They were the fastest ninety minutes Rick had ever spent. He was enthralled by the activity in the blockhouse, and, careful to keep out of the way, he walked from station to station. Now and then he looked through the thick glass ports, and he saw the green mist of boron hydride as fuel throbbed slowly into the rocket's tanks. A thin, bald scientist in a scarlet sports shirt picked up a microphone and spoke into it. "Tracking stations, report your readiness. Stand by. Lathrop Wells, report." A loud-speaker over his head replied instantly. "Lathrop Wells ready and tracking." Tonopah, Indian Springs, Mercury, Death Valley Junction, Shorty's Well, Chloride Cliff, Jubilee Pass: All ready and tracking. Then: "Careless Mesa." Big Mac's voice boomed forth. "Careless Mesa ready and tracking." The time: "Zero minus thirty minutes!" One by one red lights on the main board winked out and green lights came on in their places, showing circuits and controls in operation. Only a few red lights remained now. Rick looked through the glass ports and saw the gantry crane being wheeled away. Jeeps, trucks, and private cars were moving out of the area, haste evident in their spinning wheels and hunched drivers. The movement was like a scurry of ants. Rick watched, taking in everything. He didn't even notice when the massive door was swung shut, closing against its airtight cushion with a sibilant hiss. "Zero minus five minutes." At last the frenzied activity ceased, and the rocket stood alone, clean, beautiful, and awesome, only the instrument cable tying it to earth. Rick couldn't tear his eyes from the rocket, even to watch the last of the red lights flick out, the green glow showing readiness. Then, zero minus five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... FIRE! A steady hand threw the final switch. Green flame stabbed from Orion's tail, grew to white intensity. The instrument cable dropped from the rocket's nose and writhed to the ground. Even through the thick walls of the blockhouse Rick heard the mighty rocket's voice, an ear-shattering roar of triumph that sent lancing pain through his head. The rocket shuddered, eager to be away. Thrust built up, and up, and up, and the exhaust light grew until it was like staring into the heart of a green sun. Then the great voice faltered, the shuddering increased. A yell of pure horror burst from Rick's throat. High on the rocket's side, metal slowly peeled back like obscene steel lips opening, and green fire gushed forth. The shuddering ceased, and he knew the rocket was dead. The gash opened wider ... wider ... The blockhouse door swung open and men poured out--silent, horrified men, helpless to do anything but watch, oblivious to the danger. Rick went out with them.