The great ship hovered above the ground for a few moments. Then it
heaved itself skyward, faster and ever faster, pushing the Earthmen deep
into their acceleration cushions.
Reaching free-fall space, Tom flipped on the artificial-gravity
generator. He felt its pull on his body, quickly checked all the
instruments and turned to Captain Strong.
"Ship space-borne at six hundred fifty-three, sir."
"Very well, Corbett," replied Strong. "Check in with the _Arcturus_,
_Capella_ and the _Centauri_, form up on one another and assume a course
that will bring you back over Academy spaceport at eight hundred hours,
when we will open orders."
"Yes, sir," said Tom, turning back eagerly to the control board.
For nearly two hours the four rocket ships of Squadron A moved through
space in a perfect arc, shaping up for the 0800 deadline. Strong made
use of the time to check a new astrogation prism perfected by Dr. Dale
for use at hyperspace speeds. Tom rechecked his instruments, then
prepared hot tea and sandwiches in the galley for his shipmates.
"This is what I call service," said Astro. He stood stripped to the
waist, a wide leather belt studded with assorted wrenches of various
shapes and sizes strapped around his hips. In one hand he carried a wad
of waste cotton with which he continually polished the surfaces of the
atomic motors, while his eyes constantly searched the many gauges in
front of him for the slightest sign of engine failure.
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