It was hard to believe that he would, under the circumstances. All
right. If not death, then what? He sat there uncertain. The vital
seconds went by, and he could see no solution. He thought finally,
in desperation: "I'll have to give in for the moment. Even a minute
thinking about this is absolutely crazy."
He said aloud in utter frustration, "I'll promise you this. If you can
figure out how I can feel safe in a ship commanded by you I'll give
your plan consideration. And now, mister, start talking."
Browne nodded. "I accept that promise," he said. "What we've run into
here is the Lorenz-Fitzgerald Contraction Theory. Only it's not a
theory any more. We're living the reality of it."
Lesbee argued, "But it only took us a few hours to get to the speed of
light."
Browne said, "As we approach light speed, space foreshortens and time
compresses. What seemed like a few hours would be days in normal time
and space."
What Browne explained then was different rather than difficult. Lesbee
had to blink his mind to shut out the glare of his old ideas and habits
of thought, so that the more subtle shades of super-speed phenomena
could shine through into his awareness.
The time compression--as Browne explained it--was gradational. The
rapid initial series of accelerations were obviously designed to
pin down the personnel of the ship. Subsequent increments would be
according to what was necessary to attain the ultra-speed finally
achieved.
Since the drive was still on, it was clear that some resistance was
being encountered, perhaps from the fabric of space itself.
It was no time to discuss technical details. Lesbee accepted the
remarkable reality and said quickly, "Yes, but where is Dzing?"
"My guess," said Browne, "is that he did not come along."
"How do you mean?"
"The space-time foreshortening did not affect him."
"But--" Lesbee began blankly.
"Look," said Browne harshly, "don't ask me how he did it. My picture
is, he stayed in the cage till after the acceleration stopped. Then, in
a leisurely fashion, he released himself from the electrically locked
manacles, climbed out, and went off to some other part of the ship. He
wouldn't have to hurry since by this time he was operating at a rate
of, say, five hundred times faster than our living pace."
Lesbee said, "But that means he's been out there for hours--his time.
What's he been up to?"
Browne admitted that he had no answer for that.
"But you can see," he pointed out anxiously, "that I meant what I said
about going back to Earth. We have no business in this part of space.
These beings are far ahead of us scientifically."
His purpose was obviously to persuade. Lesbee thought: "He's back to
_our_ fight. That's more important to him than any damage the real
enemy is causing."
A vague recollection came of the things he had read about the struggle
for power throughout Earth history. How men intrigued for supremacy
while vast hordes of the invader battered down the gates. Browne was a
true spiritual descendant of all those mad people.
Slowly, Lesbee turned and faced the big board. What was baffling to him
was, what could you do against a being who moved five hundred times as
fast as you did?