“Hold it,” the liaison said.
The anchor operator’s contribution was already falling. Her voice came through the independent line with a faint hiss that made the military man’s demand seem louder than it was.
“My threshold has been reached.”
“I can see that. Central needs another interval.”
“No.”
Eli looked at the liaison. The man stood beside the communications worker, one hand on the back of her chair. He had not been at the original request. He could see the bridge trace dropping, the next captive channel approaching its pressure point, and no immediate answer except the woman whose contribution had just been holding it all together.
“We’re not talking about a full shift,” he said. “A few minutes.”
The operator did not repeat the length of the interval she had accepted. It was already in the log. She asked whether Juno had isolated the circuit.
