"But I—"
"You didn't catch Black Morgan," grunted Edwards sourly. "And what do you know about him?"
"He came up behind us at a velocity that apparently exceeded the speed of light, caught us, robbed us, and then left quietly."
"Exceeded the speed of light?" scoffed Captain Edwards.
"According to the recorder, he did."
"Yeah, that we know," grunted Edwards. "He is always supposed to. The detector's repetition-rate is about one every ten seconds, permitting ranges up to a million miles. The close-in detector runs one per second, and Black Morgan comes in from maximum range to close-in range between pulses. He hits once or twice on the close-in range—all of which gives definite evidence that he exceeds the speed of light. And he is instantly maneuverable! So he comes up behind you at a thousand times your velocity and slows down to match you in microseconds. This ain't possible—and everybody knows it!"
"Maybe he knows the answer," said Jeffries doggedly.
"Black Morgan has been doing that trick for eight years," snapped Captain Edwards. "During which time every scientist in the system has been seeking a means of copying it in some manner. Now don't tell me that one man can think up a method of space drive that the rest of the scientific world cannot even conceive as possible? Method—hell. They won't even permit its being possible, let alone finding a method. Now—you're it."
"I'm—it?"
Captain Edwards nodded solemnly. "I gave you this jaunt as a vacation. You boggled it. I'd not have minded failure. But the service can't stand having one of its men making monkeys out of everybody. Mere failure was to be expected. But you advertised for it, wanted it, took it, and then added the ignominy of having the space line lose a half a million dollars worth of radiosodium."