Electronically stored or transmitted? Indy racked his brain for some kind of recognition, but nothing was doing. Physics just wasn't his field either.
But one of his fields was figuring out who he could trust and who he couldn't, and Pierson had just put himself definitively on the first list. And Indy didn't like his attitude.
They wanted to get him here, he thought. It sounded paranoid, even to him, but this was exactly the kind of trap he was perpetually falling into. The M.O. of every bad guy under the sun--let Jones stumble around in the labyrinth until he's done something convenient, and toss him right back behind bars. Maybe try to pull his heart out of his chest while you're at it. Have a grand old time.
It had been Pierson's idea to go after the files in the first place, and like a sucker, he'd gone along perfectly with the plan. But why string him along like that--he was already here, no weapons, no clue; why not just pick him up and put him down exactly where they wanted him? Because then I wouldn't feel like such a dupe.
And that "squabbling like children" line was exactly the one he'd use if he were trying to pull something like that.
"'Fraid that's not good enough, Pierson," he shot back, not budging an inch. "Doesn't anything about this place seem strange to you? These radios, these intercoms? The flashlights? That thing we saw back there? Electronically stored data? I don't know what kind of college you work for, but I've never seen anything like this level of technology. And I'm not exactly provincial.
"So unless you can give me a good explanation for why a translator would be so at home with all of this, we'll be standing here squabbling for a long time."
He'd worked with plenty of people who would've stabbed him in the back (or left him tied to a chair, or taken the idol and dropped the whip, etc.) at the first opportunity, but his spirit of fellowship didn't extend anywhere near as far as someone who might be working for the people who had kidnapped him. Even Indy's patience had limits.
no subject
But one of his fields was figuring out who he could trust and who he couldn't, and Pierson had just put himself definitively on the first list. And Indy didn't like his attitude.
They wanted to get him here, he thought. It sounded paranoid, even to him, but this was exactly the kind of trap he was perpetually falling into. The M.O. of every bad guy under the sun--let Jones stumble around in the labyrinth until he's done something convenient, and toss him right back behind bars. Maybe try to pull his heart out of his chest while you're at it. Have a grand old time.
It had been Pierson's idea to go after the files in the first place, and like a sucker, he'd gone along perfectly with the plan. But why string him along like that--he was already here, no weapons, no clue; why not just pick him up and put him down exactly where they wanted him? Because then I wouldn't feel like such a dupe.
And that "squabbling like children" line was exactly the one he'd use if he were trying to pull something like that.
"'Fraid that's not good enough, Pierson," he shot back, not budging an inch. "Doesn't anything about this place seem strange to you? These radios, these intercoms? The flashlights? That thing we saw back there? Electronically stored data? I don't know what kind of college you work for, but I've never seen anything like this level of technology. And I'm not exactly provincial.
"So unless you can give me a good explanation for why a translator would be so at home with all of this, we'll be standing here squabbling for a long time."
He'd worked with plenty of people who would've stabbed him in the back (or left him tied to a chair, or taken the idol and dropped the whip, etc.) at the first opportunity, but his spirit of fellowship didn't extend anywhere near as far as someone who might be working for the people who had kidnapped him. Even Indy's patience had limits.