The argument had soured his stomach, and Alan was not in the mood for conversation or even comforting words for a man he really liked. Eric was working with Dillon in Sparrow’s bay, finalizing a flight profile. If Alan came through there he would have Eric all over him about Leon, would have to say nothing was new, again, but the man was in good hands, et cetera, et cetera. To say nothing was new was truth, of course, but Leon had been rushed through the portal, and Alan had no idea what had happened to him on the other side. Eric’s pain over his friend was horribly real, and came in powerful waves that Alan could not contend with at the moment. He avoided Sparrow’s bay, went back to the main tunnel and took the back entrance past the machine shop to get to portal bay.
Three men were at the console when he arrived. They stood, and Alan motioned for them to be seated again. The bay below them had been cleared of all personnel, and was empty. Quarters had been readied on level four, and two service elevators would be used. The duty roster was divided into three shifts of thirty men, ten of them cloaked at all times.
It was ten minutes until activation. Alan poured himself a small cup of coffee from a thermos, and made small talk with the console operators to put them at ease in his presence. It was their first rotation away from home, and they were far too conscious of his rank when he was with them. It had nearly led to problems of explanation for him when Davis had been present on two occasions.
“You all must be getting anxious to go home. It’s nearly a year, right?”
“Yes sir,” said one man, a boy, really.
“Stuck down in this hole, no suns, no salt in the air. I’m working for surface leave, and the council is listening, but it won’t happen until we’re flying. I think it’ll be soon.”
The three young men smiled, but nobody spoke.
“A young person can go nuts down here. No women.”
That earned a reply. “What are they like up there, sir?”
“The women? Oh, same as home, maybe a little more outspoken and aggressive, some gorgeous, some plain. Same people, Ensign. Remember that.”
“I do, sir. I’d just like a chance to find out for myself.”
“I’ll work on it,” said Alan, and patted the kid on the shoulder. Towards the end of the console, a board suddenly lit up. Heads turned.
“Incoming signature. B-42, sir.”
“That’s the one. Let ’em in, Ensign.”
Fingers played over the console boards. The bay below darkened, and a wall shimmered red, then flashed brilliant blue in rippling waves. Alan exited the control room and went down a spiral staircase to the bay. As he walked towards the brightly glowing wall he saw the dimples come and go on its surface as the first, cloaked personnel came through. He counted ten, and stepped up close to the quiet ripples of the portal.
“Welcome to Hole-in-the-Ground, gentlemen. Good to have you with us. Looks like a 1694 day.”
“A sunny day,” came a voice out of clear air.
“Very good,” said Alan, and looked at his watch. “I have ten-forty-two. Officer briefings and a lunch with the Council are at twelve hundred. Noncoms will be served in the Mess. I’m taking you straight to quarters to get settled in first.”
The air shimmered, and the figures of ten men appeared in front of Alan. They were dressed in fatigues, were burdened with heavy field packs and helmets with darkened faceplates. All carried stubby, black automatic weapons. The man nearest to Alan put a hand to his throat and said, “Proceed,” then held out his hand and smiled.
“Good to see you again, sir. It’s been a couple of years.”
“Jack,” said Alan, and shook his hand. “Haven’t you had enough yet?”
“It was either this or a desk, sir. How about you?”
“One more tour after this one, someplace where I can get a sunburn, then home. We could have a bad situation here, Jack.”
“I understand, sir, but for once our Intel is good. Watt’s outfit has been porous for the past year; people are positioning themselves to be in the President’s favor when arrests begin. His mercenaries are good, but they won’t have time for rehearsal. We’ll be ready for them. I don’t know about you, but I never did like Watt, even when he was the President’s right hand. Shifty-eyed, always said exactly what people wanted to hear.”
“He wanted to be President,” said Alan. “He still does. The obsession has run away with him.”
“Too bad,” said Jack. “Our orders come direct from Blue Tower, sir. There was some argument about mining the portal and the bay here to lower the risk to our own personnel, but in the end they accepted the value of keeping the portal intact for the star craft project. No prisoners are to be taken. That includes Watt.”
“I agree,” said Alan, “but we’ll have to find him first. Let’s get you settled.”
Three lines of men had marched out of the portal and arranged themselves in three platoons behind the single squad of men who had been cloaked. Jack turned to face them.
Alan whispered, “Elevators are to your left. One platoon at a time. Cloaked personnel remain here until the rest are settled.”
Jack barked a command, and one platoon moved off. Ten men spaced themselves at regular intervals around the bay, and disappeared from view. Jack went with the first platoon, came back later for the second, then the third, and Alan joined him for the ride up in the elevators.
The flickering, shimmering wall in the bay went to orange, then red, and was rust-colored rock again. The lights went out, plunging the bay into darkness. Above the floor, a dim red light went on in the control room.
A door snicked shut, and the portal bay was peaceful again.
Dario Watt had done all he could to create a positive atmosphere for the meeting. The boardroom was large, with variable lighting from brilliant to near darkness. The air conditioning was more than adequate and the chill would serve to shorten debate on any trivial matters that arose. Most importantly, the air would remain fresh, the odor of his guest neutralized and swept away. The slightest hint of it would be offensive even to the least sensitive of the few men who had remained loyal to Watt, those men who were destined to serve on his cabinet once he had taken power. Privately he agreed with their beliefs in ethnic purity, but now was not the time to indulge in it, a conclusion he knew was not lost to any of them.
The meeting began promptly at seven, and Watt used the half-hour he’d allotted himself to explain why it was necessary to move so quickly, that once the star craft was in space it would be virtually impossible to destroy it with the resources available to them. Everyone seemed to agree, and there were no questions or arguments. The longer they waited the more chance their operation would be discovered by a president who had previously shown no mercy to dissidents. Discovery meant death for all of them.
At seven-thirty there was a knock on the door and Watt himself answered it. Ustiss Kroic had dressed himself in military blues, and saluted sharply. Watt ushered him in and seated him by his side at the end of the big conference table. The five other men had seated themselves near the other end, in anticipation of Kroic’s arrival.
“I hope you had a pleasant trip,” said Watt.
Kroic’s voice was the sound of a small engine needing tuning. “Only because we arrived with embassy personnel in the dead of night. There were few people to gawk at us. My troops arrived before us on a private jump ship.”