Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 21: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

= . AND A STAR TO STEER HER BY” 19 felt the nose come up a little as the hydraulic system worked the flaps in the tail assembly. Their velocity was down to about a mile per second now, but he had to kill it all without entering a high-speed stall. “Power room, stand by to fire!” “Ready here!” Garver came back. “Starting pumps!” He brought the nose up a little bit more. The air at thirty miles provided plenty of lift at the Fafnir’s speed, and she began to flatten out and climb. ‘‘Pumps to speed!” Garver reported. “*Ready to fire!” The power room light winked green on the skipper’s panel. Sweat stood out in beads on Vanderhofi’s forehead as he brought the nose up a bit at a time. The beacon pip crept closer to the cross hairs on the screen. The spot touched the lateral cross hair—then matched them both. Van- derhoff swung the nose all the way up, strained as his straps cut into him, and waited for the ship to “pay-off.” The gyros cut in automatically as the velocity dropped. The Fafnir climbed on momentum, stalled, then hung there balanced by her gyros, her kinetic energy zero. But her potential energy was still enormous; she was seventy-four miles u She dropped, tail first, sixteen feet the first second, forty-eight feet the next second, eight feet the third. He didn’t dare let her fall too far; the fins would try to flip her over if they managed to take hold in the atmo- sphere. _ On the dovar screen, he watched the velocity of her fall mount. Checking the drift and setting in the proper corrections, he got ready to fire. * Garver, he thought, I wish you'd told me about those pumps instead of letting me find out for myself. He'd inspected the power foom a few days ago while Garver was forward and asleep. By removing an inspection plate, he’d seen that the pump bearings were badly scored. Then, the time came. The Fafnir’s nose began to wobble slightly as the air pressure against her fins fought the OS. “Winch, notify.” “White Sands Control, Fafnir ready to fire. Over.” “Roger, Fafnir. You are clear and in the groove. Fire at will. Over and b ea Vanderhoff poised his hand over the red button and kicked on the auto pilot. “Four. 3) os three: 00" twos one ... FIRE!” He couldn’t hear the thunder of the jets, but he felt the push. Those pumps had to hold for another minute at least. He might get the ship into a glide if the jets did fail, but it was tricky and very risky. The auto pilot took its data direct from the dovar and telemetered com- puter data, figured how long it would have to blast at how many g’s to bring the ship down gently, and started correcting so the Fafnir would- land gently and precisely where she should: in the middle of the concrete pad miles below. Vanderhoff watched the horizon through the control bubble, fighting the acceleration which changed slightly as the auto pilot recomputed its data. He saw the horizon lose its curve. It did so with alarming speed. What he could see of the surface changed from convex to planar, then became a bowl. The Organ Mountains and Las Cruces came into view. He felt and saw the gentle oscillations of the ship as the _ auto pilot went on making successive corrections of drift. The Organs reared up against the CoOMmicbooks: cor ae