Lesbee discussed the disappearance with Browne.
It was an abrupt decision on his part to do so. The question of where
Dzing might have got to was not something he should merely turn over in
his own head.
He began by pointing at the dials from which the immense speed of the
ship could be computed, and then, when that meaning was absorbed by
the older man, said simply, "What happened? Where did he go? And how
could we speed up to just under 186,000 miles a second in so short a
time?"
He had lowered the big man to the floor, and now he took some of the
tension from the tractor beam but did not release the power. Browne
stood in apparent deep thought. Finally, he nodded. "All right," he
said, "I know what happened."
"Tell me."
Browne changed the subject, said in a deliberate tone, "What are you
going to do with me?"
Lesbee stared at him for a moment unbelievingly. "You're going to
withhold this information?" he demanded.
Browne spread his hands. "What else can I do? Till I know my fate, I
have nothing to lose."
Lesbee suppressed a strong impulse to rush over and strike his
prisoner. He said finally, "In your judgment is this delay dangerous?"
Browne was silent, but a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. "_I_
have nothing to lose," he repeated.
The expression in Lesbee's face must have alarmed him, for he went on
quickly, "Look, there's no need for you to conspire any more. What
you really want is to go home, isn't it? Don't you see, with this new
method of acceleration, we can make it to Earth in a few _months_!"
He stopped. He seemed momentarily uncertain.
Lesbee snapped angrily, "Who are you trying to fool? Months! We're a
dozen light years in actual distance from Earth. You mean years, not
months."
Browne hesitated then: "All right, a few years. But at least not a
lifetime. So if you'll promise not to scheme against me further, I'll
promise--"
"_You'll_ promise!" Lesbee spoke savagely. He had been taken aback
by Browne's instant attempt at blackmail. But the momentary sense of
defeat was gone. He knew with a stubborn rage that he would stand for
no nonsense.
He said in an uncompromising voice, "Mister Browne, twenty seconds
after I stop speaking, you start talking. If you don't, I'll batter you
against these walls. I mean it!"
Browne was pale. "Are you going to kill me? That's all I want to know.
Look--" his tone was urgent--"we don't have to fight any more. We can
go home. Don't you see? The long madness is just about over. Nobody has
to die."
Lesbee hesitated. What the big man said was at least partly true. There
was an attempt here to make twelve years sound like twelve days, or at
most twelve weeks. But the fact was, it _was_ a short period compared
to the century-long journey which, at one time, had been the only
possibility.
* * * * *