It was. The line of bearded scarecrows hastened toward the _Mirzim_.
Ready hands helped them in.
The voice of Quorn yelled over the intercom, "They're right on top of
us! Hurry it up!"
Joris had thrust his way forward to the bridge. He was at his station
and waiting before the port was closed.
"Ready for take-off! Watch yourselves!"
His hand reached out for the signal relays. And then Trehearne saw it
hesitate and fall back.
From the opening door of the Communications room another voice spoke,
perfectly audible at that short distance--the metallic voice of the
receiver.
"_We have your range. Do not attempt to take off. We have your range.
Do not attempt._..."
Over Joris' suddenly shrunken shoulders, through the bridge port,
Trehearne saw the long slim shape of a cruiser sweep in toward a
landing close beside them.