“Just our luck!” swore Krogson. “Well, tell him to leave his transmitter on. We’ll ride in on his beam. Better call the sector commander while you’re at it and tell him what’s happened.”
“Beg pardon, commander,” said Schninkle, “but I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Why not?” asked Krogson.
“You’re next in line to be sector commander, aren’t you, sir?”
“I guess so,” said the commander.
“If this pans out, you’ll be in a position to knock him over and grab his job, won’t you?” asked Schninkle slyly.
“Could be,” admitted Krogson in a tired voice. “Not because I want to, though—but because I have to. I’m not as young as I once was, and the boys below are pushing pretty hard. It’s either up or out —and out is always feet first.”
“Put yourself in the sector commander’s shoes for a minute,” suggested the little man. “What would you do if a war base commander came through with news of a possible Imperial base?”
A look of grim comprehension came over Krogson’s face. “Of course! I’d ground the commander’s ships and send out my own fleet. I must be slipping; I should have thought of that at once!”
“On the other hand,” said Schninkle, “you might call him and request permission to conduct routine maneuvers. He’ll approve as a matter of course and you’ll have an excuse for taking out the full fleet. Once in deep space, you can slap on radio silence and set course for the scout. If there is an Imperial base out there, nobody will know anything about it until it’s blasted. I’ll stay back here and keep my eyes on things for you.”