“The fuel flow gauge is right!” Sparky called.
“The coolant is circulating!” Hugh reported.
The boys felt a vibration and heard a muted hum. Then they felt a slight tug. They had already been traveling at substantial speed under orbital velocity, but the slight increase was unmistakable. A check of the dynamometer, that recorded thrust, indicated that the jets were operating properly. Rock cut off so that they could make plans.
“We could reduce speed and try for landing on Venus,” Rock proposed, looking out the port at the big planet that was buried within its dense veil, “but we’d have to be awfully lucky to land within radio range of any of the research settlements. Besides our radio being weak, there’s a lot of static on Venus from sunspots.”
“I’m in favor of trying to get back home,” Shep declared. “Even if we get off course we may be close enough to radio Luna or some of the space stations for help.”
“As a matter of fact, Luna will be right in our path on the way back,” Rock said.
Shep’s suggestion seemed to be the best idea and was voted for unanimously. After all had helped in figuring out the mathematics of their course, Rock fed the tape into the autopilot. Next everyone took to shock couches.
The Northern Cross was in the fortunate position of being headed Earthward, meaning that its orbital speed could be added to their required velocity. In a manner of speaking, it was as if Venus were a slingshot hurling the pebble of the Northern Cross into space.
Under the crushing pressure of their mounting acceleration, Rock watched the rising space speed in his overhead prism with concern. Would the engines of the ship, inactive for so long, respond at maximum efficiency? If they did, would the old vessel hold together under the strain?
The jets responded, at any rate. Rock’s body seemed to be squeezed flat, his eyeballs pressed deeply into their sockets, his vision blurred.