“Frankly, sir, I don’t think much of it as yet. I agree the ship has a considerable chance of joining up with the Jackoes and of going along with them undetected, but the chance of ever getting back with any information is smallish.”

“We have an answer to that too,” Hayes told him, stepping over to a bench. “This gadget here is a special camera which carries nearly a mile of film. Whenever the destination is reached, our pilot starts up the camera motor and films everything in sight.”

“But the information, whether it’s stored on this film or merely in the pilot’s brain, has got to be brought back,” Jason pointed out.

“Ah!” Hayes exclaimed enthusiastically. “But wait—whenever the filming’s done, as soon as the pilot thinks he’s collected every possible item of information, he moves this big switch here. A television eye then begins to scan the film and broadcast it back to us. We’ll have a ring of ships waiting to pick the stuff up. In addition, this scanning and broadcast can be done at high speed, so that what takes half an hour to film will be sent back to us in five minutes. What d’you think of that, eh?”

“So far as the success of the project is concerned, it’s the perfect answer,” Jason agreed dryly. “I can see one objection still, but it’s so minor that it’s hardly worth mentioning.”

Hayes’ enthusiasm was so open and childlike that Jason’s remark merely puzzled him. Admiral Dickenson, however, stepped into the breach.

“When the film’s been shot back, the pilot’s job is done and he can blast for home.”

“With every Jacko in every squadron of every Jacko fleet hot on his tail,” Jason added. “And how many millions of miles will he be from home?”

“Quite true,” Dickenson admitted. “I said it was a dangerous job… But there are one or two factors which favor the pilot. This is a very special, ship. It carries twice the usual load of fuel and it can accelerate a little harder and a little longer than any Jacko. Therefore, given even a small start you should be able to show them a clean pair of heels.”