"O.K.," answered Tim. "That's going to be a job. This business of looking through a 'scope while dressed in a spacesuit is no fun. Here goes."
He called Darlange, and the communicator system permitted the men in the instrument room to hear his voice. "Dar," he said, "loop us around about forty-one degrees from driver 3."
Darlange said: "Right!" and busied himself at his buttons.
"Three degrees on driver 4."
"Right!"
"Too far, back her up a degree on 4."
Darlange laughed. "What do you think these things are, blocks and tackles? You mean: 'Compensate a degree on 2.'"
"You're the pilot. That's the ticket—and I don't care if you lift it on one hand. Can you nudge her just a red hair on 3?"
"Best I can do is a hair and a half," said Darlange. He gave driver 3 just a tiny, instantaneous surge.
"Then take it up two and back one and a half," laughed Tim. "Whoa, Nellie, you're on the beam."