Nora thought for a moment. "I suppose you're ultimately aiming at Neosol," she suggested.
"That's the idea."
"But Neosol is a hundred light years away—"
"One hundred and forty-three at the last count," Paul corrected.
"So it will take a hundred and forty—"
"No," he smiled. "Less than three years from now. You see, seven light years is the greatest distance that separates the stars between here and Neosol. We've got a nice network of radio beams criss-crossing the pathway between here and Neosol. Oh," he admitted with a smile, "the triangulation beams will be arriving from now until a hundred years from now, but they're mostly check-beams, and the final beam from Earth to Neoterra will take the full time. But in the meantime we can refine our space charts using the network of beams once they start to arrive. And each time one of the triangulation check-beams gets home, we'll be able to refine the charts even more. But there's no sense in waiting for a century and a half."
The sergeant looked at Paul. "You're certain you can fly with that bump on the head?"
"Sure."
"Why not let someone else take it."
Paul shook his head. "It's my job," he said quickly.