Part 19 (1/2)

He walked over to the master control panel and switched the teleceiver screen. There was a slight buzz, and a view of the s.p.a.ceport outside the s.h.i.+p suddenly came into focus, filling the screen. Strong flipped a switch and a view aft on the _Polaris_ filled the glowing square. The aluminum scaffolding was being hauled away by a jet truck. Again the view changed as Strong twisted the dials in front of him.

”Just scanning the outside, boys,” he commented. ”Have to make sure there isn't anyone near the s.h.i.+p when we blast off. The rocket exhaust is powerful enough to blow a man two hundred feet, to say nothing of burning him to death.”

”You mean, sir--” began Tom, not daring to hope.

”Of course, Corbett,” smiled Strong. ”Take your stations for blast-off.

We raise s.h.i.+p as soon as we get orbital clearance from s.p.a.ceport control!”

Without waiting for further orders, the three boys scurried to their stations.

Soon the m.u.f.fled whine of the energizing pumps on the power deck began to ring through the s.h.i.+p, along with the steady beep of the radar scanner on the radar bridge. Tom checked the maze of gauges and dials on the control board. Air locks, hatches, oxygen supply, circulating system, circuits, and feeds. In five minutes the two-hundred-foot s.h.i.+ning steel hull was a living thing as her rocket motors purred, warming up for the initial thrust.

Tom made a last sweeping check of the complicated board and turned to Captain Strong who stood to one side watching.

”s.h.i.+p ready to blast off, sir,” he announced. ”Shall I check stations and proceed to raise s.h.i.+p?”

”Carry on, Cadet Corbett,” Strong replied. ”Log yourself in as skipper with me along as supercargo. I'll ride in the second pilot's chair.”

Tom snapped a sharp salute and added vocally, ”Aye, aye, sir!”

He turned back to the control board, strapped himself into the command pilot's seat and opened the circuit to the s.p.a.ceport control tower.

”Rocket cruiser _Polaris_ to s.p.a.ceport control,” he droned into the microphone. ”Check in!”

”s.p.a.ceport 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 s.p.a.ceport 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 s.h.i.+p.” Roger's voice was relaxed, easy.

Tom turned to the board to adjust the teleceiver screen for a clear picture of the stern of the s.h.i.+p. Gradually it came up in as sharp detail as if he had been standing on the ground.

He checked the electric timing device in front of him that ticked off the seconds, as a red hand crawled around to _zero_, and when it swept down to the thirty-second mark, Tom pulled the microphone to his lips again. ”Control deck to power deck. Check in!”

”Power deck, aye?”

”Energize the cooling pumps!”

”Cooling pumps, aye!” repeated Astro.

”Feed reactant!”

”Reactant at D-9 rate.”

From seventy feet below them, Strong and Tom heard the hiss of the reactant ma.s.s feeding into the rocket motors, and the screeching whine of the mighty pumps that kept the ma.s.s from building too rapidly and exploding.

The second hand swept up to the twenty-second mark.