Eric Reinhart examined the vidsender box carefully, turning it around
and around.
"Then he did escape from the blast," Dixon admitted reluctantly. "He
must have leaped from the cart just before the concussion."
Reinhart nodded. "He escaped. He got away from you--twice." He pushed
the vidsender box away and leaned abruptly toward the man standing
uneasily in front of his desk. "What's your name again?"
"Elliot. Richard Elliot."
"And your son's name?"
"Steven."
"It was last night this happened?"
"About eight o'clock."
"Go on."
"Steven came into the house. He acted queerly. He was carrying his
inter-system vidsender." Elliot pointed at the box on Reinhart's desk.
"That. He was nervous and excited. I asked what was wrong. For awhile
he couldn't tell me. He was quite upset. Then he showed me the
vidsender." Elliot took a deep, shaky breath. "I could see right away
it was different. You see I'm an electrical engineer. I had opened it
once before, to put in a new battery. I had a fairly good idea how it
should look." Elliot hesitated. "Commissioner, it had been _changed_.
A lot of the wiring was different. Moved around. Relays connected
differently. Some parts were missing. New parts had been jury rigged
out of old. Then I discovered the thing that made me call Security.
The vidsender--it really _worked_."
"Worked?"
"You see, it never was anything more than a toy. With a range of a few
city blocks. So the kids could call back and forth from their rooms.
Like a sort of portable vidscreen. Commissioner, I tried out the
vidsender, pushing the call button and speaking into the microphone.
I--I got a ship of the line. A battleship, operating beyond Proxima
Centaurus--over eight light years away. As far out as the actual
vidsenders operate. Then I called Security. Right away."
For a time Reinhart was silent. Finally he tapped the box lying on the
desk. "You got a ship of the line--with _this_?"
"That's right."
"How big are the regular vidsenders?"