A long way back

By BEN BOVA
ILLUSTRATED by SUMMERS
He held the future of the world in his numbed hands. And from 22,500 miles out, he made the gamble.
Tom woke slowly, his mind groping back through the hypnosis. He found himself looking toward the observation port, staring at stars and blackness.
The first man in space , he thought bitterly.
He unstrapped himself from the acceleration seat, feeling a little wobbly in free fall.
The hypnotic trance idea worked, all right.
The last thing Tom remembered was Arnoldsson putting him under, here in the rocket's compartment, the old man's sad soft eyes and quiet voice. Now 22,500 miles out, Tom was alone except for what Arnoldsson had planted in his mind for post-hypnotic suggestion to recall. The hypnosis had helped him pull through the blastoff unhurt and even protected him against the vertigo of weightlessness.
Yeah, it's a wonderful world , Tom muttered acidly.
He got up from the seat cautiously, testing his coordination against zero gravity. His magnetic boots held to the deck satisfactorily.
He was lean and wiry, in his early forties, with a sharp angular face and dark, somber eyes. His hair had gone dead white years ago. He was encased up to his neck in a semi-flexible space suit; they had squirmed him into it Earth-side because there was no room in the cramped cabin to put it on.
Tom glanced at the tiers of instrument consoles surrounding his seat—no blinking red lights, everything operating normally. As if I could do anything about it if they went wrong. Then he leaned toward the observation port, straining for a glimpse of the satellite.