"Randall. He was right about this rocket. We won't use it for anything but just another weapon. All this work and planning. All Randall's sweat and blood. For no reason, but just another weapon." "It's too late now." "Yes. And you knew it, didn't you?" Lampson said to Charters, looking at the man. "You knew what this would mean. When Randall wanted to quit, and you finally got him to go ahead, you knew what we'd use it for." "You don't quit after ten years." Charters looked at his watch, counting silently. "He's been sold out," Lampson said, thinking of Randall, sitting in the rocket. "A lifetime of worry and work and prayer. Now he's been sold out." "Damn it, man," Charters said, "it's nearly ready to happen!" The room was silent, and the ticking was in the air again. A steady, rhythmic ticking, that got into the brain and beat time with the heart. One minute. The rocket rested on its launch, as though tightening its metallic muscles and cords, to spring into the air like a wild frenzied terror, to cut through the sky, through space, to touch the Moon. "Thirty seconds," Charters said, his voice trembling. Lampson closed his hands and his eyes. "Twenty seconds." Charters bent his head over his watch. His breathing shortened and he waited, tensed, crouched. "Ten. Five, four, three, two..." The ground shook as though a chasm had split beneath its surface! There was a streaking in the air. The rocket sped away and away. "Over!" said Charters, his face to the sky. "It's over!" Lampson turned from the window and stood quietly, watching the floor. His shoulders were limp, his hands still and quiet at his sides. "By God!" said Charters, whirling, slapping his palms together. "What an entirely immense thing!" He grinned widely and moved his feet as though he were dancing. "Randall," said Lampson, his voice a lost, dead sound. "Randall, Randall," Charters mimicked. He moved about quickly, this way and that, waving his hands, grinning. "This is much greater than Randall!" Lampson was silent while Charters cracked his hands together. "The Moon," Charters breathed. "The Moon!" There was a loud shuffling outside the door then, and suddenly the door swung open and a wide-eyed man in the white coveralls stood, staring at Charters. "What's the matter?" said Charters, freezing. "I can't believe it," said the man. "I really can't believe it!" "What, man?" said Charters, moving toward the door. "Mr. Randall. He just climbed out of the rocket and walked away. Six seconds before it went up." Charters stopped, staring with wild eyes. His face colored. Rage choked his voice. "WHY?" barked the man. Lampson stood at the window, his eyes lighting. He smiled, then laughed. And far away, a gleaming yellow-finned rocket drove up, up, finding the path through space that would carry it, alone, past the Moon, to the Sun.