But he was curious about Quantrell. It wasn't often he had a chance to talk with someone his own age from another ship. "You know," he said, "we starmen lead an empty life. You don't get to realize it until you come to the Enclave."
"I decided that a long time ago," Quantrell said.
Alan spread his hands. "What do we do? We dash back and forth through space, and we huddle here in the Enclave. And we don't like either one or the other, but we fool ourselves into liking them. When we're in space we can't wait to get to the Enclave, and once we're down here we can't wait to get back. Some life."
"Got any suggestions? Some way of fixing things up for us without queering interstellar commerce?"
"Yes," Alan snapped. "I do have a suggestion. Hyperspace drive!"
Quantrell laughed harshly. "Of all the cockeyed——"
"There you are," Alan said angrily. "First thing you do is laugh. A spacewarp drive is just some hairbrained scheme to you. But haven't you ever considered that Earth's scientists won't bother developing such a drive for us if we don't care ourselves? They're just as happy the way things are. They don't have to worry about the Fitzgerald Contraction."
"But there's been steady research on a hyperdrive, hasn't there? Ever since Cavour, I thought."
"On and off. But they don't take it very seriously and they don't get anywhere with it. If they'd really put some men to work they'd find it—and then there wouldn't be any more Enclaves or any Fitzgerald Contraction, and we starmen could live normal lives."
"And your brother—he wouldn't be cut off from his people the way he is——"