“That was quite a stretch, Walt. That ‘hour, God willing,’ worked itself into four hours, God help us.”
“O.K., so I was optimistic. I thought that those doors were all on the center line.”
“They are supposed to be, but they aren’t huge and a little misalignment can do a lot of light-stopping. Can we juggle mirrors now?”
“Sure as shooting. Freddie in the flitter?”
“Yup. He thinks he’s at the right distance now. But he’s got a light outfit, and this radar can be calibrated to the foot. Is the mirror-dingbat running?”
“We’re cooking with glass right now.”
“Brother,” groaned Channing, “if I had one of those death rays that the boys were crowing about back in the days before space-hopping became anything but a bit of fiction, I’d scorch your ears—or burn ’em off—or blow holes in you—or di
