"What—"
"Later!"
Shluh watched as Retief's eyes darted from one needle to another.
"How...."
"For your own neck's sake, Shluh," Retief said, "you'd better hope this works." He flipped the sending key.
"2396 TR-42 G, this is the Terrestrial Consul at Groac, aboard Groac 902, vectoring on you at an MP fix of 91/54/94. Can you read me? Over."
"What forlorn gesture is this?" Shluh whispered. "You cry in the night to emptiness!"
"Button your mandibles," Retief snapped, listening. There was a faint hum of stellar background noise. Retief repeated his call, waited.
"Maybe they hear but can't answer," he muttered. He flipped the key.
"2396, you've got twenty seconds to lock a tractor beam on me, or I'll be past you like a shot of rum past a sailor's bridgework...."