He said quickly, "What was your reason for saying that the journey home would only take--well--less than a year?" "It's the tremendous time compression," Browne explained eagerly. "The distance as you pointed out is over 12 light-years. But with a time ratio of 3, 4, or 500 to one, we'll make it in less than a month. When I first started to say that, I could see that the figures were incomprehensible to you in your tense mood. In fact, I could scarcely believe them myself." Lesbee said, staggered, "We can get back to Earth in a couple of weeks--my God!" He broke off, said urgently, "Look, I accept you as commander. We don't need an election. The status quo is good enough for any short period of time. Do you agree?" "Of course," said Browne. "That's the point I've been trying to make." As he spoke, his face was utterly guileless. Lesbee gazed at that mask of innocence, and he thought hopelessly: "What's wrong? Why isn't he really agreeing? Is it because he doesn't want to lose his command so quickly?" Sitting there, unhappily fighting for the other's life, he tried to place himself mentally in the position of the commander of a vessel, tried to look at the prospect of a return to view. It was hard to picture such a reality. But presently it seemed to him that he understood. He said gently, feeling his way, "It would be kind of a shame to return without having made a successful landing anywhere. With this new speed, we could visit a dozen sun systems, and still get home in a year." The look that came into Browne's face for a fleeting moment told Lesbee that he had penetrated to the thought in the man's mind. The next instant, Browne was shaking his head vigorously. "This is no time for side excursions," he said. "We'll leave explorations of new star systems to future expeditions. The people of this ship have served their term. We go straight home." Browne's face was now completely relaxed. His blue eyes shone with truth and sincerity. There was nothing further that Lesbee could say. The gulf between Browne and himself could not be bridged. The commander had to kill his rival, so that he might finally return to Earth and report that the mission of the _Hope of Man_ was accomplished. VIII In the most deliberate fashion Lesbee shoved the blaster into the inner pocket of his coat. Then, as if he were being careful, he used the tractor beam to push Browne about four feet away. There he set him down, released him from the beam, and--with the same deliberateness--drew his hand away from the tractor controls. Thus he made himself completely defenseless. It was the moment of vulnerability. Browne leaped at him, yelling: "Miller--pre-empt!" First Officer Miller obeyed the command of his captain. What happened then, only Lesbee, the technician with a thousand bits of detailed knowledge, expected.