"We've done it," Charters said, his voice like a snapping of brittle wires.
Lampson, his assistant, nodded and watched the rocket. "Yes," he said.
"Greatest victory of the age!" said Charters, grinning and gaily wiping his hands together.
Lampson watched the way the sun struck the glistening silver body of the rocket.
"Have you nothing to say, man?" Charters asked.
"I was just thinking."
"This is no time to think," Charters said, his eyes bright and winking. "This is a time to let your thoughts drain out of your head. To feel the damned meaning of this thing! To let it get inside you and fill you up to the brains! This is the time to laugh and cry, Lampson. To let your insides quiver with the pure joy of it! We've done it!"
"Yes," Lampson said. "Only I was thinking about Randall, sitting out there, waiting."
"He'll be all right."
"I know he will. I don't mean that. I mean, the way he feels about things, yet sitting there, waiting to guide it to the Moon, to prove its reality. And all the time, he—"