“Excellent,” Danchekker murmured.
“The next thing I need to start working on is some surveillance data from Earth to back it all up,” VISAR said. “But first I need some reference information on contemporary Terran military hardware and installations. Can you get it beamed in through McClusky?”
“Give me a line,” Caidwell said. “I’ll get something moving right away.” He turned his head away and stared grimly for a few seconds at another view, constructed from VISAR’S locally collected data, of the pattern of Jevlenese warships positioned around Thurien. “Any news about the Shapieron yet?” he asked.
“Nothing,” VISAR told him. Its tone was neutral.
An image in the form of a frame enclosing the features of the controller at McClusky appeared in the air a few feet in front of Caldwell’s face. Caidwell turned his head away from the view of the Jevienese threat and returned his attention to the matter at hand.
chapter thirty-three
“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Niels Sverenssen hammered savagely at the touchboard of the datagrid terminal, then brought his fist down heavily on top of the unit as the screen remained dead. He turned away and marched furiously toward the L-shaped central room. “Vickers!” he shouted. “Where are you, for God’s sake? I thought those confounded dataphone people were supposed to be here by now.”
Vickers, the heavily built and swarthy chief of Sverenssen’s domestic staff, appeared from one of the passages. “I only returned ten minutes ago. They said they’d be right over.”
“Well, why aren’t they?” Sverenssen demanded irritably. “I have calls waiting that must be made immediately. The service must be restored at once.”
Vickers shrugged. “I already told ’em that. What else was I supposed to do?”
Sverenssen began massaging a fist with his other hand and pacing to and fro, cursing beneath his breath. “Why do such things always have to happen at a time like this? What kinds of buffoon are unable to maintain a simple communications service competently? Oh, the whole thing is intolerable!”
The first faint hum of an approaching aircar drifted in from the direction of the window. Vickers cocked his head to listen for a second, then walked over to peer out through one of the sliding glass panels that formed part of a wall. “It’s a cab,” he said over his shoulder, “coming down over the roof.” They heard the cab land on the other side of the house, in the front driveway. The door chime sounded shortly afterward, followed by the footsteps of one of the maids as she hurried to the front hallway. He heard a muted exchange of female voices, and a few moments later the maid ushered in a smiling Lyn Garland. Sverenssen’s mouth dropped open in a mixture of surprise and dismay.
“Niels!” she exclaimed. “I tried to call you, but you seem to be having problems with the line. I thought you wouldn’t mind me
showing up, anyway. I’ve been thinking about what you said. You know, maybe you were right. I thought maybe we could patch things up a little.” Her hand was resting casually on the top of her shoulder bag as she spoke. Sverenssen was not inside the communications room, which was the one thing Colonel Shearer had insisted on before he could move in. Inside the top of the bag, Lyn’s finger found the button on the microtransmitter and pressed it three times.
“Oh, not now!” Sverenssen groaned. “You should know better than to barge in like this. I am an extremely busy man, and I have things to attend to. Anyway, I thought I made myself perfectly clear on the not-so-memorable occasion of our last meeting. Good day. Vickers, kindly show Miss Garland back to her cab.”
“This way,” Vickers said, taking a step forward and nodding his head toward where the maid was still hovering.
“Oh, but you did,” Lyn said, looking at Sverenssen and ignoring Vickers. “You made it very clear. And I was being so silly, wasn’t I, just like you said. But now I’ve had a chance to think about it, it sounds so-”
“Get her out of here,” Sverenssen muttered, turning away. “I don’t have time to waste listening to any inane female prattling today.” Vickers gripped Lyn’s upper arm and steered her firmly back along the corridor to the front hall while the maid ran on ahead to hold the door open. The cab was still there. Just as they reached the door, a Southern New England Dataphones repair truck rounded the bend in the driveway and drew up in front of the house, halting so close to the cab that the ladders slung on its side overhung and blocked its ascent path.