“Ten!” said the voice of Mission Control.
The countdown had begun. When it reached “zero,” Chief Pilot Stanley Lambchop would press the “Start” button, and the Star Scout would blast off for Tyrra.
“Nine!”
Strapped into their seats, the Lambchops held their breaths, each thinking very different thoughts.
Stanley was wondering if the Tyrrans would mind that Earth had sent just an ordinary family. Suppose they were big stuck-ups and expected a general or a TV star, or even the President? Suppose—“Eight!” said Control, and Stanley fixed his eyes on the panel before him.
Mr. Lambchop was thinking that serving one’s country was noble, but this was a bit much. How did these things happen? Off to an unknown planet, the entire family! Other families didn’t have a son become flat. Other families didn’t find genies in the house. Other—Oh, well! Mr. Lambchop sighed.
“Seven!” said Control.
Mrs. Lambchop thought that Mr. Lambchop seemed fretful. But why, now that the Star Scout looked so nice? Thanks to her, in fact. “They may call it a spaceship,” she had said when she first saw it, “but where’s the space? Just one room! And all gray …? Drab, I say!” Much of the training at the Space Center, however, was physical, and Mrs. Lambchop, who jogged and exercised regularly, quickly passed the tests required. In the days that followed, while the others were being made fit, she used her free time to make the Star Scout more like home. Only so much weight was permitted, but she managed a bathroom scale for the shower alcove and a plastic curtain, pretty shades for the portholes, a venetian blind for the Magnifying Exploration Window, and posters of Mexico and France.
“Six! … Five! … Four! … Three! …”
Mrs. Lambchop made sure her purse was snug beneath her seat.
Arthur, by nature lazy, was thinking that he was glad to be done with all the jogging, jumping, climbing ladders, and scaling walls. When he was super-strong, thanks to the genie, it would have been easy. But for just plain Arthur Lambchop, he thought, it was tiring.
“Two!” said Control. “Good luck, everybody! One!”
“Pay attention, dear,” Mrs. Lambchop told Stanley.
“Zero!” said Control, and Stanley pressed the “Start” button.
Whrooom! Rockets roaring, the Star Scout rose from its launching pad.
Whroooooom! Whroooooom! Gaining speed, it soared higher and higher, carrying the Lambchops toward the farness where Tyrra lay.
