The converging lines massed, reformed, and spread into a pattern resembling the spoke tips of an open umbrella, with the Gateway, the crowded transports and the depot centered at what would be the umbrella's handgrip. ## Drummer turned his head and looked at Brad. "Went off rather well," he said. "Seems so. That was the easy part. I don't envy you the next." Drummer touched a switch connecting him to the bridge. "Captain," he said. "Launch the Dragon. Take your position at the coordinates I gave to you. Activate our comm system to the depot." The ship shuddered as it shot from the gallery and headed for the concentration of spacecraft above Pluto. It slowed as it passed through the umbrella formation and stopped fifty kay from the nearest transport. Time lapse from launch was less than two minutes. Surprise was complete; the effect, paralyzing. All movement around the depot slowed to a halt. The intranet filled with "What the hell's going on?", "Who are these guys?", and "Bring on the dancing girls." Then, suddenly, the channels blanked, replaced by silence. Drummer keyed his microphone open and handed it to Brad. Brad took on a harsh tone. "Attention: Commander of Slingshot Logistics Depot and Masters of all vessels, inside or outside the Fandango Force Field. The national interests of the Government of Planet Pluto demands compliance with Plutonian laws by all persons and properties within its jurisdiction. You and your vessels and the Logistics Depot are in Plutonian territory, therefore, our laws apply to you. "The Fleet Commander of this Plutonian Security Force wishes to speak with the Commander of the Slingshot Logistics Depot. Depot Commander, please identify yourself and stand by. Acknowledge." Silence. Thirty seconds. "Logistics Depot. This is the Plutonian Security Force. The message we sent you moments ago was for the Depot Commander. Did you read? Acknowledge." The reply came. "Your message received. Please identify Fleet Commander." Brad and Drummer exchanged glances. Drummer chuckled. "The formalities must be observed," he chuckled, his tone dry. "Tell him." Brad keyed the mike. "Fleet Commander Deke Drummer." He put a rasp into his voice. "Now, get on with it." Another voice came on. "Colonel Hanno here. I'm the Depot Commander. What the hell game are you playing, Drummer?" Brad's tone turned icy. "Let's get one point straight, Colonel Hanno. You will be speaking with a Fleet Commander with the rank of Admiral. Should you need to be reminded, Planet Pluto is a sovereign and independent nation, and you are a guest within our borders. Your choice of words is offensive. Do you read?" A long pause. "I read." Chapter SEVENTEEN Drummer reached for the mike. "Colonel Hanno, this is Admiral Drummer." He winked at Brad.