"I'm awake,” came a voice behind them, and they turned.
Thorn came into the control-room, rubbing his eyes. Then he peered tautly through the broad window that framed a magnificent vista of black space and stars.
"What about the cruisers on our tail?” he asked quickly.
The big Mercurian shrugged. “They're hanging on — we've heard their audio calls. And they've called up every Alliance cruiser in this part of the system. We've stirred up a hornets’ nest this time, John!"
John Thorn cut in the switch of the audio. From the speaker came a weird jumble of meaningless sound. All naval calls were always “scrambled” to prevent eavesdropping; only an official unscrambler could translate them.
There was such an unscrambler in this little ship. Thorn had built it, out of his own naval experience. He hastily snapped it on, and the incoherent jumble of sounds from the speaker at once became a crisp, understandable voice.
"— our auras, which shows that present course of the fugitives is straight toward the Zone. Undoubtedly they're hoping to hide out there. It is imperative that we cut them off before they enter the Zone. Flagship Gull, signing off."
"The Gull!" Thorn exclaimed, his brown face strange for a moment. “I know that ship. It was old Commander Leigh speaking. He commands the Alliance patrol squadrons out here."
His thoughts swept him back into memory for a moment. He had, only four years before, commanded a cruiser of the Earth Navy that helped patrol this very sector of space, out here beyond the orbit of Mars, against a surprise League attack.
"They've guessed that we're making for the Zone,” Thorn went on. “It's where all outlaws head for when things get too hot for them."