"Ground has no control over this situation," Crag snapped angrily.
"I said ground control, Commander. That's final."
"I'm using Drone Able."
"Commander Crag, you'll wind up cleaning the heads at Alpine," Gotch raged. "Don't move that Drone."
For a moment the situation struck him as humorous. Just now he'd like to be guaranteed the chance to clear the heads at Alpine Base. It sounded good—real good. There was another burst of static. Pickering's voice came in—louder, clearer, a snap through the ether.
"Don't sacrifice the drone, Commander!"
"Do you know a better way?"
Pickering's voice dropped to a laconic drawl.
"Reckon so."
Crag glanced at the analog and gave a visible start. The satelloid was lower, moving in faster along a course which would take it obliquely through the space path being traversed by the Aztec. If there was such a thing as a wake in space, that's where the satelloid would chop through, cutting down toward the intercept. He's using his power, he thought, the scant amount of fuel he would need for landing. But if he used it up....