Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [94]
Here there were far fewer Eluoi waiting than there had been below, and most of them seemed to be in uniform. However, the savant’s braid continued to be the lucky charm, and the soldiers saluted smartly as Char-Kane emerged, then stood aside to give Jackson plenty of room to pass. It helped that they kept their eyes downcast. He had remembered that on the bridge of the Gladiola, the Eluoi crew generally had avoided looking directly at their master, and he had been hoping that the same thing would hold true here.
On foot, they made their way down a long, wide hallway brightly illuminated by glowing tubes on the ceiling. Char-Kane glanced quickly at a sign covered with hieroglyphics that were utterly unintelligible to Jackson. She led him into a side passageway and finally up to a large door made of stainless steel. A pair of guards snapped to attention as they approached.
“The savant wishes to inspect the transponder room,” Char-Kane said curtly.
“Of course, madam. Do you wish for us to summon the director?” asked one of the guards. Another guard pushed a button, whooshing the door open.
“That will not be necessary,” the woman said dismissively.
Jackson concentrated on walking in as if he owned the place. He saw many banks of equipment with technicians poring over screens, keyboards, and other pieces of equipment. At the sight of him, they all stopped what they were doing and stood to attention.
“At ease,” Char-Kane said, coming up behind him. “This is a surprise inspection. The commandant wishes everyone to cease their work and assemble in the entry hall. We will be looking at each workstation for any irregularities.”
Casting nervous glances among themselves and furtive looks at the gold-ring sleeves of Jackson’s tunic, the workers hastened to obey.
Fifteen seconds later, the two had the communications center to themselves.
Seventeen: A Phone Call
“Can we give them coordinates?” Jackson asked the consul de campe. He was poring over the interstellar communications transmitter, a vast bank of switches, slides, and dials. The hum of electrical power, suggesting the output of a good-sized turbine, suffused the room, and the pole of the antenna, surrounded by a coil of cooling tubes, extended through the ceiling.
“I don’t have the navigation skills to be that precise,” Char-Kane said. “But we can set the target for your star system here.” She indicated a computer screen where she was scrolling down through a long list of names. “Found it: Sol. All the empires have assigned it the name you yourselves use; this is the naming convention throughout the galaxy.”
“So they can hear from us and know we’re alive, at least,” the lieutenant said with some relief. “But we can’t tell them how to get here.”
“It is not hopeless. We can include the name of this planet, which they will be able to find if they can consult a Shamani navigator. Furthermore, there is a chance that the men of your navy ship will be able to follow the transmission back to its source. Batuun is one of the closest star systems to your own, after all. They will not need to look terribly far.”
“All right,” Jackson agreed. He glanced at the door, which remained closed. But he wasn’t certain they’d have much more time before somebody—an officer who was looking for a chance to do some serious ass-kissing, perhaps, or even another savant—would come in to discover them on their unauthorized mission. He shuddered at the thought of another encounter with Tezlac Catal, who would merely have to speak a sentence or two to knock the intruders silly. Jackson wished he could have brought along his G15.
“I am ready to broadcast,” Char-Kane said, poised over a switch beside the computer screen. “Do you want to craft your message?”
“All right.” Jackson took a seat at the keyboard and immediately encountered the next problem: Every key was a strange hieroglyphic, utterly unintelligible to him. Even if Char-Kane helped him pick out the right symbols, there was no one on Pegasus, probably no one on the whole planet Earth, who would have any idea