"Hey, Roger!" yelled Tom. "How far are we from the surface?"
"Estimated distance to touchdown is two hundred thousand feet," answered Roger crisply.
"Reduce thrust to minimum, Astro," barked Tom, his eyes watching every dial and meter on the control board.
"Distance one hundred fifty thousand feet," reported Roger. "Looks like an open plain right below us. Maybe we'd better try for it, eh?"
"I guess so," said Tom. "Relay your scan down here to the control-deck scanner." Tom gave it a quick glance, saw that there was plenty of room on the plain Roger had mentioned to hold the entire fleet, and turned to Vidac. "Request permission to touch down, sir," said Tom.
"Granted," replied Vidac.
The curly-haired cadet turned back to the control board and once again checked his instruments. Behind him, Vidac and Governor Hardy watched the surface of Roald as the Polaris began to turn for her tailfirst landing.
"Cut all thrust at one hundred thousand feet, Astro," ordered Tom.
"One hundred ten thousand feet," reported Roger. "One-O-seven, one-O-four, one hundred!"