"But we know that it has been done. Nothing more need hold us up; we know!"
Hanson added another page to his mental notes regarding Redmond. Frustrated genius, second rater really, Redmond was the type of man who had always been protected against danger. In the course of his life, he had never faced the consequences of one of his own acts; therefore he fully believed that every time he was about to step off of the deep end, some Divine Providence would save him. If Redmond were permitted to do as he wanted to do, it was "Sign to Redmond" that he was on the right track. Some people call it superstition; some call it intuition; some call it foolishness. To Redmond, it was a sort of Fate.
Maculay stood up and led the way to the doorway. "Let's look at this," he said.
"Cliff," said Hanson, "nothing has changed since you went away. Real and unreal space are still mutually destructive. And if you couldn't figure it out, no other man on earth could."
Redmond said, "True, at that time. But we've had extra evidence to work on."
"But—"
"Forget it," said Redmond; "we know what we're talking about."
Maculay entered the control room of the ship first. He looked it over with interest, then nodded. "Everything is in ship-shape fashion," he said.
"We could start tomorrow if we had to."