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So, his gray eyes reflective, he strode to the Scorpion's radio panel and a moment later was saying over and over in a toneless voice: "XX-1 calling XX-2 XX-1 calling XX-2 XX-1 calling XX-2...." After a full two minutes there was still no answer from the loudspeaker. He kept calling: "XX-1 calling XX-2 XX-1 calling XX-2 XX-1 calling "
"I hope so," Dal said without conviction. He started for the loading line, then turned. "But where are you going to be? What ship?" Tiger hesitated. "Not assigned yet. I'm taking a leave. But you'll be hearing from me." The loading call blared from the loudspeaker. The tall Earthman seemed about to say something more, but Dal turned away and headed across toward the line for the shuttle plane.
The globe beneath them was lit brightly, for they had approached it from the daylight side. Below them, they could see wide, green plains and gently rolling mountains, and in a great cleft in one of the mountain ranges was a shimmering lake of clearest blue. The air of the planet screamed about them as they dropped down, and the roar in the loudspeaker grew to a mighty cataract of sound.
He broke off as words in English came softly from the loudspeaker: "XX-2 answering XX-1. Do you hear me?" "Yes. Give me protected connection. Highly important no outsider overhears." "All right," the gentle voice answered. "Protected. Go ahead, old man." The Hawk relaxed and his face softened. "How are you, Eliot?" he asked almost tenderly.
No illusion structure could be elaborated to that extent. So she'd just had her first dive hallucination and it had been a dilly! Trigger dropped the leaf, pushed shakily at the balcony door, and stepped back through the black-light screen into the reassuring murmur of human voices in the gambling room. An hour later, the ship's loudspeaker system went on.
Then Mike prepared to go out and hook on to it and tow it in. He was in his space suit and in the landing lock, though his helmet faceplate was still open. A loudspeaker boomed suddenly in Brown's voice: "Evacuate airlock and prepare to take off!" Joe roared: "Hold that!" Brown's voice, very official, came: "Withhold execution of that order. You should not be in the airlock, Mr. Kenmore.
Rick pulled his mask away to hear a little better and heard a loudspeaker, rebroadcasting something. "... reports no aircraft within range limits. We are now at thirty-one minutes and counting. On my mark the time will be zero minus thirty exactly." There was only the crackle of the loudspeaker. The set was tuned in on the Wallops Island command frequency, Rick realized.
One of the grain ships from Weald had broken out of overdrive and its pilot was triumphantly calling for landing coordinates. The grid office relayed his call to loudspeaker circuits as the quickest way to get it on the communication system of the whole planet. "Calling ground," boomed the triumphant voice of the first of the student pilots Calhoun had trained. "Calling ground!
A member of the audience was requested to dial a number, and choose 5551-T, the letter T representing the exchange. This number the spectator dialed on the phone Mr. Grace carried. There was no sound but the clicking of the dial. Then, two seconds later, the loudspeaker spoke up clearly, in an almost human voice, "5551 T."
"Is that the Kivelson boy's father?" the Sikh asked me, and when I nodded, he lifted the phone to his lips again. "Captain Kivelson," the loudspeaker said, "your son is alive and under skin-grafting treatment here at the spaceport hospital. His life is not, repeat not, in danger. The men you are after are here, under guard.
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