"And you, Mr. Thorpe?" Saunders asked.
"Yes, yes, I'm inclined to agree," a balding man in glen plaid announced.
"Mr. Slade?" Saunders turned to a weasel-like man dressed in solemn black.
Slade nodded, his face chalky white against the black of his garb.
"I've asked you four men because you were probably the richest men on Earth. I've asked you because I thought perhaps you would see the significance of such a project. To reach the Moon." Saunders' eyes gleamed with an intense light. "To reach the Moon."
"And when we reach it?" Peterson asked. "Then what?"
"Unlimited space," Saunders answered with feeling. "New worlds, worlds beyond the imagination of man. The Moon is only the first step, the experimental step. From there, Mars ... or Venus ... or a new solar system."
Bragg said, "Rubbish. Even if this should work—I'm not at all convinced it will, but even if it should—what's on the Moon for us? Bare crags and lonely craters. Cold, bleak atmosphere. Nothing."
"Nothing that would bring in money, true," Saunders said. "But look at Copernicus and Galileo. Look at Pasteur and Edison and Curie. Look at ... oh, I could go on all night. What these men contributed to mankind can never be measured in terms of gold or silver. Can't you see that?"