The _Algol's_ officers formed a silent group beneath the huge glassene
dome of the navigation bridge. They looked expectantly at Glayne as the
elevator port dilated and he approached them, weary and unshaven, his
face covered with blood.
Ignoring their unspoken questions, Glayne said brusquely, glancing at
the navigation chrono, "Lieutenant Harbin: Compute an orbit for Scone
III. Get the ship under way immediately ... drop into sub-space at
three ten to the seventh kilos from Jorger Sun. Thrust--eight G's."
He was about to turn on his heel when Harbin's hesitant voice stopped
him.
"Sir ... what ... what about Commander Graysen and the others?"
Glayne stared at the youngster bleakly. "Graysen is dead," he said with
a flat voice. "So is Ganser. And I presume that our escort has been
executed."