Matt fumbled with heavy fingers under his head, found the kit. The sound of the jet died away, and with it the thrust that had kept them pinned down. The pilot swung out of his rest and floated, facing them. "Now look, sports - we've got six minutes. You can unstrap, two at a time and come up for a look-see. But get this: Hang oh tight. Any man who starts floating free, or skylarking, gets a down check." He pointed to a boy. "You-and the next guy."
The "next guy" was Matt. His stomach was complaining and he felt so wretched that he did not really want the privilege offered-but his face was at stake; he clamped his jaws, swallowed the saliva pouring into his mouth, and unstrapped.
Free, he clung to one strap, floating loosely, and tried to get his bearings. It was curiously upsetting to have no up-and-down; it made everything swim- he had trouble focusing his eyes. "Hurry up there!" he heard the pilot shout, "or you'll miss your turn."
"Coming, sir."
"Hang on-I'm going to turn the ship." The pilot unclutched his gyros and cut in his processing flywheels. The ship turned end over end. By the time Matt worked his way to the control station, moving like a cautious and elderly monkey, the rocket was pointed toward Earth.
Matt stared out at the surface, nearly a hundred miles below and still receding. The greens and browns seemed dark by contrast with the white dazzle of clouds. Off to the left and right he could see the inky sky, stabbed with stars. "That's the Base, just below," the pilot was saying. "Look sharp and you can make out Hayworth Hall, maybe, by its shadow."
It did not seem "just below" to Matt; it seemed "out"- or no direction at all. It was disquieting. "Over there-see? -is the crater where Denver used to be. Now look south-that brown stretch is Texas; you can see the Gulf beyond it."
"Sir," asked Matt, "can we see Des Moines from here?"
"Hard to pick out. Over that way-let your eye slide down the Kaw River till it strikes the Missouri, then up river. That dark patch-that's Omaha and Council Bluffs. Des Moines is between there and the horizon." Matt strained his eyes, trying to pick out his home. He could not be sure- but he did see that he was staring over the bulge of the Earth at a curved horizon; he was seeing the Earth as round. "That's all," ordered the pilot. "Back to your bunks. Next pair!"
He was glad to strap a belt across his middle. The remaining four minutes or so stretched endlessly; he resigned himself to never getting over space sickness. Finally the pilot chased the last pair back, swung ship jet toward Earth, and shouted, "Stand by for thrust-we're about to ride her down on her tail!"