"I mean I'm going out there, as Flick put it, in search of Them and of that weapon which is slowly but surely bringing death to our civilization. I am going to leave Earth and this galaxy and hunt in the dark depths of the Beyond for the reason conspiring against us."
"Oh, but now wait a minute, Gary," said his friend and constant companion, "I'm your buddy. I'll string along with you on almost anything. But this is going a little too far. Talking of leaving the galaxy. Good Lord, man, you must be out of your mind! Oh have you forgotten how to count? The fastest spaceship ever built travels at a rate of only about 7,000 miles per minute. And the nearest star, Proxima Centauri, is about four light-years away. At that rate, all that would be left of you by the time you got there would be a little heap of dried-up dust."
Lane smiled thinly. "Don't worry about that. We'll be alive when we get there."
"What! We! Where do you get the community spirit?"
"We," said Gary, "because you're going, too, Flick. I'll need you. And any of the others who want to come along. I think I can promise you the greatest adventure ever undertaken by human beings."
Dr. Bryant said, "Gary, what are you talking about? Muldoon is absolutely right. It would take centuries to reach the nearest star. How, then, do you expect—?"
"Centuries," acknowledged Gary, "if the ship in which we traveled had only the speed Flick mentioned. But you know as well as I that on another planet of this system dwells a race which knows the secret of achieving speed beyond that of the limiting velocity of light."
"You mean," asked Nora Powell, "the Jovians?"
"That's right."