"Ficora!" he shrieked. "Jombalo!" He slipped again into coma.
Bonwitt wheeled but Peterson had gone. Queer! Andy Pauchek was the victim's name on the payroll. A mystery to the rest in the place. No friends; apparently no antecedents. But it was sure he had known the new super before and held something against him. Hated him.
Bonwitt climbed the stair to consult with Crane.
The ethertype told them little they did not know. A few Lunar crags and spires had toppled; crater rims had crumpled. But Earth astronomers had no explanation and were themselves mystified. New York headquarters of Atomic Power didn't care as long as their workings weren't wrecked. So that was that. Crane was disgusted.
Bonwitt told him about Peterson.
"Screwy," the ethertype man agreed. "Couple of times he's wanted to sneak out messages in private code. 'Can't do; regulations,' says I." Bonwitt chuckled mirthlessly. "Where'd he want to ethertype?"
"Another odd thing; I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know? No address?"
"Just an off-wave call number. X2273—not listed." Crane yawned.