Migl vanished down the hatch and Albrekt flicked the switch that closed and locked it. A moment later the intercom system erupted with Migl's frantic voice from below: "General alarm! Prepare for emergency acceleration! General alarm! Hurry, Carrel!" Albrekt smiled grimly. The second hand swept around the face of the chronometer, boosting the reluctant minute hand forward in jerks. At exactly 1300 hours, Albrekt pushed the firing button. The tape chattered through the automatic pilot. Apparently, the makers of the tape had planned on a fast-get-away: the pressure must have approached 5-G, pinning Albrekt painfully back against the cushioned reclining chair. He was able to move his eyes to watch the outside screens. The other eleven ships of the convoy, coasting in formation in their orbit, dwindled behind them and swung gradually to one side. In a few moments, everything cut off, and weightlessness returned. Red lights were flashing all over the control board, and distant alarm bells were clanging in the depths of the ship. Albrekt had no idea what they meant. He was no spaceman. The radio loudspeaker crackled and blared. The convoy had discovered the _By Jove!_'s defection. "_Themis_ to flagship! _Themis_ to flagship! _By Jove!_ has changed course! Moving away fast. Position, RA 16-2-1/2, D minus 19-40." After a moment: "Flagship to _Themis_: acknowledged. Flagship to _By Jove!_ Flagship to _By Jove!_ Carrel, what the hell?" Albrekt grinned. "_Themis_ to flagship," called the loudspeaker, when silence greeted the query. "Shall we follow?" "Flagship to _Themis_ and all vessels. If you're that flush with fuel, how about passing some around? No pursuit authorized. All vessels take readings on _By Jove!_'s new orbit as long as it's in range. We'll alert the patrol to investigate when we're in radio range." The ship's intercom buzzed. "Albrekt!" It was the voice of Carrel, the captain. "Yes?" "We'll get to the reason for this damn fool stunt later. Right now, do you plan any further acceleration?" "Later. I'll warn you in time to strap down." "I should hope so. Those G's nearly killed Qoqol. This ship wasn't built for that sort of acceleration, you idiot. Half the seams are sprung and leaking air." "Repair them, then," snapped Albrekt. "You'll have time." During the long silence that ensued, Albrekt sat back and took stock of the situation. So far, everything had worked perfectly. The other tape given him by the Flanjo agent on Mars was to be run through the automatic pilot exactly 200 hours after the first one, when the _By Jove!_'s diverging orbit carried it beyond range of the convoy's meager radar equipment. The control room would be his headquarters for the next few months, simply because the control room was the only deck of the _By Jove!_ which could be locked against the rest of the ship. All the weapons--the heat guns--were in the control room, so Albrekt expected no trouble on that score.