“If we can keep this up for just thirteen more seconds, we can stop worrying about the kicker,” he said. “We’ll be in free flight.”
“We’re doing 4300 miles an hour right now!” Bud cried. “And going faster every second. “What’s our altitude?”
“Ten hundred miles,” Tom replied, scarcely able to believe the reading.
182 TOM SWIFT AND HIS ROCKET SHIP
The copilot whistled. “Wow! That was a speedy climb! Now for the race!”
At 1075 miles, Tom looked at Bud, then both stared at the orbital flight indicator. They were about to try the most daring thing man had yet attempted-to hurtle through space without the aid of human-made power.
When the indicator reached the null point, Tom threw over the ignition switch.
The kicker ceased to function. The motors died! There was an unreal silence!
CHAPTER 22
MESSAGES FROM SPACE
AFTER THE FIRST few seconds of orbital travel at 15,810 miles an hour, Bud remarked:
“Smoothest flight I ever had, Tom. And the easiest. Even this feeling of lightness in my hands and arms is rather pleasant, especially after that dropped-down feeling we had coming up. Say, this space-platform stuff wouldn’t be so bad. I could almost live in an aerial houseboat and like it!”
“Sure you could, if it had a football field and a-”
Tom stopped speaking because new mathematical figures had started forming on the oscilloscope. The first signals had stopped when the overheating of the kicker had sent Tom scurrying to put in the new one. Now, the impulses were coming in fast and clear.
Once more, Tom grabbed the planet dictionary and began looking for the translation. His brow puckered. Finally he said: 183