"That's a quick decision."
"Sure. But the prime drive is O.K. The meters say so. It's just inefficient as the devil which is not true of a good drive. Holy smoke! We're getting efficient again!"
Timkins picked himself off of the floor painfully. "Uh-huh," he grunted. "Also, we're leaving Telfu behind at a fierce rate. Can you keep that eleven feet prime acceleration for a bit?"
"We're going to."
"I'm going to dash madly upstairs and hang the sigma recorder on again. Something is slippery here."
"What's our velocity at the present time?" asked McBride.
"Up in the fifteen thousand miles per second," answered Hammond.
"Hm-m-m. Then at what point with respect to Telfu did the drive go out?"
"About a million and a half miles, roughly."
"A minute and forty seconds from spot to conjunction," mused McBride. "If, little playmate, we can pet power again after one more minute and thirty seconds-odd, we'll feel more or less sure that it is Telfu and not us. Larry!" he yelled. "Any sign of upswing?"