Captain Warren said to Wilson, "That's a hell of a fine space detector, isn't it?"
Wilson nodded absently, picked up his own handset and called, "Logan from Wilson. How close are you now?"
"Thousand yards, Commodore. And no doubt about it. Lifeship Number One."
"You stay on, Logan, and give us a rundown."
"Yes, sir. Not much to tell, you know. But I'm closing in."
The scout craft pilot went on and on, mostly filling in with inconsequential details of how he was closing in, jockeying to parallel the lifeship's course and speed, and finally making a space approach.
At last he said, "They're on radio, Commodore Wilson. I'll relay as I get it. Too bad these crates aren't fixed to patch-cord the short range radio to the infrawave. I—" Pilot Logan went on to rattle off the names of the men aboard the lifeship, stopping once to reconfirm a pronunciation.
"Where's the pilot, and the other two? Miss Hemingway and Mr. Andrews?"
"They must be in Lifeship Three," said Logan. "That's a guess. Er—Commodore Wilson, I'm within a couple of hundred yards of them now and they're waving out through the astrodome at me. I'm about to toss out a light bomb. Or has anybody got a radar fix on me?"