"Feed reactant!"
"Reactant at D-9 rate."
From seventy feet below them, Strong and Tom heard the hiss of the reactant mass feeding into the rocket motors, and the screeching whine of the mighty pumps that kept the mass from building too rapidly and exploding.
The second hand swept up to the twenty-second mark.
"Control deck to radar deck," called Tom. "Do we have a clear trajectory forward?"
"All clear forward and overhead," replied Roger.
Tom placed his hand on the master switch that would throw the combined circuits, instruments and gauges into the single act of blasting the mighty ship into space. His eyes glued to the sweeping hand, he counted past the twelve-second mark—eleven—ten—nine—
"Stand by to raise ship," he bawled into the microphone. "Minus—five—four—three—two—one—zero!"
There was a split-second pause and then the great ship roared into life. Slowly at first, she lifted her tail full of roaring jets free of the ground. Ten feet—twenty—fifty—a hundred—five hundred—a thousand—picking up speed at an incredible rate.