Len shook his head. "No joke, Pop; I'm dead serious. We're going to take a cargo into hyperspace. To the mem—the mem—oh, hell, I can't pronounce it—the queen, I guess, of Ferr. That's one of their planets. She wants Earth stuff, she says, and she promises to do right by us if we bring it to her. Sounds like a good deal."
The silence thickened as the two men face each other. At last Schiemann got up. "Look, Lennie, I don't make out I'm a saint. I've smuggled and cheated and stolen. But this I will not do. For the laws of the Federation, I don't give a damn—men made 'em and men can break 'em—but to go against the laws of nature, that is a different thing." He turned on his heel and went out of the control room.
Len went to his cabin and began to pack his gear. As he had expected, Schiemann interrupted him when he was halfway through. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Leaving," Len said. "I'm sick of small-time operations."
"Leaving me? Just like that? Does our friendship mean nothing at all to you?"
"Sure it does," Len told him. "When I get a chance, I'll write."
The old man's face crumpled. "Look, Lennie, if we did move into one of the more important sectors, maybe—"
"You know we wouldn't have a chance there," Len said harshly, to conceal his true emotions. "The sectors closer in to Earth have bigger, faster ships, and bigger, tougher men to run 'em. And they wouldn't like us trying to jet in!"
"I'd rather take a chance on that than—"