"Can you prove that?"
"Sure," chuckled Jimmy. "I saw 'em. I can still see 'em!"
"Franklen, hang on about seven G and follow Jimmy's orders. Chuck, see if you can get anything cogent out of your gadget. Holy Green Fire, with a cubic million million million megaparsecs in which to run, we have to be so good that we run right into our quarry. Who says that radio direction finding is not a precise science? Who says that we couldn't catch—"
"Walt, they're losing fast."
"O.K., Jimmy, can you give me any idea as to their velocity with respect to ours?"
"How long is she?"
"Six hundred feet."
Jimmy was silent for some seconds, "They're out of sight again, but I make it about four to seven hundred miles per second."
"At seven G we should match that seven hundred in about four hours."
"And then go on decelerating so that they'll catch up?"