“So I propose a plan. Let’s disclose ourselves, tell all the truth, and ask for our share of the Earth, some little corner where we may live apart. If our poor friends wish to surround it with a great barrier like that around Coventry, so be it-it is better that we never meet face to face.”
Some expressions of doubt changed to approval. Ralph Schultz stood up. “Without prejudice to Eve’s basic plan, I must advise you that it is my professional opinion that the psychological insulation she proposes cannot be accomplished that easily. As long as we’re on this planet they won’t be able to put us out of their minds. Modern communications-”
“Then we must move to another planet!” she retorted.
“Where?” demanded Bertram Hardy. “Venus? I’d rather live in a steam bath. Mars? Worn-out and worthless.”
“We will rebuild it,” she insisted.
“Not in your lifetime nor mine. No, my dear Eve, your tenderheartedness sounds well but it doesn’t make sense. There is only one planet in the System fit to live on-we’re standing on it.” Something in Bertram Hardy’s words set off a response in Lazarus Long’s brain, then the thought escaped him. Something . . . something that he had heard of said just a day or two ago . . . or was it longer than? Somehow it seemed to be associated with his first trip out into space, too, well over a century ago. Thunderation! it was maddening to have his memory play tricks on him like that–
Then he had it-the starship! The interstellar ship they were putting the finishing touches on out there between Earth and Luna. “Folks,” he drawled, “before we table this idea of moving to another planet, let’s consider all the possibilities.” He waited until he had their full attention. “Did you ever stop to think that not all the planets swing around this one Sun?”
Zaccur Barstow broke the silence. “Lazarus . . . are you making a serious suggestion?”
“Dead serious.”
“It does not sound so. Perhaps you had better explain.”
“I will.” Lazarus faced the crowd. “There’s a spaceship hanging out there in the sky, a roomy thing, built to make the long jumps between stars. Why don’t we take it and go looking for our own piece of real estate?”
Bertram Hardy was first to recover. “I don’t know whether our chairman is lightening the gloom with another of his wisecracks or not, but, assuming that he is serious, I’ll answer. My objection to Mars applies to this wild scheme ten times over. I understand that the reckless fools who are actually intending to man that ship expect to make the jump in about a century -then maybe their grandchildren will find something, or maybe they won’t. Either way, I’m not interested. I don’t care to spend a century locked up in a steel tank, nor do I expect to live that long. I won’t buy it.”
“Hold it,” Lazarus told him. “Where’s Andy Libby?”
“Here,” Libby answered! standing up.
“Come on down front. Slipstick, did you have anything to do with designing the new Centarus ship?”
“No. Neither this one nor the first one.”
Lazarus spoke to the crowd. “That settles it. If that ship didn’t have Slipstick’s finger in the drive design, then she’s not as fast as she could be, not by a good big coefficient. Slipstick, better get busy on the problem, son. We’re likely to need a solution.”
“But, Lazarus, you mustn’t assume that–”
“Aren’t there theoretical possibilities?”
“Well, you know there are, but–”
“Then get that carrot top of yours working on it.”
“Well . . . all right.” Libby blushed as pink as his hair.
“Just a moment, Lazarus.” It was Zaccur Barstow. “I like this proposal and I think we should discuss it at length not let ourselves be frightened off by Brother Bertram’s distaste for it. Even if Brother Libby fails to find a better means of propulsion-and frankly, I don’t think he will; I know a little something of field mechanics-even so, I shan’t let a century frighten me. By using cold-rest and manning the ship in shifts, most of us should be able to complete one hop. There is–“