The only sound was the swish of the jets against the grass as the big ship came down. Slowly, nose pointed skyward, a yellow tail streaming out behind the tubes, it settled to the ground like a cat nuzzling its haunches against a velvet pillow. In the distance, the lights of New York danced crazily, gleaming from a thousand spires that scratched the sky. The radios blared forth excitedly, and the police cars screamed through the night as they rushed to City Hall to pick up the mayor. Inside the ship, Gary Dale peered through the viewport. "I feel kind of funny," he said. A tremor of excitement flooded through Bobby Galus' thin frame. "Earth," he whispered. "We made it."