cages supported by pushpots were most irrational.

The squadron, though, went bumbling upward. In the manned ship, Joe was
more tense than on his other take-off--if such a thing was possible. His
work was harder this trip. Before, he'd had Mike at communications and
the Chief at the steering rockets while Haney kept the pushpots balanced
for thrust. Now Joe flew the manned ship alone. Headphones and a mike
gave him communications with the Shed direct, and the pushpots were
balanced in groups, which cost efficiency but helped on control. He
would have, moreover, to handle his own steering rockets during
acceleration and when he could--and dared--he should supervise the
others. Because each of the other three had two drone-ships to guide.
True, they had only to keep their drones in formation, but Joe had to
navigate for all. The four of them had been assigned this flight because
of its importance. They happened to be the only crew alive who had ever
flown a space ship designed for maneuvering, and their experience
consisted of a single trip.

The jet stream was higher this time than on that other journey now two
months past. They blundered into it at 36,000 feet. Joe's headphones
buzzed tinnily. Radar from the ground told him his rate-of-rise, his
ground speed, his orbital speed, and added comments on the handling of
the drones.

The last was not a precision job. On the way up Joe protested,
"Somebody's ship--Number Four--is lagging! Snap it up!"

Mike said crisply, "Got it, Joe. Coming up!"

"The Shed says three separate ships are getting out of formation. And we