To the chief analyst he gave the job of putting all the data together in
proper form for feeding to the electronic brain.
It would have taken all spacemen present about ten days to complete the
job by regular methods, but the electronic computer produced the answer
in three minutes.
"Thanks a million, Chief," Rip said. "I'll be calling on you again before
this is over." He tucked the sheets into his pocket.
"Anytime, Lieutenant. We'll keep rechecking the figures as we go along.
If there are any corrections, we'll send them to you. That will give
you a check on your own figures."
"Don't worry," Rip assured him, "we're going to have plenty of
corrections before we're through."
Deceleration had been dropping steadily. It ceased altogether, leaving
them weightless. O'Brine's voice came over the speaker. "Get it! Valve
crews take stations at landing boats five and six. The Planeteers will
depart in five minutes. Lieutenant Foster will report to central control
if he cannot be ready in that time."
Santos grinned at Rip. "Here we go, Lieutenant."
Rip's heart would have dropped into his shoes if there had been any
gravity. Only a little excitement showed on his face, though. He waved
his thanks at the analysts and grinned back at Santos.
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