It was the clang-clang-clang of the orbit-ship's general alarm.
Crewmen stopped with food halfway to their mouths, jerked away from tables. Orders buzzed along a dozen wires, and section chiefs began reporting their battle-stations alert and ready. Finally Tawney snapped on the general public address system speaker. "Now get this," he roared. "I want every inch of this ship searched ... every corridor, every compartment. I want a special crew standing by for missile launching. I want double guards at every airlock. If they get a ship away from here, the man who lets them through had better be dead when I find him...." He broke off, clutching the speaker until his voice was under control again. "All right, move. They're armed, but there's no place they can go. Find them."
A section-chief came back over the speaker. "Dead or alive, boss?"
"Alive, you idiot! At least the Hunter brat. I'll take the other one any way you can get him."
He switched off, and waited, pacing the control cabin like a caged animal. Ten minutes later a buzzer sounded. "Hydroponics, boss. All clear."
"No sign of them?"
"Nothing."
Another buzz. "Number seven ore hold. Nothing here."
Still another buzz. "Crew's quarters. Nothing, boss."