And Pandit began to pry at one of the boxes with a knife he carried in his loin cloth. Sria said, "I'll keep watch. You call me when it's opened."
"Maybe you ought to get out of here. In case anything happens, I don't want to get you involved."
But Sria went up the ramp and crouched there, waiting, watching. The desert was very quiet, entirely windless, and hot even at night. Stars sprinkled the sky overhead and far off she thought she heard the distant whine of a jet. "Hurry," she called. From below she heard the sound of wood being pried away from wood. She heard, or imagined she heard, the jet coming closer. "Hurry!" she called softly.
Finally three words drifted up to her. "Come here, Sria." She felt a little relieved. Now that he'd finished.
She listened for the jet. Now she heard nothing. She went swiftly down the ramp.
Pandit stood before one of the crates, perspiring freely. He had pried loose one of the side walls and a smooth metal surface with stenciled lettering on it was exposed.
He said: "I can't read that. It's a language I never saw before."
Sria bent closer and looked at the stenciled lettering. A voice, not Pandit's, said:
"I thought it would be you two.... No, don't move!"