"But I haven't told you the toughest part of it yet," Miss Eagen went on inexorably. "A ship as massive as this, spinning on its long axis, is a pretty fair gyroscope. It doesn't want to turn. Any force that tries to make it turn is resisted at right angles to the force applied. When that force is applied momentarily from jets, as they swing into position and away again, the firing formulas get--well, complex. And the ship's course and landing approach are completely new. Instead of letting the ship fall to the Moon, turning over and approaching tail-first with the main jets as brakes, Captain McHenry is going to have to start the spin first and go almost the whole way nose-first. He'll come up on the Moon obliquely, pass it, stop the spin, turn over once to check the speed of the ship, and once again to put the tail down when the Moon's gravity begins to draw us in. There'll be two short periods of free-fall there, but they won't be long enough to bother you much. And if we can do all that with the fuel we've got, it will be a miracle. A miracle from the brain of Captain McHenry." Marcia forced herself away from the bulkhead with a small whimper of hurt and hatred--hatred of the stars, of this knowledgeable, inspired girl, and--even more so--of herself. She darted toward the door. Miss Eagen was beside her in an instant, a hard small hand on her arm. "Where are you going?" "I'm going to stop him. He can't take that chance with his ship, with these people...." "He will and he must. You surely know your husband." "I know him as well as you do." * * * * * Miss Eagen's firm lips shut in a thin hard line. "Do as you like," she whispered. "And while you're doing it--think about whom he's spinning ship for." She took her hand from Marcia's arm. Marcia twisted away and went into the corridor. She found herself at the entrance to the pilot room. In one sweeping glance she saw a curved, silver board. Before it a man sat tranquilly. Nearer to her was Jack, hunched over the keyboard of a complex, compact machine, like a harried bookkeeper on the last day of the month. Her lips formed his name, but she was silent. She watched him, his square, competent hands, his detached and distant face. Through the forward view-plate she saw a harsh, jagged line, the very edge of the Moon's disc. Next to it, and below, was the rear viewer, holding the shimmering azure shape of Earth. "_All Earth watches me when I work, but with your eyes._" Jack had said that to her once, long ago, when he still loved her. "... human damnfoolishness botching up the equations...." He had said that once, too. Miss Eagen was standing by the hospital door, watching her. When Marcia turned away without speaking to Jack, Miss Eagen smiled and held out her hand. Marcia went to her and took the hand. They went into the hospital. Miss Eagen didn't speak; she seemed to be waiting. "Yes, I know who Jack's spinning the ship for," said Marcia.