"It can't be done," the big man stated simply. "Maybe sometime in the future, but certainly not now."
Saunders stretched a bony hand out from the cuff of his tweeds. "It can be done," he said, slapping that hand on the table. "It's all here. You've just seen it; you've studied it. Damn it, this isn't a fly-by-night affair! I've worked on these plans for more than eight years. I know it will work."
A man in blue serge shrugged and said, "I'm afraid Bragg is right, Dr. Saunders." He tugged at his collar, the fat hanging in loose folds around his neck.
Saunders turned to eye the newcomer. "You agree?" he asked defiantly. "Even after studying my work? You agree that my proposed rocket couldn't possibly reach the Moon?"
"It might," the man in blue serge admitted, "but we can't speculate on a thing of this nature. After all, Dr. Saunders, there'll be money involved and...."
"Money!" Saunders snorted in disgust. "Is that all you're worried about? You're one of the richest men on Earth, Mr. Peterson. How can you let money stand in the way of what may well be man's greatest achievement?"
Bragg spoke again, peering from behind the thick lenses of his eyeglasses. "Peterson is right; this thing would cost millions—more than any of us would be willing to risk. We appreciate your considering us, but...."
Saunders cut in sharply, "Does that go for all of you? Is Mr. Bragg speaking for all of you?"
A heavy silence crowded into the room. Saunders confronted Peterson again.
"He speaks for me," Peterson said.