"Crag?" Gotch's voice was brittle, hard. He looked sideways at Prochaska, who was studiously examining one of the instruments, trying to give him the privacy demanded. He shifted his head. Larkwell was standing at the side port with his back toward him. Nagel lay back in his seat, eyes closed.
Crag answered softly. "Shoot."
"More bad news," Gotch reported somberly. "Burning Sands picked a package out of Drone Able just before launch time. It's just been identified."
"Check," he replied, trying to assimilate what Gotch was telling him.
Gotch stated flatly. "It was a time bomb. Here's a description. Bomb was packaged in a flat black plastic case about one by four inches. Probably not big enough to wreck the drone but big enough to destroy the controls. It was found tucked in the wiring of the main panel. Got that?"
"Check."
"The bomb squad hasn't come through with full details yet. If you find a mate, don't try to disarm it. Dump it, pronto!"
"Can't. It'll stay with us."
"It's size indicates it wouldn't be fatal if it exploded outside the hull," Gotch rasped. "It was designed to wreck controls. If you find one, dump it. That's an order." The earphones were silent. Crag was swiveling toward Prochaska when they came to life again.
"One other thing." Gotch was silent for a moment. Crag pictured him carefully framing his words. "It means that the situation is worse than we thought," he said finally.