"I've told you," Hudson said. "He was afraid it wouldn't work."
"There wasn't any need to be scared of that. We never would have laughed at him."
"No. Of course we wouldn't."
"Then what was he scared of?" Cooper asked.
"If the unit failed and we knew it failed, Wes was afraid we'd try to make him see how hopeless and insane it was. And he knew we'd probably convince him and then all his hope would be gone. And he wanted to hang onto that, Johnny. He wanted to hang onto his hope even when there wasn't any left."
"That doesn't matter now," said Cooper. "What counts is that he'll come back. I can feel it in my bones."
And here's another case, thought Hudson, of hope begging to be allowed to go on living.
God, he thought, I wish I could be that blind!
"Wes is working on it right now," said Cooper confidently.
XIV
He was. Not he alone, but a thousand others, working desperately, knowing that the time was short, working not alone for two men trapped in time, but for the peace they all had dreamed about—that the whole world had yearned for through the ages.
For to be of any use, it was imperative that they could zero in the time machines they meant to build as an artilleryman would zero in a battery of guns, that each time machine would take its occupants to the same instant of the past, that their operation would extend over the same period of time, to the exact second.
It was a problem of control and calibration—starting with a prototype that was calibrated, as its finest adjustment, for jumps of 50,000 years.
Project Mastodon was finally under way.