The Chief grunted guttural Mohawk. His hands stirred on the panel for
remote control of the drones he had to handle.
"Crazy!" he growled. "Got it now, Joe. Fire when ready."
"Okay, Mike?"
A half-second pause.
"Okay!"
Joe pressed the firing-button for the take-off rockets. And he was
slammed back into his acceleration chair again. But this was three
gravities only. Pressed heavily against the acceleration cushions, he
could perform the navigation for the fleet. He did. The mother-ship had
to steer a true course, regardless of the vagaries of its rockets. The
drones had simply to be kept in formation with it. The second task was
simpler. But Joe was relieved, this time, of the need to report back
instrument-readings. A telemetering device took care of that.
The take-off rockets blasted and blasted and blasted. The mere matter of
staying alive grew very tedious. The ordeal seemed to last for
centuries. Actually it could be measured only in minutes. But it seemed
millennia before the headphones said, staccato fashion: "_You are on
course and will reach speed in fourteen seconds. I will count for you._"
"Relays for rocket release," panted Joe. "Throw 'em over!"
Three hands moved to obey. Joe could release the drive rockets on all
seven ships at will.
The voice counted:
"_Ten ... nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... five ... four ... three
... two ... one ... cut!_"
Joe pressed the master-key. The remnants of the solid-fuel take-off
rockets let go. They flashed off into nothingness at unbelievable speed,
consuming themselves as they went.
There was again no weight.
This time there was no resting. No eager gazing out the cabin ports. Now
they weren't curious. They'd had over a month in space, and something
like sixteen days back on Earth, and now they were back in space again.
Mike and Haney and the Chief worked doggedly at their control boards.
The radar bowls outside the cabin shifted and moved and quivered. The
six drone ships showed on the screens. But they also had telemetering
apparatus. They faithfully reported their condition and the direction in
which their bows pointed. The radars plotted their position with
relation to each other and the mother-ship.
Presently Joe cast a glance out of a port and saw that the dark line of
sunset was almost below. The take-off had been timed to get the ships
into Earth's shadow above the area from which war rockets were most
likely to rise. It wouldn't prevent bombing, of course. But there was a
gadget....
Joe spoke into the microphone: "Reporting everything all right so far.
But you know it."