"You're crazy, man," snapped Steven Alexander, "you can't take off for Mars alone!" Scott Nixon thumped the desk in sudden irritation. "Why not?" he shouted. "One man can run a rocket. Jack Riley's sick and there are no other pilots here. The rocket blasts in fifteen minutes and we can't wait. This is the last chance. The only chance we'll have for months." Jerry Palmer, sitting in front of the massive radio, reached for a bottle of Scotch and slopped a drink into the tumbler at his elbow. "Hell