"Nothing whatever until we have to," was the reply. "Wish we could go on like this for a couple of weeks, but there's not a chance. Headquarters will get curious pretty quick as to why we're shoving off."
Even as he spoke a furious burst of noise erupted from the communicator; a noise which meant:
"Vessel F47U596! Where are you going, and why? Report!"
At that brusque command one of the still forms struggled weakly to its knees and tried to frame words, but fell back dead.
"Perfect!" Kinnison breathed into VanBuskirk's ear. "Couldn't have been better. Now they'll probably take their time about rounding us up. Listen, here comes some more."
The communicator was again sending. "See if you can get a direction on their transmitter!"
"If there are any survivors able to report, do so at once!" Kinnison understood the dynamic cone to say. Then the voice moderating, as though the speaker had turned from his microphone to someone near-by, it went on, "No one answers, sir. This, you know, is the ship that was lying closest to the new patrol ship when she exploded; so close that her navigator did not have time to go free before collision with the débris. The crew were apparently all killed or incapacitated by the shock."
"If any of the officers survive have them brought in for trial," a more distant voice commanded, savagely. "Boskone has no use for bunglers except to serve as examples. Have the ship seized and returned here as soon as possible."
"Could you trace it, Bus?" Kinnison demanded. "Even one line on their headquarters would be mighty useful."