And if he could interrupt that connection, put his own voice through the speaker, out through the altar….
“Mara, we’re going out. I’ve found my own brand of karate for our friends out there.”
He helped her to her feet. She moved somewhat painfully, her broken left arm hanging stiffly at her side, but she made no protest.
“We’ve got to be fast,” he said. “I don’t know how well this will work—it depends on how much they trust their clay-footed god today.” Quickly, he outlined his plan. Mara listened silently and nodded.
Then he set to work. It was largely guesswork, following those intricate alien connections, but Rynason had seen this part of such machines before. He found the penultimate point at which the impulses from the brain were translated into sound and broadcast through the speaker. He disconnected this, his torn fingers working awkwardly on the delicate linkages.
“Ready?”
Mara was just inside the narrow passage behind the altar. She nodded quickly.
Rynason twisted himself so that he could speak directly into the input of the speaker. He raised his voice to approximate the thin, high sounds of the Hirlaji language.
Remain motionless. Remain motionless. Remain motionless.
The command burst out upon the altar room of the Temple, shattering the silence. The Hirlaji turned in surprise to the altar—and stood still.