Astounding Science Fiction (British edition) — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

34 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION Weak and dizzy, he managed to float to the mike switch. “Hello, Con- trol. Hello, Control.” “Are you out of the tumble, Dick?” Don asked. Dick swallowed hard, trying to for- get the lashing waves of pain. There was a terrible taste in his mouth; he wanted some water. “I... I think so... but I busted my leg bad.” “Can you get her down in the shape you’re in?” “I don’t know...I1 don’t see how .. . but Pll try—” “You'll have to move the sandbags again. Can you do it?” He did, somehow. He did not know where the strength came from. He moved in a haze. The sandbags still had inertia, and required something to move them. He felt better after he got back to his couch and adjusted it so he was in a sitting position. He con- tacted Don again. “Get me down!” “The Pacific suit you?” “Pick an ocean—any ocean—but get me down on one soon! I can’t hold on much longer—”’ ““We’ve computed for Hawaii. The Navy’s standing by for you. If you want to get down on this time around, it’s minus-ten minutes. Are you ready?” “TI can’t hold out for another round,’ Dick mumbled. “‘Shoot the works. Now or never. I'll get her in.” “O.K., boy, you're the pilot,” Don replied easily. ‘“‘Minus-nine min- utes! Mark!” Those nine minutes were even longer than the lift count-down. He wished he had some morphine, barbit- urate, anything. His leg throbbed, sending lancing arrows of pain up his side. Other worries began to pop into his mind. Would he hit the Asiatic main- land instead of the ocean? Were Streiker and the computermen right? Well, they knew more about it than he, so they had to be. The time came. He delayed firing five seconds until the still-slightly- tumbling ship came to the proper alti- tude. Tears filled his eyes and he cried out as the acceleration jammed his leg into the pads. He hung on the bare edge of consciousness, fighting with everything he had. Then the little green “Cut-off” light winked again. He watched the radar altimeter; at first it didn’t move. Then it slowly started to unwind. It passed the 1000-miles mark, edged on over to the 950 mark—and kept going. He was on his way down! “Fine business,” Don _ reported. - “The first checks show you’re within a few per cent of your calculated groove. How do you feel?” “Tl make it.” The flight program called for him to flip the ship back around the gyros, but he had to wait for the fins and the atmosphere to do that job now. The Nomad was slowly slipping back to terra firma, tail first. As the ship swung around the dark portion of the globe, he could see Cape- town glittering off to the left. He caught the sunrise line near the east coast of Africa, then swept out over the Indian Ocean. The radar said six hundred miles, falling rapidly. Hold on, chum, he told himself. You’re not hurt as bad as you think. You'll get this crate back down. You’re almost there. You’re going home to finish the job. As he thought about it again, he gritted his teeth bitterly. Well, it had been his mistake to start with. She was no Navy wife. She was always deter- mined she was going to have a say in things: his life, his work, his son, and his son’s life. She was the kind who always wanted to run things. Not “whither thou goest,”” but “whither I think we ought to go.” He forgot the conniclbooks.conn