"I'd like to see an outfit that can send a signal faster than light," Wyatt grunted. Makvern looked at him thoughtfully. "Why not? We'll be going right past the communic room." Brinna looked as though she wanted to say something, but she didn't, and they went on out of the hold and through a neat functional labyrinth of corridors. "Here we are," said Makvern and opened a bulkhead door. Wyatt sprang forward, low and fast, like a football player making a desperate tackle. His shoulder struck Makvern in the small of the back, his arms clasped him tight around the waist, and his weight bore him forward and down, through the door into the communications room. They hit the deck together, Wyatt on top, Makvern grunting heavily from the impact. Two men inside the room sprang up from their places in alarm. Wyatt turned his head and saw Brinna in the doorway and kicked the door shut in her face. There was no way to lock it. He scrambled to his feet, wild with the need for haste, and he realized then that Makvern was not moving. He must have hit his head on the deck when he fell. Wyatt dragged him against the door to block it, and by that time one of the two men had turned back to his instruments and was shouting into what Wyatt assumed to be the ship's intercom. The other man was almost on top of him. Wyatt could not possibly avoid that rush. The man was big and he was young and strong and he pinned Wyatt against the wall and pounded at him. Wyatt did not worry about prize-ring rules. He lowered his head and butted, hard. The man staggered back, and Wyatt gave him a clip on the jaw to help him down and then made a rush of his own, at the man who was busily arousing the whole ship. This man was not a pugnacious type. He looked at Wyatt with large horrified eyes and flung up his hands in a vague gesture of striking but Wyatt's fist took him solidly in the face and he whimpered and turned around and folded over his own knees. The communic room was now quiet, except for a series of noises outside the door. Wyatt stood panting, looking at the maze of equipment. Right here within reach was the means of warning Earth. The radio system on this ship must be strong enough to blanket every receiver on the planet. All he had to do was figure out how to use it. He swore in an agony of frustration. Nothing was marked right, nothing was as he knew it. It was all there, and it was totally useless. He reached down and took hold of the man who was crouched on the deck near him. He dragged him upright. He shook him. "Listen," he said. "Listen, you're going to get this thing working. Understand?" The man shook his head dazedly from side to side and said something in his own language. Wyatt's grip became cruel. "You're going to send a message to Earth," he said, and then Makvern spoke quietly behind him. "He can't understand you, Wyatt. Let him go." * * * * *