The Universe or Nothing | Page 7

implementation plans and execution directives to commit resources. Update constantly, but keep all implementation directives on 'hold' until I direct otherwise.
"We meet again in two hours," Camari, said, rising from his chair. "Computer: be ready to give a presentation on each option and its variations within the parameters I specified and which surface through your analyses. Double-check resource requirements and schedules, and tactical options and their possible effects on UIPS forces and assets in the Special Zone. Maintain current. When I select the course of action and authenticate them with the Presidential Implementation Designators, release directives to implement the decisions. Monitor and report. This completes my instructions to Computer."
The President turned toward the door from which he had entered. Pausing, he glanced back at the Minister of Intelligence.
"Allen," he said, "give me a rundown, within the hour, on our intelligence assets throughout the Outer Region. I am especially interested in your ability to intensify earliest possible infiltration and disruption throughout Narval's domain."
The door slid shut as he passed through. The wall panel across the view tank cavity lowered as the advisors departed.
The Strategic Concepts Computer presented visual displays accompanied by a gently modulated audio. The analysis was incisive, the coverage comprehensive. At its conclusion, the President scanned the faces of his Ministers and the Commander of the Space Forces.
"Comments?"
Scores of questions probed and tested the computer's logic and conclusions. Questions became observations, which, following discussion, became revisions that, were instantly extended to corollaries. Often, objectives and programs were adjusted. Finally, it was done -- for the time being.
Rising from his seat, the President's eyes took in his grim advisors. Speaking softly, he passed decisions on several recommendations to his Ministers, Admiral Selvin, and into the Computer. Done, they sat silently for several moments, weighing the decisions' potential effects.
Rising and making his way toward the doorway, Camari motioned to the Minister of Intelligence. "I've read your report on our assets in the Outer Region, Allen. I have a special task for your Ministry."
He motioned the Minister for Intelligence to join him. They passed through and the door closed silently.
Chapter THREE
The Watch Commander drew a hand weapon from the rack, adjusted the power to low stun, and checked the safety. He slipped the sidearm into the sheath at his waist and scanned the monitors displaying his areas of jurisdiction.
The agri-ecol bays and industrial shops of the Guardian Station were orderly and busy. The officer's fingers ranged the console's keys. Aud-viz transmissions from passageways, wardrooms, and work and recreation areas slipped across the screens in rapid succession. Inmates and guards moved about, operated equipment, or worked at their benches, each, in his or her own way, putting in their time on the station's business.
A keystroke brought up the eight people boarding the Station through the lower air lock. Two were station guards, their weapons sheathed but retainer clips disengaged for instant withdrawal.
A slight adjustment brought into sharp focus the closed features of the three men and three women in dun-colored coveralls, under escort. He studied their faces for a moment and turned away. The bank of screens shut down as he stepped across the doorway of the cubicle that served him as both command post and sleeping quarters. He strode briskly toward a hatch at the far end of the passageway.
The lead guard, who had appeared a moment before on the screen, stepped off the ladder leading from the lower level and glided forward in the light pseudo-gravity followed by the six prisoners he had escorted from the transport. The prisoners, without constraints, walked silently. All had their hair trimmed uniformly close to their heads. The men's faces were as hairless as the faces of the women.
The second guard brought up the rear.
The forward guard came abreast the Watch Commander, stopped, barked a command to halt, and turned to face his charges. They knotted forward, not anticipating the order, separated and spaced themselves.
"OK, inmates," the guard grinned, "up against the bulkhead, please. Relax. You're gonna get the official greeting to this paradise of the outback."
Swinging about, he tossed a perfunctory salute in the officer's direction. At ease against the opposite bulkhead, he watched benignly as his charges shuffled about and lined up in no particular order. The guard at the other end stood astride the passageway in a casual stance.
The Watch Commander cleared his throat with a slight cough to focus their attention.
"I'm Lieutenant Malcolm," he said. "I run the Reception Center on this station. You may or may not know where you are; let's be certain that you do."
The six faces stared at him. One of the men in the lineup, third from the head, shifted his gaze from the officer to the guards and back again. A bit above medium height, ropy necked and thick-shouldered he gave the impression of a