"O.K., on the way!"
"Right, boss!"
McBride's next call was to 4. "Jud," he said.
"Jud's nursing a set of busted arms," came the disconsolate answer. "This is Pete Jackson."
"How bad is Jud?"
"Conscious, and madder than the devil. He can't even hold the phone, you know, and so I'm acting as his mouthpiece."
"How's the station?"
"Mostly a mess of secondary damage, but it is pretty widespread. Everything in the place caught hell, including the typewriter in the office, which fell off the desk. Got a space-warp generator?"
"Yup, but can you repair yours?"
"I think so."