control panel
in proper sequence, keeping a wary eye on the astral chronometer over
his head as one of its red hands ticked off the seconds to blast-off.

The teleceiver screen to his right showed a view of the stern of the
vessel and Connel could see some of the ground crew slowly rolling away
the boarding equipment. Flipping on the switch that opened a circuit to
an outside loud-speaker, he bellowed an order for the area to be
cleared. The crew scurried back behind the blast deflectors and watched
the ship through the thick crystal viewports.

"Power deck," Connel called into the intercom, "check in!"

"Power deck, aye!" reported Barret.

"Radar deck, check in!"

"Radar deck, aye!" Professor Hemmingwell acknowledged in a thin voice.

"Feed reactant!" Connel ordered.

"Reactant feeding at D-9 rate," said Barret after a split-second pause.

"Energize cooling pumps!"

"Cooling pumps, aye!"

"Cut in take-off gyros!"

"Gyros on," repeated Barret.

"All clear forward and up!" replied the elderly man.

"Right!" bawled Major Connel. "Stand by!"

Tensely he watched the red hand crawl up the face of the chronometer and
he gripped the intercom microphone tightly. "Blast off," he began,
"minus five, four, three, two, one, _zero_!"

Connel slammed home the master control switch and in an instant the
silver ship trembled under a tremendous surge of power. Flame and smoke
poured out of its exhaust and slowly it began to reach for sky,
straining as if to break invisible bonds holding it to Earth. Her jets
shrieking torturously, the ship picked up speed and then suddenly,
as though shot from a cannon, it blasted up through the
atmosphere--spacebound.

A moment later, on the control deck of the ship, Major Connel swung
forward in his chair, shook off the effects of the tremendous
acceleration, and called into the intercom, "Switch on the gravity
generators!"

As soon as the artificial gravity was in effect, the officer put the
ship on standard cruising speed, changed course slightly to put them on
a direct heading to Mars, and then ordered Barret and Hemmingwell to the
control deck.

"Well, Professor," he said as he gave the old man a hearty handshake,
"so far so good. She handles like a baby carriage. If the projectiles
work half as well, you'll really have yourself something!"

Professor Hemmingwell smiled appreciatively and turned to Barret, who
was just climbing through the hatch from the power deck. "You'