"Feed reactant!"
"Reactant at D-9 rate."
From seventy feet below them, Strong and Tom heard the hiss of the
reactant mass feeding into the rocket motors, and the screeching whine
of the mighty pumps that kept the mass from building too rapidly and
exploding.
The second hand swept up to the twenty-second mark.
"Control deck to radar deck," called Tom. "Do we have a clear trajectory
forward?"
"All clear forward and overhead," replied Roger.
Tom placed his hand on the master switch that would throw the combined
circuits, instruments and gauges into the single act of blasting the
mighty ship into space. His eyes glued to the sweeping hand, he counted
past the twelve-second mark--eleven--ten--nine--
"Stand by to raise ship," he bawled into the microphone.
"Minus--five--four--three--two--one--_zero_!"
Tom threw the master switch.
There was a split-second pause and then the great ship roared into life.
Slowly at first, she lifted her tail full of roaring jets free of the
ground. Ten feet--twenty--fifty--a hundred--five hundred--a
thousand--picking up speed at an incredible rate.
Tom felt himself being pushed deeper and deeper into the softness of the
acceleration cushions. He had been worried about not being able to keep
his eyes open to see the dwindling Earth in the teleceiver over his
head, but the tremendous force of the rockets pushing him against
gravity to tear the two hundred tons of steel away from the Earth's grip
held his eyelids open for him.
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