"Mr. Walton," said the annunciator. "There's a coded message arriving for Director FitzMaugham."
"Where from?"
"From space, sir. They say they have news, but they won't give it to anyone but Mr. FitzMaugham."
Walton cursed. "Where is this message being received?"
"Floor twenty-three, sir. Communications."
"Tell them I'll be right down," Walton snapped.
He caught a lift tube and arrived on the twenty-third floor moments later. No sooner had the tube door opened than he sprang out, dodging around a pair of startled technicians, and sprinted down the corridor toward communications.
Here throbbed the network that held the branches of Popeek together. From here the screens were powered, the annunciators were linked, the phones connected.
Walton pushed open a door marked Communications Central and confronted four busy engineers who were crowded around a complex receiving mechanism.
"Where's that space message?" he demanded of the sallow young engineer who approached him.