Whitley shrugged. "If you say so, Strike. It's good enough for me."
Celia Graham left the bridge shaking her head. "We'll all be dead soon. And me so young and pretty."
Strike turned to the squawk-box. "Evans!"
"Evans here," came the reply.
"Have Sparks get a DF fix on the Atropos and hold it. We'll home on their carrier wave. They're in trouble and we're going after them. Plot the course."
"Yes, Captain."
Strike turned to Cob. "Have the gun-crews stand by to relieve the black-gang in the tube rooms. It's going to get hotter than the hinges of hell down there and we'll have to shorten shifts."
"Yes, sir!" Cob saluted and was gone.
Strike returned to the squawk-box. "Radar!"
"Graham here," replied Celia from her station.