The transfer ports were ready and waiting outside the system of Gistar as arranged, and the Jevlenese warships peeled out of formation to enter them in relays with crisp, disciplined, military precision. What they didn’t know was that by then VISAR was controlling the transfer system, not JEVEX, and such were VISAR’s manipulations of JEVEX’s internal functions that JEVEX didn’t know it, either. Upon exiting back into normal space, one squadron found itself at Sirius, another at Aldebaran, and another near Canopus, while the rest reappeared strewn in ones and twos across Arcturus, Procyon, Castor, Polaris, Rigel, and assorted other stars in between. Thus they were out of harm’s way for the time being and could be rounded up later. That completed Caldwell’s Phase Two.
With a cigarette in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other, Hunt stood on the patio outside Sverenssen’s house, watching a protesting group of people in brightly colored garb being herded into an Air Force personnel carrier by the pool while a vigilant semicircle of Special Forces troopers looked on from a short distance back. The most recent captives had arrived at Sverenssen’s expecting a party, but had found the CIA waiting instead. With VISAR controlling the surveillance there was no longer any need to conceal the activity around the house from orbital observation, but Clifford Benson had decided to maintain a low profile all the same, mainly to take advantage of just this kind of opportunity to extend further his suspect list of Sverenssen’s acquaintances. But that was really just a precaution to identify any collaborators that might have been recruited locally. VISAR had found included among JEVEX’s records a complete organizational chart of the Jevlenese operation on Earth, and with that information now in Benson’s and Sobroskin’s hands, the rest of the network would soon be mopped up.
A concentration of Ganymean spacecraft had been building up on the periphery of the Jevlenese planetary system, and at that point it would have been possible for VISAR to shut off all of JEVEX’s services from the Jevlenese in the same way that it had done with the Jevlenese element across the Thurien-administered worlds. The problem, however, was that the Jevlenese had clearly been preparing for a war situation for some time, and there was no way of telling what other stand-alone and backup systems they might possess that were capable of operating without JEVEX. Hunt and Caldwell therefore decided that simply pulling the plug, sending in the Ganymeans, and hoping for the best was not the way to go. Instead they opted to continue applying pressure until either they obtained the unconditional surrender that Verikoff had demanded, or the Jevlenese operation somehow fell apart from the inside. Also they hoped that the reactions they observed inside the Jevlenese War Room would reveal whether or not, and if so to what degree, the Jevlenese could in fact carry on without JEVEX.
Behind Hunt, a flap opened in the plastic sheeting with which the back of the house had been temporarily repaired, and Lyn stepped out through what had been a glass-panel wall of the corner room. She moved over to where he was standing and slipped an arm lightly through his. "I guess this place is off the list for the party rounds from now on," she said, looking across at the VTOL down by the pool.
"Just my luck," Hunt murmured. "As soon as some of the girls I’ve been hearing about show up, they take ’em away again. Who ever deserved a life like this?"
"Is that all you were worried about?" she asked. Her eyes were twinkling, and there was an elusive, playfully challenging note in her voice.
"And to see pal Sverenssen off on his way, of course. What else?"
"Oh, really," Lyn said softly and mockingly. "That wasn’t exactly the way I heard it from Gregg."
"Oh." Hunt frowned for a moment. "He, er . . . he told you about that, huh?"
"Gregg and I work pretty well together. You should know that." She wriggled her arm more tightly inside his. "It sounded to me like somebody was pretty upset."
"Principles," Hunt said stiffly after a pause. "Fancy me being stuck up in a place like McClusky while somebody else was down here in the sun, getting all that action. It was the principle of it. I have very strong principles."
"Oh, you idiot," Lyn said with a sigh.
They walked back into the house. Sobroskin was standing nearby with a couple of his officers, and Verikoff was sitting on a couch on the far side of the room, talking with Benson and a mix of CIA officials and more Soviets. Norman Pacey was nowhere in sight; probably he was still in the communications room where Hunt had left him a while earlier. Hunt caught Sobroskin’s eye and inclined his head slightly in Verikoff’s direction. "That guy’s done a good job, and he’s trying hard," he muttered in a low voice. "I hope he gets a big remission."
"We’ll see what we can do," Sobroskin said. His tone was noncommittal, but there was something deep down in it that Hunt found reassuring.
"WHAT?" A voice that sounded like Broghuilio’s shrieked distantly from the direction of the passageway that led through to the communications room.. "YOU’VE MANAGED TO LOCATE THEM WHERE?"
"Oh-oh. I think somebody’s just found his fleet," Hunt said, grinning. "Come on. Let’s go and watch the fun." They moved across toward the passageway, and all around the room figures began standing up and converging behind them. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to miss the excitement.
"There must have been a malfunction in JEVEX," the Supreme Commander of the Thurien task force pleaded, cringing as Broghuiio advanced menacingly toward him. "Everything has been premature. There was no time to test the transfer system thoroughly."
"It’s true," a white-faced Wylott said from behind. "There wasn’t enough time. An interplanetary operation could not be organized on such a schedule. It was impossible."
Broghuilio whirled around and pointed a finger at a screen showing the latest details of the Terran order of battle. "WELL THEY’VE DONE IT!" he raged. "Every bicycle and bedpan factory on the planet is making weapons." He turned to appeal to the whole room. "And what do my experts tell me? Two years to complete the quadriflexor program! Twelve months to bring the extra generators on line! ‘But we have the overwhelming technical superiority, Excellency,’ I’m told." He turned purple and raised his clenched fists over his head. "WELL WHERE IS IT? Do I have all the imbeciles in the Galaxy on my side? Give me a dozen of those Earthmen and I’d conquer the Universe." He wheeled upon Estordu. "Get them back here. Even if you have to exit them here in the middle of the planetary system, get them back here today."
"It. . . . seems that it isn’t quite that simple," Estordu mumbled bleakly. "JEVEX is reporting difficulties in controlling the transfer system."
"JEVEX, what is this oaf babbling about?" Broghuilio snapped.
"The central beam synchronization system is not responding, Excellency," JEVEX answered. "I am confused. I have not been able to interpret the diagnostic reports."
Broghuilio closed his eyes for a moment and fought to keep control of himself. "Then do it without JEVEX," he said to Estordu. "Use the standby transfer facility at Uttan."
Estordu swallowed. "The Uttan system is not general purpose," he pointed out. "It was only set up to handle supply transfers to Jevlen. The fleet is scattered across fifteen different stars. Uttan would have to recalibrate for every one. It would take weeks."
Broghuilio turned away in exasperation and began pacing furiously back and forth across the floor. He halted suddenly in front of the commanding general of the local defense system. "They’ve got their attack planned all the way down to who will dig the latrines after they’ve wiped out the last imbecile in your army. You have a direct line into their communications network, and you can decode their signals. You know their intentions. Where is your defense plan?"
"What? I. . ." the general faltered helplessly. "How do you—"
"YOUR PLAN OF DEFENSE. WHERE IS IT?"
"But. . . we have no weapons."
"You have no reserves? What kind of a general are you?"
"A few robot destroyers only, all controlled by JEVEX. Can they be relied upon? The reserves were sent to Thurien." That had been at Broghuilio’s insistence, but nobody chose to remind him of the fact.
A deathly silence enveloped the Jevlenese War Room. At last Wylott said firmly, "A truce. There is no alternative. We must sue for a truce."
"What?" Broghuilio looked toward him. "The Protectorate has barely been declared, and already you are saying we should crawl to primitives? What kind of talk is this?"
"For time," Wylott urged. "Until Uttan is in full production and the stockpiles are built up. Give the army time to be brought up to strength and trained. Earth has been geared to war for centuries. We have not, and there is the difference. The break from Thurien was forced too soon."
"It looks as if it may be the only chance we have, Excellency," Estordu said.
"JEVEX has reopened a channel," VISAR announced. "Broghuilio wishes a private audience with Calazar." Calazar had been expecting the call and was sitting alone on one side of the room in the Government Center waiting for it, while Caldwell, Danchekker, Heller, and the Thuriens watched from the far side.
A head-and-shoulders image of Broghuilio appeared in a frame before Calazar. Broghuilio looked surprised and uncertain. "Why are we talking like this? I asked to come to Thurien."
"I do not feel that the intimacy of proximity would be appropriate," Calazar replied. "What did you wish to discuss?"
Broghuilio swallowed and forced his words with a visible effort. "I have had an opportunity to consider the recent. . . developments. On reflection, it seems that perhaps we were disoriented by the arrogance of the Terrans. Our reactions were, perhaps, a little hasty. I would like to propose a debate to reconsider the relationship between our races."
"That is no longer an affair that concerns me," Calazar told him. "I have agreed with the Terrans to leave the matter to be settled between yourselves. They have given you their terms. Do you accept them?"
"Their terms are outrageous," Broghuilio protested. "We have to negotiate."
"Negotiate with the Terrans."
Alarm showed on Broghuilio’s face. "But they are barbarians, savages. Have you forgotten what leaving them to settle things their way will mean?"
"I choose not to. Have you forgotten the Shapieron?"
Broghuilio paled. "That was an inexcusable error. Those responsible will be punished. But this. . . this is different. You are Ganymeans. We stood beside you for millennia. You can’t stand aside and abandon us now."
"You deceived us for millennia," Calazar replied coldly. "We wanted to keep Lunarian violence from spreading into the Galaxy, but it is loose in the Galaxy already. Our attempts to change you have failed. If the only solution left lies with the Terrans, then so be it. The Ganymeans can do no more."
"We must discuss this, Calazar. You can’t allow this."
"Will you accept the Terran terms?"
"They cannot be serious. There must be room for negotiation."
"Then negotiate with the Terrans. I have nothing more to say. Excuse me now, please." The image of Broghuilio vanished.
Calazar turned to confront the approving faces across the room. "How did I do?" he asked.
"Terrific," Karen Heller told him. "You should apply for a seat in the UN."
"How does it feel to be hard-nosed, Terran-style," Showm asked curiously.
Calazar stood up, drew himself up to his full height, and filled his lungs with air while he considered the question. "Do you know, I find it rather. . . . invigorating," he confessed.
Caldwell turned his head toward an image showing the observers on Earth. "It’s not looking so bad," he said. "They can’t get their ships back, and they don’t seem to have a lot else. We could pull the rug out now. What do you think?"
Hunt was looking dubious. "Broghuilio’s shaky, but he hasn’t cracked yet," he replied. "He might have enough there to turn nasty with, especially if only unarmed Thurien ships show up. I’d like to see him a bit more unhinged first."
"So would we," Garuth said from the Shapieron. His tone left no room for doubt about the matter.
Caldwell thought for a second, then nodded. "I’ll go along with that." He stroked his chin and cocked an eye at Hunt. "And VISAR has done a helluva job preparing all this material. It’d be a shame to waste it, wouldn’t it?"
"A terrible shame," Hunt agreed solemnly.