"That trace," he said, pointing to the squiggle on the scanning plate, "happens to be the recognition trace of no one other than Stellor Downing."
"Oh," said the orderly. "I didn't know."
Lane grinned. "Then you're the only one that doesn't. Any of the rest of this outfit know it on sight. Take a good look at it, Timmy, and the next time you see it, do your best to do whatever that is doing, but do it quicker, neater, and with more flourish. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Lane strode into the operations room, and looked over the plotter's shoulder. "What's he doing, Link?"
Lincoln made some calculations on a paper, plunked the keys on his computer for a moment and then came up with an equation. He showed it to Lane with a grimace.
"Landing," said Lane cryptically.
Lincoln nodded.
"Can we beat him in?"
"I think so—if we get the jump on him."