Hagen grunted. "Yes."
"Steve, did the fact that you are William Wrightwood Junior have anything to do with this order?"
"What difference does that make?"
Wrightwood sat back in his chair. "Steve, I hate to do this to you, but your answers have confirmed my suspicions. This order and its impossible fulfillment is more like an attempt to have you resign. This smacks of unfair tactic, and upon that fact I am making my final bid."
"What final bid?"
"Since the Guardians have proven themselves unable to operate as a completely impersonalized agency, they fail in the one thing they claim—which is to operate for good or bad, for rich or poor alike. As such, I can prove the ability to operate the Guardians as a more efficient agency, and I shall do it!"
"Not if I can help it."
"Tell me, Steve, what can you do?"
"I can—"
"There was a faulty generator on the Astarte. How did it get there? Would you maliciously try to wreck my ship?"