Zolan peered ahead. Reaching the depot's perimeter was less of a problem than he had anticipated. Following a few short stops to surface stations to inspect military tunnels and comm links, and validate the flitter's flight record, he diverted to a depression between Coldfield and the horizon. Resetting coordinates had taken seconds. Resuming flight, he quickly merged for a short distance with a queue of tugs and taxis along a crowded lane, then veered sharply up toward the Logistics Depot.
Blending his flitter's comm with the flood of electronic signals from nearby tugs and transports at the Gateway, Zolan drew closer to the huge Depot and took shelter in a knot of lashed vessels. Taking several deep breaths, he fixed his eyes and mind on the depot. Concentrating, he constricted and relaxed his neck and shoulder muscles in an irregular pattern, and repeated the rhythm until it invoked a slight pressure high in his left shoulder. The stresses energized the short-range sending device implanted in him prior to the Sentinel's escape.
His words, inaudible beyond his voice box, opened contact with the depot's command post.
"Calling Ditch-digger," he intoned. "Ditch-digger, refer to your k-library program file 6756, and respond on Bootstrap."
He repeated the message and waited. It would take time for the comm technician on duty to work it out. The communications staff would scurry about, searching for the program. Restricted to Sentinel, this contact would be its initial activation.
The receiver in his ear whispered, "This is
Ditch-digger in Bootstrap. Continue."
"Ditch-digger. Scramble 16."
Zolan hunched and tightened his shoulders to switch channels.
The voice came through. "Done."
"I want to speak with Colonel Hanno."