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Updated: May 22, 2025
There were now seven cages in all to be hoisted toward the sky. A great double triangular gore had been jacked out and rolled aside to make an exit in the side of the Shed. Nearly as many pushpots, it seemed, were involved in this launching as in the take-off of the Platform itself. The routine test before take-off set the pushpot motors to roaring inside the Shed.
All three proceeded in silence to the hooded companion-way at the forward end of the take-off, that sheltered the ladder. This they descended, to the main corridor. There they paused, a moment. "Major," said the Master, "pardon me, but I wish to speak to our guest, alone. You understand." The major's glance conveyed a world of indignant protest, but he obeyed in silence.
It was economical to burn one's fuel fast and get an acceleration that would kill a human crew. Hence robots. The landing of the first robot ship at the Platform was almost as matter-of-fact as if it had been done a thousand times before. From the Platform its dramatic take-off couldn't be seen, of course. It first appeared aloft as a pip on a radar screen.
We had got down on to lower ground, and we were in a sort of marshy hollow when we were confronted by the most serious obstacle of the day: a tall and obviously rotten bank clothed in briars, with sharp stones along its top, a wide ditch in front of it, and a disgustingly squashy take-off.
Raf tore a nail on a fastening, muttered. "Condition red condition red Strap down for breakthrough " Hobart chanted at them from the walls. "One, two, three" the count swung on numeral by numeral; then "ten Stand by " Raf had forgotten what breakthrough was like. He had gone through it the first time when still under take-off sedation. But this was worse than he remembered, so much worse.
One flew to pieces in mid-air. Sabotage. Carrying critical stuff. One crashed on take-off, carrying irreplaceable instruments. Somebody'd put a detonator in a servo-motor. And one froze in its landing glide and flew smack-dab into its landing field. They had to scrape it up. When this ship got a major overhaul two weeks ago, we flew it with our fingers crossed for four trips running.
He might have to wet down the cans and fuse again. He had forgotten to ask where Mike would come from, and Steve hadn't volunteered. Probably he would come from Washington, which meant about an hour's flying time in the plane Mike would use, a fast little four-place job that Rick had long coveted. But Mike wouldn't be ready for take-off instantly.
Then they'd rush the landed liner, seize it, shoot down anybody who tried to oppose them, and seal up the ship. And then they'd take off. On the liner's rockets, which were carried for emergency landing only, but could be used for a single take-off. After one such use they'd be exhausted. And with the grid's controls smashed, nobody could even try to stop them. It wasn't a bad idea.
But my gang and myself we've had all the training we can get without an actual take-off. We're the best-trained crew to try it. I think we'll manage." "I see," said the major. "You'll do your best." "We may have to do better than that," admitted Joe wrily. "True enough. You may." The major paused.
Tom Faggus stopped, and the mare stopped there; and they looked at me provokingly. "Is she able to leap, sir? There is good take-off on this side of the brook." Mr. Faggus laughed very quietly, turning round to Winnie so that she might enter into it. And she, for her part, seemed to know exactly where the fun lay. "Good tumble-off, you mean, my boy. Well, there can be small harm to thee.
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