From the top of the ladder, Charles Andrews repeated his familiar
refrain, "Nine days at a hundred per hour."
Norton turned swiftly. "Yeah," he drawled. "But we'll have that
argument later, Andrews. Right now it's time to blast out with a
distress signal again. They've got to know we're still alive, no matter
what else."
"Okay--okay."
"So you fire up the infrawave transmitter and I'll pedal the generator,
as before."
Norton disappeared below. Andrews went to the small panel and sat there
watching the one meter, his hand resting on the one switch.
"Hell of a note," he grumbled.