"No, sir."
"Well, start flying, young Brant. We go to the top and work down."
Rick went. He was too excited to be afraid. The first stage was by elevator. Then he and Gee-Gee climbed thin steel rungs to the very tip of the great rocket. Not until he reached the shaky, wind-blown, postage-stamp-size platform at the top did he take time to look down.
The thin steel web was no barrier to vision. He was on top of the world, at the doorstep to space, looking down on fantastic activity below. The rocket curved sweetly away below him, down to the sharp lines of the great stabilizer fins. He noted the breakaway zone where the first stage and second stage were joined. He could see, as one perched on a cloud, the tiny, busy forms of men below.
For an instant, as the nose access port yawned before him, Rick had a vision of himself in pressure suit and plastic helmet, mounting the rocket as a pilot mans his plane, anticipating the signal for blast-off.
Gee-Gee brought him back to earth with a prosaic, "Let's get at it, boy-oh."
It was the beginning. The picturesque but highly competent and efficient electronics chief hadn't exaggerated. The fabulous world of rocketry narrowed to a maze of wiring, circuit after circuit, checking, testing, and calling for test signals from the blockhouse. Rick checked and rechecked, following closely on Gee-Gee's heels. He missed nothing, took nothing for granted. Once he snapped, "Wait a minute! You didn't check that circuit properly. Check for polarization as well as contact."
Gee-Gee looked at him in astonishment, then slowly grinned. He thrust out a grimy hand. "You're my boy, young Brant. Who taught you about polarization?"
Rick was about to say, truthfully, "My father." But he caught himself in time. "A boss I had at Spindrift."
"He taught you well, and you're right. I did goof on that one. I'll check, and you recheck."