"It's no lie; it's just a fine way to raise the sale of tubes. And tubes are only one part of the whole. Now—"
Steve roared again. "When the lives of a couple of hundred people depend upon a chunk of wire the size of a piece of string, heated to incandescence by electric current, any safety factor can damn well afford to be trebled and trebled again!"
Wrightwood shook his head solemnly. "This isn't all," he said; "this is only the beginning. The whole adds up to a staggering sum. But I didn't bring you in here to hurl accusations at you. I merely want to ask you to use a bit of tolerant common sense."
"Now I'm lacking in com—"
"Now, now, let's stop roaring like a ruffled lion. The only common sense you lack, Steve, is the sense that should tell you that running Interstellar is more self-satisfying than being commissioner of the Guardians. But look. Let's for the moment admit that a ship—called X—comes into Tandrel and as it arrives the time-meters on the thyratrons say that their safe life is up. What then?"
"Replace 'em."
Wrightwood nodded.
Steve looked at the man quizzically. If one of the first tenets of argument is never to admit for a moment that you are wrong, then why was William Wrightwood doing it?
Wrightwood shrugged. "Replace them," he agreed. "However, remember the following items: