“Not good, Sam,” said Vern, looking worried.
I said: “Well, that still leaves five. There’s the Vulcania, the Cristobal—”
“Too small.”
“All right. The Manhattan, the Liberté and the Queen Elizabeth.”
Amy looked up, her eyes gleaming. “Where’s the question?” she demanded. “Naturally, it’s the Queen.”
I tried to explain. “Please, Amy. Leave these things to us, will you?”
“But the Major won’t settle for anything but the best!”
“The Major?”
I glanced at Vern, who wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Well,” I said, “look at the problems, Amy. First we have to check it over. Maybe it’s been burned out—how do we know? Maybe the channel isn’t even deep enough to float it any more—how do we know? Where are we going to get the oil for it?”