Pursuit was inevitable, but still invisible. Patrol ships were certainly converging to hunt down the fugitives, but they were still beyond range of the instruments. Wilding was satisfied by the progress of his venture, though still under strain. There had been trouble getting away from Alcatraz. Many convicts, though willing enough to attempt escape, objected to joining his further plans. A determined few had rioted and tried to seize the escape vessels for a mad dash back to the familiar moons and planets of men. The riots had been brief and bloody, though abortive.
Wilding avoided contact with his fellow fugitives. Grouth and Concor had taken over technical management of the ships. Tiny and Tichron were organizing the personnel. Amyth and Elshar, discovering a mutual curiosity, were inseparable, and Wilding had seen neither of them during the voyage. He felt, uneasily, that their long discussions might be concerned with settling something in regard to him. And now that the machinery of his great dream was actually in operation, he found himself oddly depressed. When there is no immediate occupation for hands or brain, the way of a leader is hard and lonely.
Brooding in his synthetic solitude, he wrestled with his greatest opponent—himself. Black doubts crept into his soul. He longed for crisis and the need for action.
It would come soon enough, he realized. Reaching the hidden spaceship with his cargoes of human raw material was only the first step in an endless obstacle course. Before personnel and materials could be transferred to the starship and the ship itself made ready for deep space, time would pass. Already the facts of the break-out from Alcatraz must be known. A network of fast patrol cruisers was slowly but surely closing in upon him. A getaway in the face of such opposition would be touch and go at best. At worst, it would mean a quick, inglorious end to his venture.
Troubled, he sought out Concor in the control room.
The Martian grinned at him, gestured toward the view-screen showing space ahead. "Any moment now. The charts of this part of the Belt are not too reliable. We're shaping our orbit now, and if the figures are right, we'll overhaul your asteroid—"
Mass-detector alarms set up a demoniac clangor.
Grouth came into the control room. "Right on the nose," he said.
A point of light swam into visibility on the view-screen. It grew swiftly, steadily, first in intensity, then in size, until it bulked large, filling up the field of the screen.
Weak with relief, Wilding ordered the ship set down.