“Third stage released!” said the barely audible voice.
“If Harlan can only reset that flight tape-!” Tom prayed for success, acutely aware that a lag of a few seconds in synchronization would represent the difference between a safe landing and catastrophe. All eyes were riveted on the radarscopes. The pip remained constantly in view. Tom glanced at the tracker to watch the plotting graph as it recorded the
EMERGENCY ORDERS 123
return arc of the rocket. Ames was down to a twenty-mile altitude. A few seconds later the reading was only fifteen miles.
“I hope the braking jets have cut in,” the young inventor murmured.
“Ames seems to be drifting inland,” Jones cried, as the radar dishes swung around so that they were facing westward. “The rocket’s not going to land here!”
Tom knew now that Harlan Ames’ fate depended on the landing-weight distributor. This invention of Tom’s kept the rocket upright if it had to land on a hillside. The tail contained four equidistant magnesium cylinders that extended past the motors to act as supports.
Suddenly the radar contact was gone. “We’ve lost Ames in the mountains.
He must have gone down somewhere in the Adirondacks!” Tom exclaimed.
He took the bearing of the last radar beam and jotted the figures on a scrap of paper. At this moment Bud rushed back to find out what had happened to Ames and to report that none of the injured men was in serious condition.
“Harlan’s down. We’ll hunt for him. Get the Sky Queen ready, will you?” Tom asked Bud. “We’ll need several men.”