The Universe - or Nothing | Page 5

"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