"Any fix on the direction?"
"None at all, sir. And he's got at least a two hours' start. That takes in a pretty big area of space."
"Hm-m-m! Well there's just a bare chance. That experimental cruiser is the fastest thing in space and it's equipped with the latest ethero-radar. If we get started right away, we just might—"
"That's just it," interrupted the biophysicist. "That's the ship he got away in."
The Director jumped angrily to his feet. "How did that happen? How can I explain to the board?"
"I'm sorry, sir. He was just too—"
"You're sorry?" He slumped back in his chair and drummed the desk top with his fingernails, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. He exhaled loudly and leaned forward. "Well, only one thing to do. You know the orders."
The biophysicist squirmed uncomfortably. "Couldn't we send a squadron of ships out to search and—"
"And what?" asked the Director, sarcastically. "You don't think I'd risk a billion credits worth of equipment on a wild-goose chase like that, do you? We could use up a year's appropriation of fuel and manpower and still be unable to adequately search a sector one-tenth that size. If he just sat still, a thousand ships couldn't find him in a thousand years, searching at finite speeds. Add to that the fact that the target is moving at ultra-light speed and the odds against locating him is multiplied by a billion."
"I know, but he can't stay in space. He'll have to land somewhere, sometime."