ice from the communications-room atop the Shed, now far below
and far behind. Mike settled himself in the tiny acceleration-chair
built for him. The Chief squirmed to comfort in his seat. Haney took his
hands from the equalizing adjustments he had to make so that Joe's use
of the controls would be exact, regardless of moment-to-moment
differences in the thrust of the various jets.

"We've got a yaw right," said the Chief sharply. "Hold it, Joe!"

Joe waited for small quivering needles to return to their proper
registrations.

"Back and steady," said the Chief a moment later. "Okay!"

The tinny voice behind Joe now spoke precisely. Mike had listened to it
while the work of take-off could be divided, so that Joe would not be
distracted. Now Joe had to control everything at once.

The roar of the pushpots outside the ship had long since lost the volume
and timbre of normal atmosphere. Not much sound could be transmitted by
the near-vacuum outside. But the jet motors did roar, and the sound
which was not sound at such a height was transmitted by the metal cage
as so much pure vibration. The walls and hull of the spaceship picked up
a crawling, quivering pulsation and turned it into sound. Standing waves
set up and dissolved and moved erratically in the air of the cabin.
Joe's eardrums were strangely affected. Now one ear seemed muted by a
temporary difference of air pressure where a standing wave lingered for
a second or two. Then the other eardrum itched. There were creeping
sensations as of things touching one and quickly moving away.

Joe swung a microphone into place before his mouth.

"All set," he said evenly. "Brief me."

The tinny voice said:

"_You are at 65,000 feet. Your curve of rate-of-climb is flattening out.
You are now rising at near-maximum speed, and not much more forward
velocity can be anticipated. You have an air-speed relative to surface
of six-nine-two miles per hour. The rotational speed of Earth at this
latitude is seven-seven-eight. You have, then, a total orbital speed of
one-four-seven-oh miles per hour, or nearly twelve per cent of your
needed final velocity. Since you will take off laterally and practically
without air resistance, a margin of safety remains. You are authorized
to blast._"

Joe said:

"Ten seconds. Nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... five ... four ...
three ... two ... one...."

He stabbed the master jato switch. And a monstrous jato rocket, built
into each and e