The meter fell rapidly. His braking rocket fuel was gone now. From here on in, he would be on gliding power alone. “Easy does it, Marshall,” the general said quietly into his ear. “You’re lining up fine. Level it out a little and keep straight with the approach lights. That’s fine. You’re just about in.” The lights of the airport seeming to rush up at him, Marsh felt a jolt as the wheels touched ground on the west end of the runway. He kept the ship steady as it scurried along the smooth asphalt, losing the last of its once tremendous velocity. The plane hit the restraining wire across the strip and came to a sudden stop, shoving Marsh hard against the single safety belt he wore. Finally, incredibly, the ship was still and he was safe. He unfastened his strap and removed his space helmet. The heat of the compartment brought the sweat out on his face. He rose on wobbly legs and pressed the buttons to the hatches. The last door flew open to admit the cool, bracing air of Earth which he had wondered if he would ever inhale again. His aloneness was over then, suddenly and boisterously, as men swarmed over him with congratulations, eager questions, and looks of respect. Reporters’ flash bulbs popped, and he felt like a new Lindbergh as he was pulled down to the ground and mobbed. Finally the police came to his rescue and pushed back the curiosity seekers and newspapermen. Then only three men were allowed through the cordon. The first to reach him was General Forsythe, who almost seemed to have ridden with him the whole way. He grabbed Marsh’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. He said briefly, “You’ve launched the age of space travel, Marshall. Congratulations, son. Now go home with your father and get a good night’s rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.” “Thank you, sir,” Marsh replied. Colonel Tregasker came forward, and there was moisture visible in the eyes of the cadet officer. “Now that one of my boys has made the first trip into space and fulfilled a career-long dream, I can retire in peace,” he murmured. “I’m proud to have been associated with you, Marshall Farnsworth. Congratulations, my boy.” Then Dad had his turn. He stood for a moment in front of his son as though undecided what to do, hat in hand, the night breeze ruffling his hair. Mr. Farnsworth seemed embarrassed by the grandeur of the moment and reluctant to accept a part in one of the greatest accomplishments of modern times. Marsh moved forward and clasped his shoulders. “I did it, Dad,” he said. “Thank God for bringing you back safely,” his father murmured huskily. “Are you ready to go home, son?” Suddenly Marsh was terribly weary, and he felt as if he could sleep for days. “I am kind of tired,” he said. “Let’s go home and see Mom.”