Kent's idea was simple. Why should the younger generation spend their entire lives cooped up on the Starship I, he asked? If the ship were turned around now and full power were applied, they could make it back to Earth in a little over ten years. That, of course, would use up all the fuel that would normally be used in the next hundred years—but what would that matter, if they were back on Earth?

And Bayliss Kent had also pointed out that there was no possible danger of a counter-revolution. Once the ship started back, it would have burned so much fuel that it could only continue on to Earth—it couldn't try for Procyon again.

To many of the younger men, it seemed like a good idea.

But they needed a navigator. The logical one, they had thought, was Peter Conroy. But Conroy, shocked at the idea of mutiny against the Captain, had made the mistake of telling Bayliss Kent to his face that he would have nothing to do with the plot.

They had been in a Shopping Center at the time. Kent had simply drawn his gun and marched Conroy to the Agricultural Section. The idea had been to kill him and bury him in the field. The body wouldn't be found for at least a year, possibly never.

Conroy had barely managed to escape with his life.

And now, he had to get word to the Captain before Bayliss Kent did anything desperate.

He walked down the long corridor toward the Captain's Quarters. There were officers bustling around the corridor, moving from one office to another; most of them were administrative officers, doing their job of governing the people of the ship.

The guard at the door of the Administration Office saluted him and said nothing as he went inside. He walked over to the appointment desk.

"I'd like to see the Executive Officer, please," he said.

He had to see the Exec to get permission to speak with the Captain. He expected to have to wait quite a while even for the Exec, and so he was quite surprised when the pretty blonde sergeant told him to go right in.

"He's in conference," she said, "but he wants you there."

"Thanks," Conroy said, puzzled.

He walked into the Exec's mahogany-panelled office—and found himself staring squarely down the muzzle of Bayliss Kent's pistol.

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