There came a moment when Rip glanced up at him, one hand poised
over the control board. The pilot's voice came tersely, thin and queer:
"Pray it out, Dane--here we go!"
Dane heard the shrill of a riding beam, so tearing he had to move his
earphones. They must be almost on top of the control tower to get it like
that! Rip was planning on a set down where the Queen would block things
neatly. He brought his own fingers down on the E-E-Red button to give the
last and most powerful warning. That, to be used only when a ship landing
was out of control, should clear the ground below. They could only pray
it would vacate the port they were still far from seeing.
"Make it a fin-point, Rip," he couldn't repress that one bit of advice.
And was glad he had given it when he saw a ghost grin tug for a moment at
Rip's full lips.
"Good enough for a check-ride?"
They were riding her flaming jets down as they would on a strange world.
Below the port must be wild. Dane counted off the seconds.
Two--three--four--five--just a few more and they would be too low to
intercept--without endangering innocent coasters and groundhuggers.
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