"But—"
Milton stood to his full height which was imposing. "I care little for that," he boomed. "I am laughed at; I am made a fool of; I am ridiculed. I am told that my theories are impossible. I shall show them all, though they die in the attempt!"
"And you yourself."
"And if I do—if we do—it will prove my theories sound. Russia and the United States may each have their half, separated by millions of miles of space where neither can harm the other."
"It will not work," said Moreiko. Edwards and Harris groaned. Telling Professor Milton that something will not work was the best way to urge him on.
Professor Milton sat down with a superiorly tolerant smile. "I shall give you five minutes," he told the Russian. "If you prove this impossible, I will desist with but a formal apology from those Doubting Thomases."
"Clip him," snapped Ingalls, pointing a revolver at the professor.
Professor Milton smiled. "Field theory," he told Ingalls. "Pull the trigger, and see what happens!"
Ingalls grunted, pointed the pistol at the wall and fired. The explosion was but a piffling one, more of a slow burn than a sharp bang. The bullet oozed from the end of the barrel and fell to the floor with a thud.
Ingalls pulled a blackjack from his pocket and started forward, lifting it. Then he stopped. Moving the sap was difficult, like trying to swing a sledge under water.