Beyond that still
there was only coiling smoke.
Cochrane's headphones yielded Babs' voice, almost wailing:
"_Mr. Cochrane! We must have landed! I want to see!_"
Cochrane pressed the hand-mike button.
"Are we still hooked up to Lunar City?" he demanded. "We can't be, but
are we?"
"_We are_," said Babs' voice mutinously. "_The broadcast went through
all right. They want to talk to you. Everybody wants to talk to you!_"
"Tell them to call back later," commanded Cochrane. "Then leave the beam
working--however it works!--and come up if you like. Tell the moon
operator you'll be away for ten minutes."
He continued to stare out the window. Al, the pilot, stayed in his
cushioned seat before the bank of rocket-controls. The rockets were
barely alight. The ship stayed as it had landed, upright on its triple
fins. He said to Jones:
"It feels like we're solid. We won't topple!"
Jones nodded. The rocket-sound cut off. Nothing happened.
"I think we could have saved fuel on that landing," said Jones. Then he
added, pleased, "Nice! The Dabney field's still on! It has to be started
in a vacuum, but it looks like it can hold air away from itself once
it's established.
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