"Do whatever she tells you," he ordered Concor. Then to Grouth, "Make the connection. I'll talk to him."
Colors steadied and faded on the screen, built up an image. It was the same officer.
"You've made no surrender signals," the policeman stated.
"Hold your fire," Wilding told him savagely. "We're putting out spacecrafts with the hostages. They're alive and well. After that, I'll discuss terms."
Indecision struggled on the officer's face. But he shrugged and smiled coldly. If Wilding was willing to yield his only bargaining point, it was worth a brief concession of time. And there was nothing to lose by waiting, since the trap had already closed.
Grouth broke the connection rudely.
They waited while hostages were released, hustled into spacearmor, and put aboard the spacecrafts. Air hissed in the escape tubes.
Wilding shot an anxious glance at Elshar. She was smiling again, sadly, fondly.
"Time enough. Don't worry about the patrol ships. Everything is ready. I almost wish I could go with you. Your experiment should be ... interesting."
Concor sat at the control console. He pressed buttons, and a view of space flashed on the screen. Electronic tapes fed swiftly into the calculators, and from them to the robot controls that actually operated the ship. Light faded in the cabin. In the dimness, Wilding's hand found Amyth's and drew strength from her nearness.