"What do you mean, lost him!" the bull roar of the commodore rattled the screen. "Are you telling me that this ragtag refugee has the capability to drop off the screens of the best-equipped tracking deck in the Fleet?"
"Sir," the stubborn-faced tracking officer repeated, "I can only report that my screens register nothing within the conic of search. If he's there—"
"He's there, Mister!" the commodore's eyes glared from under a bushy overhang of brows. "Find that bandit or face a court, Captain. I haven't diverted a ship of the Fleet Line from her course for the purpose of becoming the object of an Effectiveness Inquiry!"
The tracking officer turned away from the screen as it went white, met the quizzical gaze of the visiting signal lieutenant.
"The old devil's bit off too big a bite this time," he growled. "Let him call a court; he wouldn't have the gall."
"If we lose the bogie now, he won't look good back on Vandy," Pryor said. "This is serious business, diverting from Cruise Plan to chase rumors. I wonder if he really had a positive ID on this track."
"Hell, no! There's no way to make a Positive at this range, under these conditions! After three years without any action for the newstapes, the brass are grabbing at straws."
"Well, if I were you, Gordie, I'd find that track, even if it turns out to be a tramp, with a load of bootleg dran."
"Don't worry. If he's inside the conic, I'll find him . . ."