lock into the spaceship and prepared for blast-off.

On the control deck, Tom began the involved check of the control panel.
One by one, he tested the dials, gauges, and indicators on the
instrument panel that was the brains of the mighty ship.

On the radar bridge, above the control deck, Roger adjusted the sights
of the precious astrogation prism and took a checking sight on the Pole
Star to make sure the instrument was in true alignment. Then turning to
the radar scanner, the all-seeing eye of the ship, he began a slow,
deliberate tracking of each circuit in the maze of wiring.

And below on the power deck, Astro, stripped to the waist, a leather
belt filled with the rocketman's wrenches and tools slung around his
hips, tuned up the mighty atomic engines. He took longer than usual,
making sure the lead baffling around the reactor units and the reaction
chamber was secure, before firing the initial mass.

Finally Tom's voice crackled over the intercom, "Control deck to all
stations. Check in!"

"Radar bridge, aye!" came Roger's reply. "Ready for blast-off!"

"Power deck, aye!" said Astro, his booming voice echoing through the
ship. "Ready for blast-off!"

"Control deck, ready for blast-off," said Tom, and then turned to the
logbook and jotted down the time in the ship's journal. The astral
chronometer over the control board read exactly 1350 hours.