r, sir.
I'm piling all emergency fuel into the reaction chambers to try for one
big push!"

"Why?" asked Connel.

"I heard what Roger said, sir," replied Astro. "This'll give us enough
thrust to clear the sun's gravity, but there's something else that might
not take it."

"What?" asked Connel.

"The cooling pumps, sir," said Astro. "They may not be able to handle a
load as hot as this. We might blow up."

Connel considered this a moment. "Do what you can, Astro. I have
absolute faith in you."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Astro. "And thank you. If this wagon holds
together, I'll get her off."

Connel turned to Tom who stood ready at the control panel.

"All set, sir," said Tom. "Roger's given me a clear trajectory forward
and up. All we need is Astro's push!"

"Unless Astro can build enough pressure in those cooling pumps to handle
the overload of reactant fuel, we're done for. We'll get off this moon
in pieces!"

"Power deck to control deck."

"Come in, Astro," said Tom.

"Almost ready, Tom," said Astro. "Maximum pressure is eight hundred and
we're up to seven seventy now."

"Very well, Astro," replied Connel. "Let her build all the way to an
even eight hundred and blast at my command."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Astro.

The mighty pumps on the power deck began their piercing shriek. Higher
and higher they built up the pressure, until the ship began to rock
under the strain.

"Stand by, Tom," ordered Connel, "and if you've ever twisted those
dials, twist them now!"

"Yes, sir," replied Tom.

"Pressure up to seven ninety-one, sir," reported Astro.

"Attention! All members strap into acceleration cushions!"

One by one, Shinny and Alfie, Loring and Mason, Astro and Roger strapped
themselves into the acceleration cushions. Roger set the radar scanner
and strapped himself in on the radar bridge. Connel slumped into the
second pilot's chair and took over the controls of the ship, strapping
himself in, while Tom beside him did the same. The whine of the pumps
was now a shrill whistle that drowned out all other sounds, and the
great ship bucked under the force of the thrust building in her heart.

In front of the power-deck control panel Astro watched the pressure
gauge mount steadily.

"Pressure up to seven ninety-six, sir," he called.

"Stand by to fire all rockets!" roared Connel.

"Make it good, you Venusian clunk," yelled Roger.

"Seven ninety-nine, sir!" bellowed Astro.

Astro watched the gauge