"Permission denied!" said Walters. "This is exactly what I've been talking about, Steve. You want to leave to go to Mars and look for Tom when we need you here on the project."
Strong's face suddenly turned white. And then, for the first time in his career, he ignored military courtesy and turned to leave without the courtesy of a salute or permission to do so. Connel almost called him back, but Commander Walters put a restraining hand on the major's arm.
"Think of it this way, Lou," he said. "If you wantedsomething you believed to be right, and it was denied you, how would you feel?"
"I'd very likely do the same thing," snapped the major. "And I'd get my rockets busted for it by my commanding officer!"
Walters grinned and pulled the major back to the desk where they continued their discussion of the receivers on Mars.
They had no sooner begun their discussion when the sliding door opened and Professor Hemmingwell burst into the room, his smock flying behind him, his hair ruffled and eyes wide with fright.
"The ship! The ship!" he cried out. "Someone has blown up the whole control panel of the ship!"
"It will take weeks to repair it!"
Professor Hemmingwell stood on the main deck of the giant spaceship staring sadly at the mess of wires and tubes, controls and gauges, switches and filaments, all shattered and useless.
"When did it happen?" demanded Connel.
"Less than half an hour ago," replied Dave Barret. "Professor Hemmingwell and I were down at the far end of the hangar. The men had just left for the day and we were planning the work for tomorrow."
"Then what happened?" demanded Connel. "Wait, don't answer yet!" He stopped himself and turned to a Space Marine standing nearby. "You! Can you work an audio recorder?"
"Yes, sir," replied the Marine.
"Then get a machine up here on the double and take down everything that's said."
"Yes, sir," said the Marine and left the ship. Connel silently began inspecting the wreckage. It was ten times as serious as the first sabotage attempt.
Barret, Commander Walters, Professor Hemmingwell, and Captain Strong watched the major, their teeth clenched, eyes clouded with anger. Where the destruction of the first unit could have been called an accident, here was tangible evidence of a deliberate attempt to stop the whole project. The Space Marine, accompanied by Firehouse Tim Rush, returned five minutes later with the audio recorder and set it up for operation.
Connel took the small needlelike microphone in his hand and spoke into it as the reel of sound tape unwound slowly.
"This is a preliminary inquiry into the sabotage of the control deck of spaceship XX, Operation Space Projectile," he said. "This is Major Lou Connel, interrogator!" He paused and nodded to Barret who stepped forward. "My first witness will be Dave Barret." Holding the microphone close to the young engineer's mouth, Connel said, "Tell us everything you know of this incident."
Barret spoke slowly and carefully, describing how he and Professor Hemmingwell had been at the other end of the hangar when the explosion had occurred. Professor Hemmingwell had immediately run out of the hangar to inform Commander Walters, leaving Barret alone to check the damage. "Then you and Commander Walters and the Space Marines showed up, sir," he concluded. "That's all I know."
"All right," said Connel and turned to the professor. "Your statement, Professor Hemmingwell."
"It happened just about the way Dave said," Hemmingwell began. "Except for one thing. I cannot see why there weren't any guards at their posts this afternoon.We were without any men at the entrances for nearly an hour. Anyone could have slipped into the hangar and planted the bomb."
"Why weren't the entrances guarded?" snapped Connel, looking directly at Firehouse Tim Rush.
"Cadets Manning and Astro left their posts without leave, sir," reported the stocky little spaceman.
Captain Strong took an involuntary step forward, his face drained of all color. Connel looked at him, steely-eyed. "Did you hear that, Strong?" he growled.
Strong nodded. "I—I did," he stammered.
"So those two idiots not only stole a rocket scout, but they left their posts."
Strong could only shake his head in utter disbelief. Commander Walters looked at him pityingly.
"I knew they had taken the scout," said Walters, his voice hard and tight. "But I didn't think they were foolish enough to leave their posts."
"Well, they did, sir," declared Rush. "They left about four hours before they were to be relieved. I was making the rounds when I discovered that they were gone. I put two other men on guard right away, but the doors were unguarded for at least an hour. Anyone could have walked in without the slightest trouble."
Connel turned back to Walters. "This is the end! Those two cadets are going up before a general court-martial."
"Commander," protested Strong, "you can't—!"
"Shut up, Steve!" barked Connel. "There's a limit to how long you can defend your unit. Face it, man, those three boys have gone off their rockers. They're toococky. This is the last straw." He turned away from the young Solar Guard officer and faced the others. "Let's get on with the interrogation. Firehouse! What have you got to say about this?"
The tough little enlisted guard stepped up and reported clearly and rapidly and without pause. When he was finished, Connel turned to the guards that had replaced Roger and Astro and each one repeated the story told by Firehouse Tim.
Over and over, Connel heard the same story. No one seemed to have been around the ship when the explosion took place. And it seemed that the only time when a saboteur could have gotten into the hangar and planted the bomb was during the hour the doors were unguarded.
Finally, the interrogation was over and Connel declared, "One thing to remember when you are dealing with sabotage is this: if the saboteur fails, he might return. If our enemy does not know the extent of the damage, then he might return and make another attempt. So, not a word about this to anyone. And that includes your mothers."
"Major, there is one thing I'd like to add," said Barret, stepping forward.
"What's that?" asked Connel.
"It's about the cadets," said Barret. "I talked to them just before they blasted off in the scout. They had a lot to say about your taking Corbett with you on the trip to Mars. They seemed disgruntled and dissatisfied."
Steve Strong whirled on the young engineer. "What did they say?" he demanded.
"Simply that they didn't feel that they were getting a fair deal with Tom being taken off guard duty, since he was actually responsible for them having it in the first place.
"They said that!" exclaimed Strong. "But how could that—" He suddenly closed his mouth and turned away, frowning.
"But how could what, Steve?" asked Walters.
"Nothing, sir," said Strong. "You have already reprimanded me too often as it is for speaking up in their behalf."
Walters lifted his eyebrows. "It appears to me that you're getting a little touchy!" he barked. "Watch yourself, Steve. Don't let your feelings for those boys get out of hand."
"Blast it!" exclaimed Professor Hemmingwell. "While you continue talking about those stupid cadets, you're just wasting my time. There's plenty of work to do and precious little time to do it in." He turned to Barret. "Come on, Dave, let's get this mess cleared away."
"Yes, sir," said Dave Barret.
As Hemmingwell and Barret turned their attention to the wrecked control panel, Connel, Walters, and Strong climbed out of the ship and left the hangar. On the slidewalk, headed back to the Academy, Commander Walters looked at Connel inquiringly.
"What now, Lou?" he asked.
"I have an idea, Commander," said Connel. "I'm going to spend the rest of the night listening to this audiotape over again. Then I'm going to do a little digging around."
"All right," said Walters. "And I suppose you'll want to talk to Manning and Astro when they get back."
Connel looked at Captain Strong grimly. "I want to talk to them so badly, I would crawl on my hands and knees to get to them right now."
Strong flushed angrily but said nothing, and as soon as the three officers arrived at the Academy grounds, he excused himself. He walked slowly and thoughtfully along, looking at the dormitories with unseeing eyes and hearing with deaf ears the noise of the cadets getting ready for bed. He could not believe that Roger or Astro had abandoned their posts, or that Tom would run off to disappear on Mars, just for the sake of disappearing. In all his years at the Academy, Strong had never met three boys who so exemplified the true spirit of Space Cadets. Something was wrong somewhere. But what?
Strong paused outside the huge recreation hall, watching the cadets. Tony Richards and theCapellaunit walked by, and returning their salutes, Strong could only see Tom, Roger, and Astro.
A figure dressed in the black-and-gold uniform of an officer in the Solar Guard walked toward him. Strong's eyes lighted up with recognition.
"Joan!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you," she said. She had some papers in her hand and held them out to him.
"What's this?" he asked, glancing at them in the light reflected from the hall, and then back to the serious face of the brilliant young physicist, Dr. Joan Dale, who, in spite of being a woman, had been placed incharge of the Academy laboratories, the largest and most complete in the entire Solar Alliance.
"Steve," she began, "I was in charge of the psychograph tests taken of all the workers at the projectile operation after the first mishap—"
"How did you know about the second?" Strong interrupted quickly, remembering Connel's admonition about keeping the incident quiet.
"I was ordered to go over the graphs again, to look for any possible clue in a worker's mental make-up that would lead him to a criminal act." She paused and looked up at him squarely. "Do you suspect me too?"
"I'm sorry, Joan," said the young captain. "But this whole business is getting me down. Tom, disappearing on Mars, Roger and Astro walking off guard duty and stealing a scout, and now this latest sabotage attempt." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm tired I guess."
She smiled. "I understand, Steve, and regardless of what Major Connel and Commander Walters have said, I'll bet my last credit there's a good reason for what the boys have done."
Strong looked down at the pretty physicist and smiled. "Thanks, Joan," he said. "Now, what about these papers?"
"It's about the report on Pat Troy," she replied. "When we asked him if he was working with anyone other than the professor, he lied."
She produced a sheet of paper from among those she held and handed it to Strong. The young captain took it and scanned it quickly. The paper was ordinary graph paper with a series of small, wavy lines on it in red ink.Near the bottom of the paper, there was a jagged peak in the wavy line. "What does this mean?" he asked, pointing to the peak.
"That was his reaction when he was asked if he worked for anyone else."
"Does that mean it's a lie?"
"Yes. All the waves that you see," she continued, pointing to the line, "represent answers to questions about his personal life. Does he shave in the morning? Does he brush his teeth at night, and so forth. They're comparison questions to show his reaction when he tells the truth. That peak indicates a lie."
"Then," said Strong thoughtfully, "he might be the saboteur."
"Or know who it is," said Joan.
"I've got to get this information to Connel right away!" said Strong. "Can I have this paper?"
"Yes. I made copies. I was just going to take one to the commander when I saw you."
"I'll try to locate Major Connel and you go on and tell the commander what you've found. And Joan—" Strong hesitated.
"Yes?"
"Put in a good word for the cadets, will you?" Strong pleaded. "Both Connel and Commander Walters are all set to blast them right out of the service."
"I'll do what I can—" Suddenly Dr. Dale stopped, her eyes widening with fright. She pointed down the walk behind Strong.
Steve turned around and gasped. Connel was striding toward them grimly, followed by four guards carryinga stretcher covered by a blanket. Strong quickly recognized the outline of a human form beneath the blanket.
"Major," exclaimed Steve, "what—who—?"
"It's getting thicker by the hour, Steve!" said Connel in a low voice. "This is the first time in the history of the Academy that there has been what looks like"—he paused and turned to look at the draped body being carried past them—"anattempt at murder," he finished.
"Murder!" said Strong. "But—"
"Who is it?" demanded Joan.
"A little man who can tell us a great deal if and when he regains consciousness! Pat Troy!"
"Vroom-m-m!"
As the shattering blast of noise pounded against his eardrums, Tom Corbett opened his eyes, blinked, and stared around him. By the dim light from a small window in the wall over his head, he saw that he was in some sort of metal enclosure. Suddenly the floor trembled and again the shocking, shattering noises rang through his aching head. He tried to sit up but found that his hands were tied behind his back. The ropes were so tight, his hands were almost completely numb. Slowly he clenched his fingers, then opened them again, repeating the process over and over again while needlelike pains shot through his hands. Finally there was feeling in his fingers again and he struggled to a sitting position.
Again the metal enclosure vibrated and there was another thunderous blast. This time Tom recognized the sound.
"A jet!" exclaimed the cadet aloud. "I'm in the van of a jet truck."
When Tom tried to stand up, he found that his feet were bound. Again he went through the slow, painful process of restoring circulation in his legs and feet, gritting his teeth against the needles of pain. Finally he felt strong enough to push his back against the wall and inch his way upright.
The noise around him continued. Again and again, he could hear the shattering explosions of the exhausts and the screaming whine of the jets. Looking around carefully for the first time, he saw that the van was empty except for a pile of heavy quilted rugs in one corner which he knew were used to protect and cushion cargo.
Hopping to the corner, he flopped down on the blankets and, one by one, he began dragging them out. There was nothing else in the van that would aid him in cutting the thick ropes around his wrists and he hoped to find something under the heap.
Suddenly he felt something hard and boxlike under the last blanket and he tore it off quickly.
He nearly screamed for joy when he recognized a heavy metal toolbox. Sitting on the floor of the van, he maneuvered the top open, then spun around and hopefully looked inside. There was nothing in the box but a dirty cloth, and Tom slumped back in bitter disappointment.
Suddenly the cadet became aware of the intense heat inside the van. He was sweating, and he found it difficult to breath. He inched over to the side of the huge truck and touched the metal paneling. It was blisteringly hot.
"The New Sahara," he thought, a vision of the desolate sun-baked wasteland of the Martian desert flashing through his mind.
He looked around again desperately. The only thing in the van that might cut through the rope was the edge of the toolbox. He inched his way back to the box and began rubbing the rope across the edge of the box, but it was too smooth.
Tom knew that he would have to roughen the edge of the box, so that it would cut the thick fibers of the rope, and in sudden inspiration, he inspected the floor of the van. The heavy-gauge metal was scarred and roughened from the many heavy loads dragged across it. He turned the box over, and with great difficulty, rubbed it back and forth across the floor. Every few minutes he tested the edge of the box with his finger. It was losing its slick surface, but there was a long way to go.
It got hotter inside the van and Tom's uniform was soaked with sweat. He found it difficult to breathe and the continuous roar of the jets tortured his ears.
He did not know how long he had worked, but eventually, he felt that the edge of the box was sufficiently rough to try to cut the ropes. He righted the box, placed the ropes on the edge again and, with a silent prayer, began scraping them across the metal.
After a few minutes there was a tug at the bonds. The cadet pushed harder. There was another tug and the rope seemed to give a little. Working frantically, he sawed back and forth. The sweat poured from his forehead, his arms and back ached unbearably, and soon hefelt something warm and wet begin to trickle down the palms of his hands. He knew it was blood, but he kept on grimly, and suddenly he was rewarded. With a snap, the ropes parted. His hands were free!
Tom hastily untied his feet, and giving the toolbox an affectionate pat, rose to his feet to begin the next step in his plan to escape.
The young cadet examined the entire surface of the inside paneling of the van with his finger tips. He could find no opening other than the back door, which he knew was locked by an electronic beam. Without the proper light-key adjustment, the door could not be opened. And the vent high in the wall was much too small to help him.
He sat down, disheartened. He was still no better off than before. And there was no way of telling where he was, whether it was day or night, and how long he had been riding in the jet truck.
He rested on the floor of the van, the bumpy ride cushioned by the soft blankets, and tried to recall the events that had led him into this trap. He remembered the two men, Cag and Monty, and grimly vowed to repay them if he ever met them again.
Suddenly remembering something more immediate, Tom sat bolt upright. He got up and went to the front of the huge van. There he knelt down in one corner and felt the floor with his hands. He found exactly what he had been hoping for. A large grate, and it was cool! He jumped up, grinning, grabbed the heavy toolbox and carried it back to the corner where he let it drop on the grate. It sagged slightly, near the corner. He picked upthe box and dropped it again. The grate sagged a little more. Tom got down on his knees and felt along the edge of the floor. The grate was giving way.
He really began to hammer in earnest then. And each time the heavy box thudded on the grate, he thanked his lucky stars that he had lived near a garage when he was a boy back in New Chicago. Time and time again, he had slipped inside the huge vans after the produce had been taken out, to find a piece of fruit. He had gotten into the sealed vans, through the refrigerating compartment, a huge unit beneath the van and connected to the cab. Opening the outside hatch to the unit, he had squeezed inside and then unscrewed the grate from the bottom.
With a final hard smash, the grate gave way, clattering into the recesses of the refrigerating unit. Now Tom was grateful for the roar of the jets. It covered the sound of his escape.
Quickly reaching down into the unit, Tom began tearing the mechanism apart; ripping out coils of copper tubing and rubber connections. Disconnecting a pipe, he used it to pry apart the rest of the unit, and finally, after removing the broken parts, there was room enough for his body.
Stuffing the heavy pipe in his tunic, Tom dropped into the unit and opened the outside hatch. A blast of cool air struck him. The sun was setting and the cadet knew that soon the near-zero temperatures of night would settle over the desert. Tom poked his head out and the air stream hit him like a solid wall. He looked back past the spinning wheels and saw a long stretch ofdeserted road bordering a canal. His view forward was blocked by the overhanging cab of the truck. The small step up to the cab was a foot away. Tom eased back into the compartment again and sat back against the wall to consider his next move. He would have a better chance of not being seen if he waited for darkness. On the other hand, they might reach their destination before that and he would be caught. Tom made up his mind quickly.
Moving back to the hatch, he eased himself through the opening. There was a ticklish moment when he had to let go of the side of the compartment and swing over on the step. He took a deep breath and lurched forward.
Behind him, the huge thick wheels spun over the road. A slip now would mean instant, crushing death. His fingers reached for and grasped the door handle. Seconds later, he stood balanced on the step, swaying in the wind.
He dared a glance into the window of the cab, wondering why he had not been noticed before. He saw Cag and Monty inside, Cag driving and Monty asleep. The driver was on the opposite side from Tom, and Monty was slumped against the door.
Tom realized that if he opened the door, Monty would fall out and probably be killed, but he had no choice. He reached up for the handle and tested it gentlybefore swinging down on it to make sure it would open. It gave a little. Then bracing himself, he pulled hard.
The door swung open and Monty fell out, hitting the pavement and rolling off into the sand to lie still. Tom paid no attention to him. With a mighty effort, he swung into the cab and confronted a startled, wild-eyed Cag.
"You!" cried Cag.
"Stop this crate, or so help me, I'll break your head!" Tom shouted, brandishing the short length of pipe.
In reply, Cag suddenly swerved the big truck to one side of the road, hoping to throw Tom out of the open door. Tom managed to grab hold just in time. He swung back into the cab and struck out with the pipe.
Cag ducked and swung the heavy truck to the opposite side of the road, trying to throw Tom off balance, but the cadet was not to be denied. He swung the heavy pipe again and again, landing hard, telling blows on the arms and shoulders of the burly truck driver. Finally a solid blow caught Cag on the side of the head and he slumped over unconscious. Tom leaned over him, grabbed the wheel, and maneuvered the big truck back onto a straightaway course. A minute later he brought the truck to a stop.
Tom jumped out and pulled Cag after him, taking a bottle of water from the small compartment behind the driver's seat. He splashed some on the man's face, and while Cag moaned and came to, Tom drank his fill. He hadn't realized that he was so thirsty.
"Cag," said Tom coldly, when he knew the man couldunderstand him, "I'll beat your ears off if you don't tell me who put you up to this!"
Cag was silent. Tom stepped in and slapped the man across the face.
"Come on! Talk!" he snarled.
Dirty, his clothes ripped, his hands bloody, Cadet Tom Corbett did not look like the carefree young cadet that Cag had met a few hours ago. He was frightened and began to whine.
"Talk or I'll slap you silly!" Tom growled.
Cag saw the wild rage in Tom's eyes and began to stutter.
"The trucking outfit! Just find out who owns this trucking outfit and who would gain if the projectiles failed."
Tom was back in the cab in a flash. He started the mighty jets and began to engage the clutch.
Cag leaped up. "You can't leave me here in the desert! I'll die."
Tom looked at the man, threw out the rest of the food and water from the compartment, and gunned the huge truck down the highway.
Eight hours later Tom rolled into Marsport, stopping the big truck at the first Solar Guard substation he could find.
He raced inside without cutting the jets of the truck and reported to a sergeant seated behind the desk, reading.
"I'm Cadet Tom Corbett!" he shouted. "I've got to get in touch with Commander Walters at the Academy right away."
"Stand where you are, Corbett!" said the sergeant, jumping up and leveling a paralo-ray gun at him. "You're under arrest!"
Tom stared, and then, spinning on his heels, dashed out of the station, the guard's ray blasts spitting at his heels. Jumping into the truck, he gunned the jets and roared off into the dark Martian night.
"Aw, shut your big Venusian mouth!"
As Roger's voice roared over the intercom loud-speaker of the speedy rocket scout, down on the power deck Astro's face turned red.
"Manning," he growled into the intercom microphone, "if I didn't need you to get me back to Mother Earth, I'd come up there and take you apart!"
For four days the two cadets had been aboard the rocket scout, circling in an orbit between Mars and Earth, conducting equipment tests for Dave Barret. They had become bored with the routine work and spent most of their time needling each other, but as Roger said, at least they were in space.
"O.K., let's knock off the space gas!" called Roger over the intercom. "It's time to run another test. Want to come up topside and take a hand?"
"Be right there, Roger!" said Astro. He set the power-deck controls on automatic, and then, with a quick look around to make sure everything was shipshape, he climbed the ladder to the control deck.
Roger was standing at the chart table, audiophoneson his ears, listening for the automatic astral chronometer time-check broadcast on a suprahigh-frequency audio channel from the giant electronic clock in the Tower of Galileo. All spaceship chronometers were checked against this huge clock regularly, in order to maintain constant uniform time so necessary for the delicate art of astrogation between celestial bodies.
Astro started to speak to the blond-haired cadet, but Roger waved him off, listening for the signal. Suddenly he looked up at their own chronometer above the control board and took off the audiophones, smiling his satisfaction.
"Right on the split second, Astro," he said.
"O.K.," replied the big Venusian. "Then let's run that test and get it over with."
"Right," said Roger, turning back to the control panel. "Do you want to go outside this time?"
"I might as well," replied Astro. "Give me a change of scenery."
The big Venusian turned to a locker, pulled out a bulky space suit, and climbed into it quickly. Adjusting the space helmet, he nodded at Roger and stepped into the air-lock chamber, pulling the hatch closed behind him. While waiting for the oxygen in the small chamber to be pumped back into the ship and the pressure to be equalized with the vacuum of space outside, he checked his helmet intercom to insure a clear line of communication with Roger.
The red hand closed on thezeroof the gauge over the door and Astro moved to the outer hatch. He unlocked it, swung the door open, and slowly climbed out into the fantastic beauty of endless space. No soonerwas he outside than the synthetic gravity generators lost their pull on his body and he started into space. Tightly grasping two metal handles in the hull, the big cadet performed a quick somersault and planted his feet firmly on the hull. His magnetic-soled space boots held him fast and he called Roger over his helmet intercom.
"I'm outside, Roger," he reported. "On my way down to the exhaust."
"Right," came Roger's voice over the intercom. "Let me know when you're ready."
Without replying, Astro made his way slowly and carefully down the length of the rocket scout toward the main drive rocket assembly. Stopping at the trailing edge of the hull, where it enclosed the four rockets, the big Venusian squatted on his heels, making certain the soles of his space boots stayed in contact with the metal of the hull. He peered over the edge and braced himself in a position where he could observe the individual rocket exhausts.
"O.K., Roger!" he called into his intercom. "Open up number one."
"Number one, aye," replied Roger. "And watch yourself, you big baboon. Don't burn your nose!"
"Go ahead, go ahead!" growled Astro in reply.
A long tongue of flame shot out of the exhaust of the number one tube and, after drawing back momentarily, Astro watched the tube keenly.
"You know," he commented idly as he kept his eyes fixed on the tube, "I still can't figure out what's so different about these tubes. They're exactly the same as any others I've ever seen."
"That's how much you know, Astro," snorted Roger. "Dave Barret said they were using a new duralumin alloy in the tubes."
"Still doesn't look any different to me," persisted Astro. "And for us to spend four whole days out here testing them"—he paused and shook his head—"seems like an awful waste of time," he concluded.
"What do you care? We're out in space, aren't we? Or would you rather be back on guard duty?"
"No, of course not," replied Astro. "But even space gets dull after a while with nothing to do. Barret sure gave us an old crate. Not even a long-range receiver aboard."
"What do you want to listen to?" snorted Roger. "Flight orders and all the rest of that rocket wash?"
"Be a relief to listen to somebody else beside you for a change," snapped Astro. "Anyhow, suppose something important happened. Suppose our orders were changed. How would we know about it?"
"What difference does it make?" replied Roger. "We've got our orders—straight from Barret. As long as we follow them, we won't get into trouble."
"For a change," murmured Astro.
"Now cut the griping and finish up out there!"
"O.K.," sighed Astro. "That's enough on number one. Give me number two."
The ship bucked slightly as one rocket tube was cut out and another flared at full power, but Astro clung to the hull tightly, continuing his observations. With troubled eyes he watched all four rocket tubes in operation, unable to understand the difference between these tubes and the standard makes. Finally he shrugged his shoulders, and rising to his feet, called Roger again.
"That's enough, pal," he said. "I'm coming in."
"O.K.," replied Roger from the control deck. "And don't fall all over your big feet."
In five minutes the Venusian cadet was inside the air lock again, and as the pressure was boosted to equalizewith the interior of the ship, he removed his space suit and helmet. He opened the inner hatch and stepped into the control deck to see Roger staring at the teleceiver in openmouthed astonishment. A harsh voice was coming over the loud-speaker.
"... Order you to cut all power and stand by for a boarding party, or I'll open fire immediately!"
With an exclamation of startled surprise, Astro rushed to the teleceiver screen and saw a man in the uniform of the Solar Guard, his face grim and purposeful. Just as Astro was about to speak, the officer spoke again.
"Did you hear me? This is Captain Newton aboard the cruiserRegulus! I order you to cut all power and stand by or I'll open fire! Acknowledge!"
"Roger," gasped Astro, "what's this all about?"
"I—I don't know," stammered the blond-haired cadet. He grabbed the teleceiver microphone and called into it rapidly.
"Rocket scout 4J9 toRegulus. This is Space Cadet Roger Manning. There must be some mistake, sir. Cadet Astro and I are out here on special assignment for the Space Projectile project."
"I know who you are!" shouted Newton. "If you don't stand by, I'll open fire! This is your last warning!"
Astro grabbed the mike from Roger's hand.
"All right!" he bellowed. "We don't know what it's all about, but for the love of Saturn's rings, don't start shooting."
Captain Newton nodded grimly. "Very well," he said. "Bring your ship to a dead stop in space and openyour starboard air lock. I will send a jet boat over to you."
"Aye, aye, sir," said Astro.
When the Solar Guard captain signed off and his image faded from the teleceiver screen, Astro and Roger numbly complied with Newton's abrupt orders, bringing the ship to a dead stop in space and opening the starboard air lock. Then the two cadets sat in the main deck of the small scout and waited, their faces showing their concern. Neither felt like talking. They were so confused that they didn't know what to say. Finally Roger got up and in a daze walked to the chart table to note the time of the tests in the log. Then he automatically logged the time of Newton's order.
Suddenly he threw the pencil down and turned to Astro.
"Blast it!" he shouted. "What's this all about?"
Astro merely grunted, shrugged his shoulders, and slumped further down in his chair. The big cadet was worried. Anything that threatened his career at the Space Academy made him literally tremble with fear. In his whole life there was never anything that he wanted more than to be an officer in the Solar Guard. And the only way that could be accomplished was by being a Space Cadet. Now he was under arrest. He didn't stop to reason why. All he knew was that it was a direct threat to his future as a power-deck officer in the Solar Guard.
The two boys felt the metallic thump of something hitting the hull of their rocket scout. They realized immediately that it was the sound of the jet boat couplingon their ship and they turned to face the air-lock hatch.
Captain Newton was the first to step through the air-lock hatch and he was followed by six Space Marines, holding their ray guns leveled.
"I am Captain Newton of the Solar Guard, in command of the rocket cruiserRegulus," he announced. "I arrest you in the name of the Solar Alliance." The officer handed over the standard warrant that was used by the Solar Guard.
Roger read it slowly. It was a simple warrant for their arrest, on the grounds of desertion, taking a Solar Guard vessel without permission, and being absent without leave from Space Academy. Stunned, the cadet handed it to Astro who had been reading it over his shoulder, his face white with shock.
"And I warn you, Cadet Manning," continued Newton, "that anything you say from now on may be used against you."
"I understand, sir," said Roger, dazed.
"Then do I have your word," said Newton, "on your honor as Space Cadets, that you will not make any attempt to escape or in any way jeopardize my authority over you?"
"Yes, sir," nodded Roger.
"On my honor, sir," said Astro, gulping, "as a Space Cadet."
"All right," said Newton. "Then I'll let you take the scout back to the Academy yourselves. I'll escort you in theRegulus."
He turned to the squad of Space Marines and nodded. They filed into the air lock and Newton followedslowly. He paused in the hatch and looked back at the two cadets, a momentary gleam of sympathy in his eyes.
"You'd better be prepared for a rough time, boys," he said. "Major Connel is going to haul you in front of a court-martial as soon as you land."
"But what've we done?" Astro suddenly exploded.
"The charges are listed in the warrant, Cadet Astro!"
"But that's all wrong!" protested Astro. "We were ordered to—"
"Hold it, Astro," Roger interrupted. "Let's stop and figure this out first. We can tell our side at the court-martial!"
Captain Newton looked at the two boys piercingly for a second, then turned and entered the air lock, slamming the hatch closed behind him. Slowly and thoughtfully, Astro and Roger prepared to get their ship under way. They were still stunned by the sudden turn of events.
They had no idea what had happened. But they knew Dave Barret was at the heart of their troubles. They vowed silently that he wouldn't get away with it!
This time it was not a cadet court that Roger and Astro faced. It was a five-man board of Solar Guard officers, consisting of four captains and one major, who conducted the court-martial in closed session. Only the defendants and the complaining witnesses were allowed to be present. The evidence the board heard was as damaging to the boys as it was bewildering. Major Connel testified to their being absent without leave and takinga Solar Guard space vessel without permission. Firehouse Tim Rush stated that they had deserted their stations. When Roger was called to the stand, he entered the only defense he could, stating that he and Astro had been operating under Dave Barret's orders. The board immediately called Barret in to testify and his words blasted the cadets' case to smithereens.
"... I have no idea what they were doing out in that rocket scout," he stated calmly. "I certainly didn't send them up on any such ridiculous tests. If you will examine the exhaust tubes of that ship, you'll see that they're made of standard materials used in all Solar Guard ships." He turned to the board, casually. "No, gentlemen," he continued, "I don't know what these boys are talking about. You can call Professor Hemmingwell in, if you like. I'm sure he'll vouch for what I've said."
As Barret stepped down from the stand, Astro lunged toward him, blind with anger and shouting his fury. It took six Space Marines to force him back to his chair. Roger merely sat, staring blankly into space, a wry smile curling his lips. He clearly saw the trap into which he and his unit mate had fallen, and there was no way out.
The board didn't deliberate very long after the last testimony was taken. When they returned to the chamber, the presiding officer addressed Roger and Astro directly, asking formally whether they had anything to say before sentence was passed. Roger stepped forward.
"I have something to say, sir," he said in a quiet but firm voice.
"Very well," nodded the major.
"Sir," began Roger, with a glance at Astro, "this is not a plea for mercy but understanding. We are, it is true, nothing but boys in training to become officers of the Solar Guard. One of the most important parts of our training is how to take orders without question. Now at this trial, we have been accused of three specific instances of misconduct. We can offer no other defense than what we have already claimed. Major Connel and Warrant Officer Rush have stated that we should have cleared Barret's orders with them first, since Barret is only a civilian and has no right to give us orders. That may very well be true. But I submit this for your consideration, gentlemen—" Roger paused and looked up and down the line of stony-faced officers. "What would have been your judgment," he resumed, "if Dave Barret had asked us to do these things and we had refused? Would you have been less hard on us? That's all, sir."
Roger stepped back abruptly and the officers stirred uncomfortably. They recognized the merit in Roger's statement, and had not the decision been made, there was more than one who might have reconsidered, remembering their own difficulties as Space Cadets. However, the presiding officer picked up a sheet of paper and addressed the boys coldly.
"While I must compliment Cadet Manning for his admirable statement," he said, "it does not change the decision of this board. Normally, these offenses would be punished by immediate dismissal from the Cadet Corps. However, in view of their past record at the Academy, it is the decision of this board to exercisesome lenience. Cadet Roger Manning, Cadet Astro, you are sentenced to serve on the enlisted man's work gangs here at Space Academy for a period of exactly six months. All pay and privileges to be denied during that time. Case is closed!"