It was by no means Catherine's first space ship launching from close up, but she could never master the awe that overcame her when she saw and heard — nay, felt through every fiber of her being — the might of that infernal stream of fire which so lightly lifted the clumsy ships and hurled them into the distant heavens.
As usual, she walked into the observation bunker from which the departure of loved ones could be observed in safety. Six-hundred feet from the launching platform, the bunker afforded an ideal view of the proceedings through a dome of armored glass. A giant clock showed that it was 9:05 p.m. A luminous red spot on the face of the clock marked the time of 9:12, and a huge second hand jerked around the dial.
Catherine could see the ship standing motionless, a dark, menacing column of blackness, despite the rays of the projectors focused upon it. Soon, a powerful tractor appeared out of the gloom and hooked onto the trailer bearing the elevator in which Gary and the others had mounted their lofty aerie. The coupling seemed to be a pretty involved business and the driver of the tractor signaled with his hand to the man who still stood in the open door. Finally the gantry moved ponderously off into the dark background and could be seen no more. The little door closed.
Within the observation bunker were two men enclosed in a glass booth. Telephone receivers covered their ears and before their mouths were microphones. These men were now the only Earth dwellers in communication with the pilot's cabin of the Sinus. Periodically, one of them pushed a switch button and the loudspeaker in the bunker rang out:
"Space ship Sirius, X minus two minutes!"
At short intervals, the commands succeeded one another:
"Ship-side power's cut in."
"Cut in tracking stations."
"Space ship Sirius, X minus one minute!"
Outside the bunker, a colored flare shot into the sky, whereupon all the searchlights died and a powerful siren wailed a warning note into the night.
The loudspeaker roared again:
"Set radio to send and receive!"
"X minus 30 seconds!"
"Ready, the Sirius! "Pre-launching time, 10 — 9 — 8 — 7 — 6 — 5 — 4 "
A tongue of blue-green flame licked out from the stern of the ship, enwrapping the heavy iron table and the stabilizing fins. Then it spread out flat with a roaring rush! The bunker shivered as though in continuous thunder, and the flame issuing from the stern of the ship swelled to a column faster than lightning and more solid than steel. The whole ship and the surrounding landscape were lighted by its baleful glare. The flames spurted frantically across the ground, pouring from the jet deflector. Then the ship began to move slowly straight upwards, as pebbles flung by the mighty stream of fire rattled against the transparent observation dome of the bunker. The roar of the rocket exhaust increased almost beyond bearing as the discharge nozzles reached a height at which the observers could look directly into them. As the ship gained height, the din slackened until finally the great mass became invisible in the darkest sky; its position alone betrayed by the comet-like jet exhaust which soon began to curve off gracefully to the North and East.
Growing smaller and smaller to the eye, now roaring like a remote thunderstorm, it soon crossed the star-spangled heavens like a man-made meteor. Then, after a minute and a half, it went out, like a star hiding behind a cloud. No! There it was again! Like a migrating star, and with increasing speed, the flaming point swept across the sky, heading more and more towards the distant horizon.
The loudspeaker snarled, "First booster-stage released O.K. All's well." It was the voice of the Captain of the Sirius. Now the flare of the rocket exhaust was but a tiny point of light in the distant reaches of the sky. Not very high above the dim horizon line, it blinked once more and finally lost itself among the constellations just above the edge of the sea.
Again the snarl came from the loudspeaker, but more softly this time: "Second booster stage released O.K.! All's well." There was a minute of heavy silence, then, as though from another world, the loudspeaker whispered comfortingly, "Third stage cut-off correctly. All's well. Trajectory data, please." The men in the glass booth sprang into action with their microphones and headpieces.
From various electrical triangulation stations, which had followed the ascent by radar, they correlated the flight data of the invisible ship.
"Terminal velocity, 8,260.3 meters per second," said the loudspeaker as though bored.
"Angle of elevation, 4 minutes of arc."
"Altitude of combustion cut-off, 101.98 kilometers."
"Plane of great circle inclined 66 degrees, 32 minutes, 2 seconds to plane of equator."
"Major semi-axis, 7,290 kilometers."
"Minor semi-axis, 7,2338 kilometers."
"Timing error, 2.45 seconds."
A short time passed, then the ship answered in a whisper, "Roger. Thanks. Have radio contact with Lunetta. Out."
When Colonel Holt stepped through the little door into the airlock of the Sirius, the cylindrical passenger cabin of the Sirius was bathed in light. He placed his equipment in the luggage rack and strapped it down. Then he lay down on one of the air-cushioned couches that were arranged circumferentially around the walls of the cabin. At the head of each couch was a small, round deadlight giving a view outside.
The roof of the cabin was equipped with a large clock having a second hand and showing a spot of red light at the scheduled moment of launching. Surrounding the clock face were four indirectly lighted instrument dials, one of which indicated acceleration, while the others gave altitude, speed, and horizontal distance made good. Luminous signs surrounded the instruments, all of which were dark, save one. The latter warned passengers to "Strap baggage — fasten safety belts."
A ladder ran up the cabin wall to a sliding hatch in the roof. This was the passage to the pilot's compartment. In the center of the deck was a circular manhole plate with a large hand-wheel in its center. Through it one could reach the cargo space, below which lay the propellant storage bay and the machinery spaces which were accessible in that way.
The clock showed X minus 3 when the ship's mechanic closed and dogged down the oval hermetic door of the air-lock, after shutting the outer door. Then he ascended the ladder and disappeared through the sliding hatch into the pilot's compartment. Holt looked through his little deadlight and was able dimly to discern the movement away from the ship of the great elevator gentry, despite the blinding glare of the searchlights.
When the searchlights were switched off at X minus 1, there was a simultaneous dimming of the interior illumination. A deathly stillness filled the cabin, disturbed only by the hum of the directional gyroscopes and the buzzing of the inverters. He could hear through the cabin ceiling the muffled voices of the crew giving the last preparatory commands.
A luminous sign on the ceiling blazed up: "Caution! — X minus 30 seconds."
The "30" changed to "20" and to "10"…
Another sign bade "Heads on Headrests!"
Holt reclined his head on the soft pillow and followed tensely the leaping ciphers.
" 8 — 7 — 6 — 5 — 4 — "
The ship shivered slightly and Holt saw the neighboring buildings glow in the light of the ignition flame. Then, amid a diapason roaring, as though the grandfather of all hurricanes had seized the vessel, an unseen force pressed Holt and his companions deep into the yielding softness of their couches. For a moment the Earth surrounding the ship seemed to be a sea of wild, concentric, horizontal flame. Then the sea shrank to a diminishing fiery disc and finally went black beneath the loom of the roaring column of fire spurting from the rocket exhaust. Sirius had lifted off and was thundering into space. As the great vessel rose vertically, more and more lights in and around the station came into view. The brilliant lights of Honolulu blinked from across the water to dim and disappear in diffuse darkness. Below lay the night-steeped Pacific and above beckoned the star-studded ocean of space.