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Updated: June 2, 2025
He took longer than usual, making sure the lead baffling around the reactor units and the reaction chamber was secure, before firing the initial mass. Finally Tom's voice crackled over the intercom, "Control deck to all stations. Check in!" "Radar bridge, aye!" came Roger's reply. "Ready for blast-off!" "Power deck, aye!" said Astro, his booming voice echoing through the ship.
Connel's bull-throated roar blasted through the intercom of the gleaming projectile ship from the power deck where Dave Barret was stationed, up to the radar bridge where Professor Hemmingwell waited anxiously. On the main deck, seated at the controls, Connel spoke rapidly into the audioceiver microphone. "Projectile vessel to spaceport traffic control," he called. "Request blast-off clearance!"
"You haven't been too long," Kennon said. "Now tie Douglas' hands behind him while I keep him covered." "It's a pleasure," Copper murmured. "I'm frightened," Copper said, twisting uncomfortably in the shock chair beside Kennon's. "After you have been so brave?" Kennon asked. "That's nonsense. It's just nervous reaction. Now web in like I showed you. It's time for blast-off.
He had troubles enough without worrying about Copper's motivations, and not the least of these was taking the God-Egg into space. Kennon looked forward to blast-off with distinct misgivings. There was too much about the ancient spacer that was strange and too much that was terrifying.
"Let's go," said Tom grimly. The three boys split up and began crawling around in the network of exposed supporting beams and struts that took the place of decks and bulkheads. It did not take them long to determine that Quent Miles' ship was in perfect condition for blast-off. With but a few minutes to spare, they returned to face Miles at the air lock. "O.K., you're cleared," Tom announced.
"Spaceport control to Polaris," the voice of the tower operator replied. "You are cleared for blast-off in two minutes. Take out orbit 75 ... repeat ... 75...." "Polaris to spaceport control. Orders received and understood. End transmission!" Tom then turned his attention to the station check. "Control deck to radar deck. Check in." "Radar deck, aye! Ready to raise ship."
Suddenly he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. It was the unmistakable whine of the cooling pumps building for blast-off. And he was directly underneath the exhaust tubes. He scrambled away, heading back to the spot where Brett lay. The whining of the pumps built to an agonizing scream. There were scant seconds left to save himself. He could not wait to find Brett.
If the Queen has to lift, you're the only one who can take her off world. And the same's true for Ali. I can't ride out a blast-off in either the pilot's or the engineer's seat. And Weeks is on the sick list. So I'm elected to do the Medic hunting " They were forced to agree to that. He was no hero, Dane thought, as he gave a last glance about his cabin early the next morning.
Nothing, but nothing, had been devised or thought of that could stop "Blast-off" Connel. Every waking moment of his adult life had been spent in the pursuit of more and more knowledge about space, space travel, and life on the other planets. Now, his wrath at fever pitch at their being tardy, he stood in front of the cadets, turning his anger on Roger first.
How much time until zero blast-off on the satellite?" Tom glanced at the clock. "Less than two minutes, sir!" "All right," said Connel over the intercom, "everybody to the control deck if you want to see Junior do his stuff!" In a moment the six spacemen were gathered around the magnascope waiting for the final act of their great effort.
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