The offi?cial looked crestfallen. “I’m terribly sorry,” he mumbled contritely. “I was unaware of the connection, and I—”
“There’s no need to apologize,” the Egg Orno interrupted. “I would like to meet Triad Hiween Doma-Sa. Can I attend in Alway’s place?”
The Thraki swallowed uncomfortably. “Er, yes, I guess so. . . .”
“Good,” the Ramanthian replied. “I’ll see you there.”
PLANET JERICHO, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
Thousands of eyes peered up into the azure blue sky as the specially equipped air car towed the free end of the space elevator south, toward the point where it would be captured by the ground crew and reeled into the forerunner ruins. Then, if all went well, the superstrong cable would be secured to the huge shackle-style fi?tting that had been installed there. And if things didn’t go well, then there would be hell to pay since both Commandant Mutuu and the War Mutuu had turned out to witness the historic moment from the comfort of a shaded pavilion and were unlikely to be very forgiving.
That added to the pressure Tragg felt as he and his slaves waited for the tubby air car to tow the 23,560-mile-long cable into position. From where the renegade stood, the whole thing looked like some sort of magic trick because of the way the space elevator hung seemingly unsupported under the vast canopy of blue sky.
But it was supported by the dreadnaught Imperator, which orbited high above. So the only problem was a variable wind, which presently sought to push the cable to the east, even as the air car fought to pull the shiny thread south.
And it should have worked, would have worked, except for one thing: The air car was not designed to function as a tug. So as the wind blew, and the operator began to use more power, the engine started to overheat, something the pilot became aware of as an audible alarm went off and a wisp of black smoke issued from the vehicle. Given all of the countervailing stresses involved, the Ramanthian knew that he had a minute, maybe less, in which to complete his mission.
“Drop the dragline!” the operator ordered, and felt a sense of relief as the troopers directly behind him wrestled a huge coil of rope up and over the side. The car bobbed in response, but because it was connected to the space elevator, couldn’t go far.
Tragg shaded his eyes as he looked upwards. A steady stream of smoke was pouring out of the air car by then, and the overseer felt a sudden stab of fear as the dragline fell toward the ground. Because the POWs were supposed to grab on to the line, and gain control of it before the space tether was released, but none of them were close enough to do so.
Meanwhile, as the engine began to cut in and out, the wind disappeared. That caused the air car to veer toward the west and the air strip. The pilot tried to compensate, but couldn’t overcome the tug’s inertia and gave the only order he could. “Release the cable!”
One of the crew members had been waiting for that very order and jerked a lever. The effect was to let the long, thin cable fall free of the air car. Because the dragline was connected to the free-swinging space elevator, it fl?ew across the surface of the airstrip like a three-hundredfoot-long whip.
Tragg screamed, “Catch it!” But the words came too late, as the dragline cut two Ramanthian troopers in half and went straight for the pavilion where Mutuu and his mate were up on their feet. The regally attired commandant hurled an invective at the pilot as the War Mutuu threw him down. And just in time, too, as the whiplike rope severed the pavilion’s roof supports and brought the entire structure crashing down around them. Thanks to the fact that most of the dragline’s kinetic energy had been expended, it was transformed from a whip into an elusive snake that slithered back and forth across the tarmac as if determined to escape into the jungle. The POWs, led by an infuriated Tragg, were in hot pursuit by then. But most of the prisoners were in such poor condition that they couldn’t run fast enough to catch up. Christine Vanderveen was one of the few exceptions. Not because the FSO was inherently stronger than the rest—but because of the extra food Tragg had forced her to eat. But none of that was on Vanderveen’s mind as she led the chase across the airstrip in an effort to capture the rope as quickly as possible and prevent reprisals. However, some of the other prisoners saw the situation differently, like the sailor who intentionally tripped the diplomat in hopes that the runaway space elevator would destroy itself. Nankool and the rest of the LG knew better, however, because in spite of the fact that the drag-rope was elusive, it was only a matter of time before the Ramanthians brought it under control with or without help from the prisoners. So as a bruised Vanderveen picked herself up, Commander Schell yelled at the POWs to “secure that goddamned line!”
And, when the wind in the upper atmosphere shifted slightly, they were fi?nally able to do so as a couple of POWs pounced on it. Then, as more bodies piled on, the rope gradually came under control.
But the task wouldn’t be over until the errant cable was safely shackled deep inside the forerunner ruins. Vanderveen was among those who began to pull the dragline across the tarmac toward a similar length of rope that led down into the ruins where it was attached to a winch. So once the two lengths of rope were joined, it was possible for the POWs to let go, while Tragg issued orders via a handheld radio.
Vanderveen saw the dragline jerk as the winch came on, and Tragg gave the POWs new orders. “It will take some time to remove all the slack,” the overseer informed them.
“That’s when the cable eye will come down—and the winch crew will need your help to secure it. So haul your asses over there and get to work. And that includes you, sweet cheeks.”
The last was directed at Vanderveen, and when combined with a conspiratorial wink, was suffi?cient to reinforce the notion that the two of them had a special relationship. The tactic had proven to be wickedly effective at driving a wedge between the diplomat and her peers in spite of efforts by people like Calisco to counter Tragg’s manipulations.
The result was a series of supposedly accidental bumps, guttural insults, and thinly veiled threats as the group of six raggedy POWs jogged toward the ruins. There was nothing Vanderveen could do but ignore the comments and keep her distance from the other prisoners as they entered the passageway that led back into what had originally been a steep pyramid. The top had been removed so that the space elevator could be anchored deep within—a laborious process that required weeks of hard labor and cost more than a dozen lives.
The cable eye was already in sight by the time Vanderveen and her companions entered the anchor chamber. There was a loud whining noise as the last fi?fty feet of dragline wound itself onto the drum, accompanied by a nearly deafening clatter, as a dozen metal pawls passed over the huge ratchet wheel positioned to secure the space cable once the correct amount of tension was applied. A decision that would be made by the Ramanthian engineer assigned to supervise the process. And, lest the prisoners attempt to interfere, fi?ve heavily armed troopers were present as well.
“You!” the Ramanthian said, as he pointed at Vanderveen and her companions. “Lift the pin and prepare to push it home.”
The “pin” was about six feet long and a half foot in diameter. And, thanks to the fact that the cylinder was made out of solid metal, it was heavy. So four prisoners were required to hoist the pin up off the fl?oor and position one end next to the enormous shackle.
“Here it comes!” someone shouted, as the winch pulled the cable eye down through the hole above. That was the signal for a second team of POWs to rush forward and grab the fi?tting. But there was still plenty of slack in the space cable, so when a strong gust of wind hit the line two thousand feet above them, the eye jerked upwards and took two marines with it.
There was a horrible scream, followed by a bloody rain, as one of the men was crushed against the edge of the overhead opening. “Hold!” the Ramanthian ordered sternly, as the winch pulled the cable eye down into the anchor chamber for the second time. Vanderveen held her breath as the loop entered the open shackle and waited for the Ramanthian to say, “Now!” The diplomat helped her fellow POWs lift the heavy pin and push it through the holes. The metal cylinder slid smoothly through the holes on both sides of the shackle, thereby locking the space tether in place. Metal rattled as the cable tested the strength of its mooring, the POWs fell back, and the most important part of the space elevator was complete.