us of weight. He was being pressed into the metal
deck by a mighty hand. It was hard to breathe.

Pegasus was not designed to accommodate humans. No attention had been
paid to limits of human endurance. It was all right for the marmoset;
his spring chair would take up much of the G forces. But Rick had no
padding at all, except for the thin jacket under his head. He had no
support but the metal deck, and before this was over his body would be
terribly distorted as forces many times gravity rammed him relentlessly
into the metal.

In spite of the horrifying scream of the rocket and the increasing
pressure, his mind was clear. The rocket was programmed to reach twelve
G during first-stage flight--twelve times the force of gravity!

First-stage flight would last slightly over three minutes. By then,
Pegasus would be nearly thirty miles up.

The pain began, the pain of tortured muscles and organs pressed slowly,
inexorably toward the deck as acceleration built up. Rick wanted to turn
over, at least to change the direction of pain, but he couldn't even do
that. He was spread-eagled on the deck now, his muscles unable to move
his increased weight.

Consciousness began to slip from him, and he fought against it. He had
to remain alive! He was going to!

For a brief moment he succeeded, then the grayness moved in like an
all-encompassing curtain.

Pegasus climbed into the blue sky, arrow-straight, still accelerating.
The seconds ticked away. For an instant, the accelerometer hovered at
twelve G, and slipped toward thirteen.

Rick was five feet, ten inches tall, and his weight was a constant
hundred and sixty pounds. The rocket reached maximum acceleration,
12.6g, and for that instant Rick weighed 2,016 pounds--slightly over one
ton!

Then . . . all burnt, fuel exhausted, the first-stage motor stopped.

The explosive bolts went into action. There was an explosion that made
itself felt in the skin of the rocket, and the grinding of metal as the
first stage detached.

Rick's battered brains swam back to consciousness. For an instant he
couldn't recall what had happened, then he realized he had survived the
first-stage acceleration. He was in bad shape, he knew. The salt taste
in his mouth was blood, and he was breathing bubbles of blood through
internal damage in his nose or lungs. But there wasn't time for
inventory. The aching silence was lost as the second stage fired.
Acceleration built again. This time Rick slip