He slashed the thought off and swung to the communicator.
"Step One to S-two ... Step One to S-two ..."
"S-two." Pickering came in immediately.
Crag barked, "You can't—"
"That's my job," Pickering cut in. "You gotta get that bucket to the moon." Crag looked thoughtfully at the communicator.
"Okay," he said finally. "Thanks, fellow."
"Don't mention it. The Air Force is always ready to serve," Pickering said. "Adios." He cut off.
Crag stared at the analog, biting his lip, feeling the emotion surge inside him. It grew to a tumult.
"Skipper!" Prochaska's voice was startled. "For God's sake ... look!"
Crag swung his eyes to the scope. The blip representing Pickering had cut their flight path, slicing obliquely through their wake. At its tremendous speed only the almost total absence of air molecules kept the satelloid from turning into a blazing torch. Down ... down ... plunging to meet the death roaring up from the Pacific. They followed it silently. A brief flare showed on the scope. They looked at the screen for a long moment.