"Hmm—not so good.—We're not going to blanket much with that."
"You'll get through all right; but you can't expect any more than that. If you want to jam you'd better concentrate on the 1400 band. You can smother anything in that area."
"No. I'd rather have full coverage. I think the noseys are laying for us, and I want something that'll affect every Eglan in range, not just part of them. If we confuse them enough we can crack straight through before they recover."
"What do you intend to use to cause this confusion?" Sandoval asked.
A grin crossed Fiske's face. "We might put a signalman on the mike and give them the latest box scores in the Tri World league mixed with double talk. Or our linguist could issue phoney orders in Eglanese."
Sandoval grinned in answer. "Sneaky, isn't it?—this business of hoisting the engineers on their own petards. Personally, I favor music—some of these squirm combos the boys listen to would drive a saint out of Heaven."
Fiske chuckled. "It's an idea—and not a bad one at that. Angelo Bordoni in the signal section has some progressive squirm recordings that'd make your hair curl. We'll make him a disk jockey as soon as we have some Eglani to try it on."
"You won't have to wait long, sir," Pedersen said, as he swivelled his chair to face Fiske. "Detectors report a disturbance in C-green about ten hours ahead. Looks like a couple of class one cruisers. Not ours."
"What's their bearing?"
"They're moving along our line slightly under our component."