main drive rockets as the ship plummeted tailfirst toward the surface of
Mars.

"Two hundred feet!" came the warning call over the intercom.

Connel glanced up at the teleceiver screen over his head that showed the
spaceport below. The concrete runways and platforms were rushing up to
meet the giant ship. He opened the main rockets full.

"Seventy-five feet! Stand by!" yelled Tom.

Connel's hands flashed over the control panel of the ship, snapping
switches, flipping levers, and turning dials in an effort to bring the
ship to a smooth landing. There was a sudden roar of rockets and then a
gentle bump.

"Touchdown!" roared Connel.

He flipped off the main switches on the control board, spun around in
his chair, and noted the time on the astral chronometer. "Touchdown
Marsport, 2117!" he announced.

Tom clambered down the ladder from the radar bridge and immediately
noted the time of arrival in the logbook. He turned around and saluted
the major sharply. "All secure, sir," he said.

"Congratulations on a smooth trip, Corbett," Connel said. "And thanks
for letting me take her in. I know it's unusual to have the senior
officer take over the ship, but once in a while I get the urge to put my
hands on those controls and--well--" Connel paused, fumbling for words.