ame instant, he
heard the sound.

What he heard could have been distant thunder, an earthquake, a
volcano or some giant explosion. It rumbled and rolled, muffled by
distance, yet still clear. It resembled none of these things to Jason,
but made him think only of a high altitude rocket or jet, cleaving
through the atmosphere.

It must have been the juxtaposition of these two things, occurring as
they did at the same time, the view of a radio transmitter, no matter
how crude, and the thought that there might be a civilized craft or
some kind up there containing men who would come to his aid if he
could only contact them. The idea was an insane one, but even as he
realized that fact he was through the door and bolting it behind him.
Perhaps he did it because he had been pushed around entirely too much
and felt like pushing someone else for a change. In any case it was
done, insane or not, and he might as well carry through.

The generator slave looked up, startled, but when Jason glanced at him
he lowered his eyes and kept cranking. The man who had been working
the transmitter spun about, startled by the slam of the door and the
muffled pounding and shouts that followed instantly from the other
side. He groped for his dagger when he saw the stranger, but before it
was clear of the scabbard Jason was on him and after a few quick
Pyrran infighting blows the man lost all interest in what was
happening and slid to the floor. Jason straddled his body, picked the
stick up, nodded to the slave who began cranking faster, and began to
tap out a message.

S-O-S ... S-O-S ... he sent first, then as fragments of code came back
to him he spelled out J-A-S-O-N D-A-L-T H-R-E.... N-E-E-D A-I-D....
R-I-C-H.... R-E-W-A-R-D ... F-O-R ... H-E-L-P....

He varied this a bit, repeated his name often, and tried other themes
appealing for off-world aid. It was a slim chance that he had heard a
rocket, and even slimmer chance that they would pick his message out
of the static if they happened to be listening. He had no evidence
that any off-worlders were in contact with this planet, merely hope.
He tapped on and the slave ground away industriously. His arm was
growing tired by the time the old guard in the other room found
something heavy enough to swing and broke the door down. Jason stopped
tapping and turned to face the apoplectic Hertug, rubbing his tired
wrist.

"Your equipment works fine, though it could use a lot of
improvements."