered directly in his consciousness. The message's
clarity was unaffected by passage through hundreds of spunnel boosters that linked
O'Hare to a shielded bunker beneath Luna's surface.
"Keeper to Red Fox. Your orders to scout Planet Pluto Zone confirmed. You are cleared
to start at 2112 slash 14 Solar. Spunnel 9212 slash 38 is open for your transmissions. You
are spunnel-psy monitored by Spacetrack Ceres. Out."
O'Hare tensed, psy-blinked his view screen down to the instruments vital to his
immediate mission, and mind-keyed several controls. The fifteen-meters-long vessel,
with a barely two-meter beam, swooped low and snapped into its run barely fifteen
meters across Pluto's desolate plains.
The view screen readouts showed subsurface galleries, several outlined in irregular
outlines but empty, others reflected high-mass warship configurations. He focused to
adjust his instruments for deeper penetration.
Quite suddenly, O'Hare's vision blurred. His head and body swelled. In an instant, his
brains, bones and guts burst and splattered the cockpit as his ship exploded.
##
Lieutenant Jake Ramirez smoothly accepted the target blip that registered on his
mind-screen. It instantly displayed the target's dimensions, mass, spin, velocity and
coordinates. As the data strung out Jake whistled, soft and low. He tapped the channel
traffic override to the Depot's spunnel booster.
"Spunnel Flash to Keeper. Switch to Scramble 2." Jake flipped the key and, without
pause, mind-cast his alert.
"Blue Fox to Keeper on Scramble 2. Message keyed at 2115 slash 14 Solar. Request
Spacetrack Ceres verify ship's position and readings. Field is about one-fourth by
three-fourths kay, depth one-fourth kay. No organics. Neutronic penetray analysis shows
that in addition to thermonuclear power plants the aggregate includes machined parts
configured to Catalog 11 long range lasers, explosive decompressors, particle beamers

and gun mounts. I suspect this is a cache of contraband ordnance and spares positioned
for pickup by Planet Pluto insurgents. Orders? Over."
"Keeper to Blue Fox. Spacetrack Ceres confirms unregistered objects proximate your
position. Ceres' sensors verify the findings. Space Force concludes the stores present an
immediate threat to Slingshot. Your orders: Destroy the cache immediately using your
Type K1 nuclear explosive missile setting: Baker Two Seven. Launch at not less than
15,000 kay. Remain on station and follow up. Search out and dissolve all residues; use
your laser-doubles at setting 8. Report when task completed. Your Tac Ops and psych
systems are monitored. Start now. Out."
Keeper's message simultaneously loaded into the