Zolan peered ahead. Reaching the depot's perimeter
was less of a problem than he had anticipated.
Following a few short stops to surface stations
to inspect military tunnels and comm links, and
validate the flitter's flight record, he diverted
to a depression between Coldfield and the horizon.
Resetting coordinates had taken seconds. Resuming
flight, he quickly merged for a short distance with
a queue of tugs and taxis along a crowded lane, then
veered sharply up toward the Logistics Depot.
Blending his flitter's comm with the flood of
electronic signals from nearby tugs and transports
at the Gateway, Zolan drew closer to the huge
Depot and took shelter in a knot of lashed vessels.
Taking several deep breaths, he fixed his eyes and
mind on the depot. Concentrating, he constricted
and relaxed his neck and shoulder muscles in an
irregular pattern, and repeated the rhythm until it
invoked a slight pressure high in his left shoulder.
The stresses energized the short-range sending
device implanted in him prior to the Sentinel's
escape.
His words, inaudible beyond his voice box, opened
contact with the depot's command post.
"Calling Ditch-digger," he intoned. "Ditch-digger,
refer to your k-library program file 6756, and
respond on Bootstrap."
He repeated the message and waited. It would take
time for the comm technician on duty to work it
out. The communications staff would scurry about,
searching for the program. Restricted to Sentinel,
this contact would be its initial activation.
The receiver in his ear whispered, "This is
Ditch-digger in Bootstrap. Continue."
"Ditch-digger. Scramble 16."
Zolan hunched and tightened his shoulders to switch
channels.