Cally, who had been listening to the radio exchange, already had other things to think about. She was engaged by the computer terminal, checking out the status of the facility.
"Hate to tell you this, but it's worse than you know." She was staring at the screen. “They've taken over the Fujitsu. They've locked out all the other workstations and there's a countdown in process. Look! Somebody's on Big Benny who knows all about SORT."
"About what? Sort?"
"SORT’s the program that sets up the automatic lift-off sequence. Once it's started, it proceeds like clockwork. The Cyclops comes up to power; the radars are all switched on; and the vehicle's electronics go to full alert status. The main console in Command controls everything and nothing can prevent the launch from proceeding unless it's stopped from there."
"How long have we got?"
"It's in the abbreviated mode. That's a six-hour countdown."
He looked at her. "So you're saying we've got roughly six hours to get down there and stop it?"
"Six hours on the nose."
"How about your friend, Georges?"
"He's logged off the computer. Like I said, it's somebody else. They must have brought along their own specialist. Guess they came prepared."