One looked up and grinned. Crane knew what he was thinking. That the ship would tear itself apart. Everyone said that. Everyone except Evelyn. She had faith in him. Hallmyer never said it either. But Hallmyer thought he was crazy in another way. As he descended the ladder, Crane saw Hallmyer come into the shed, lab jacket flying.
“Speak of the devil!” Crane muttered.
Hallmyer began shouting as soon as he saw Crane. “Now listen—”
“Not all over again,” Crane said.
Hallmyer dug a sheaf of papers out of his pocket and waved it under Crane’s nose.
“I’ve been up half the night,” he said, “working it through again. I tell you I’m right. I’m absolutely right—”
Crane looked at the tight-written equations and then at Hallmyer’s bloodshot eyes. The man was half mad with fear.
“For the last time,” Hallmyer went on. “You’re using your new catalyst on iron solution. All right. I grant that it’s a miraculous discovery. I give you credit for that.”
Miraculous was hardly the word for it. Crane knew that without conceit, for he realized he’d only stumbled on it. You had to stumble on a catalyst that would induce atomic disintegration of iron and give 10 X 1010 foot-pounds of energy for every gram of fuel. No man was smart enough to think all that up by himself.
“You don’t think I’ll make it?” Crane asked.