He slipped out of the antiquated ship, and staying well in the shadows, moved out into the corridor to the head of the slidestairs. He peered over the railing to the main floor below and saw Warrant Officer Mike McKenny through the open door of a small office, seated at his desk, watching an evening stereo program. The young cadet jumped on the stairs quickly and rode the moving belt of plastic to the upper floors where the officers' quarters were located.
Tom was in great danger of discovery. No civilian was allowed on Academy grounds after taps. And he was still wearing the civilian clothes he had taken from the suitcase on the passenger ship from Mars. Silently but swiftly, he made his way from level to level toward the seventy-fifth floor.
He knew that there would be a guard stationed in the halls outside the officers' apartments and it would be impossible to elude him. He would simply have to brazen it out.
At the seventy-fifth floor the young cadet stepped off the slidestairs noisily, his heels clicking on the dark crystal floor, and strode down the hall. He was immediately seen by the guard who advanced to meet him, his ray gun at the ready. Tom was prepared.
"Guard!" he yelled.
The guard stopped in front of him, a puzzled look on his face. "Yes?" he replied.
"Sir!" snapped Tom. "Show me where Captain Strong's quarters are and be quick about it!"
"But who are—?" The guard started to protest, but Tom did not give him the chance to finish.
"Don't stand there like an idiot, man!Move!"
"Uhh—yes, sir," stammered the guard, obviously taken aback.
"Lead the way," continued Tom loudly. "I haven't much time."
"Yes, sir, but would you mind lowering your voice, sir? Some of the officers are asleep, sir."
"Well, get on then and stop jabbering!"
The guard turned quickly and started down the hall.Tom followed, hardly able to keep from smiling at the man's frustration and confusion.
They stopped at the door to Captain Strong's quarters and the guard rapped softly.
"Yes?" came a muffled voice from inside.
"Someone to see you, sir," called the guard.
"Just a moment."
The guard stepped to one side and stood at rigid attention. When the door opened and Captain Strong was revealed, Tom brushed past the guard and stepped into the room, talking quickly.
"My name is Hinkleworth, Captain," he announced. "I am here at the request of Commissioner Jessup to discuss the installation of new radar equipment on all Solar Guard rocket cruisers!"
Tom slammed the door closed behind him and turned to face the astonished Solar Guard officer.
"What in the star-blazing—?" Strong began angrily.
"It's me, Captain Strong!" Tom said quickly, pulling his hat off and lowering his collar.
"Corbett!" gasped Strong, taking an involuntary step back, his face mirroring his disbelief.
"Sh!" whispered the boy, motioning to the door. Recovering his composure, Strong swept past him, opened the door, and found the guard still standing there at attention.
"All right, Corporal," said Strong. "Resume your station."
"Yes, sir," replied the guard and walked down the hall. Strong watched him for a moment, then turned back into his room, closing and locking the door behindhim. He faced the young cadet, who grinned back at him weakly.
"All right, spaceboy," said Strong, flopping in the nearest chair. "Start at the beginning and give it to me.All of it!"
Tom began his story with the incident of the runaway truck at Marsport, told of his abduction and escape from the two truckers, Cag and Monty, his efforts to reach Space Academy, and finally revealed the identity of the man he thought was responsible for the whole effort to stop the projectile operation.
At this, Strong jumped to his feet. "That's the most fantastic thing I've ever heard, Corbett!" he snapped. "What kind of proof do you have?"
"None, sir," replied Tom. "The only reason I came here tonight is to ask you to help me get that proof."
When Strong was silent, shaking his head, Tom tried again.
"Sir, you do believe me, don't you?" asked the boy with a sinking feeling in his heart. "What about all the things that have happened to me and to Roger and Astro?"
"I can explain them away just as easily as you can explain your theory," replied Strong. He walked over and patted the cadet on the shoulder sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Tom," he said gently. "Your story is just too fantastic and you haven't even the slightest shred of evidence. Just a few words an unreliable witness said under duress."
"I realize that, sir," replied the cadet. "But don't you see? This is the only way to clear my name."
Strong turned to the window, looked out thoughtfully for a moment, and then turned back to the boy. "How do you think I can help you?" he said, a more sympathetic note in his voice.
His eyes bright with hope again, Tom spoke quickly and eagerly. The Solar Guard captain calmly packed his pipe and lighted it, stopping the boy now and then to ask a question. Finally, when Tom was finished, Strong nodded and silently puffed at his pipe.
"Well, sir?" asked Tom eagerly.
"I don't know, Tom," replied Strong. "It's a pretty wild idea. And it leaves me way out on a limb."
"Only if we fail, sir," said Tom.
"Which is more than likely," Strong commented dryly.
"Captain Strong," said Tom, "if you really don't think it can work, then I suggest that you call the guard and turn me in. I've put you in enough trouble already." Tom moved to the door.
"Stop playing the hero, Corbett," said Strong. "I didn't say I wouldn't help you. But we have to think this thing out."
Tom sat down, eying Strong hopefully.
"Now, let me get this straight," said Strong. "First you want me to help Astro and Roger escape from the work gang. All right, that may work easily enough. But why?"
"So we can get aboard the projectile ship and go through her tests with her."
"I suppose you've heard that Connel, Professor Hemmingwell, and Dave Barret are going to take her up."
"Yes, sir," Tom replied, grinning. "That's why I want to go along. To make sure no more accidents happen."
"I could send a squad of Space Marines for that kind of job," mused Strong.
"But that would alert Barret," protested Tom. "He might not try anything. If he doesn't suspect he's being watched, we may be able to catch him in the act. And he certainly wouldn't think the three of us are aboard."
"Hum. Maybe you're right," nodded Strong. "Then after I get you three on the ship, I'm supposed to spend my time trailing your prize suspect, right?"
"Yes, sir," nodded the young cadet.
"I'll have to give it consideration, Tom," said Strong after a momentary pause. "As much as I admire your plan and as much as I want to help you, this places me in a highly untenable position. Have you stopped to think what would happen to me if it were ever known that I had sheltered you here in my quarters and aided in the escape of two convicted cadets from the work gang?"
"Yes, sir," replied Tom soberly. "And—all I can say is I'll do whatever you think is best."
"Well, get some sleep now," sighed Strong. "I've got to make a tour of the guard."
Without another word, Tom went into Captain Strong's bedroom and fell asleep thirty seconds after his head hit the pillow. His last waking thought was that if his plan had any merit Captain Strong would help him.
Steve Strong did not leave his quarters immediately. He sat in the easy chair and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe until there was nothing left in the burnt andcharred bowl. Then he rose and left the room to make his rounds. He walked slowly through the hollow, empty hallways of the Tower building, riding up and down the slidestairs, speaking curtly to the guards, and finally walked out on the wide steps facing the grassy quadrangle.
Strong glanced up at the sky. He counted the stars he could see and he remembered that as a boy of eight he knew the names and positions of every one. He recalled his entrance to the Academy as a cadet and how his unit instructor had guided him and taught him the many things a spaceman must know. He thought of his long tour as a line officer in the Solar Guard fleet under Commander Walters, then a major, and he remembered his brother officers, many of whom were now dead. There was one thing they all had in common, one thing that overshadowed all personal differences. One thing that was almost like a religion. Comradeship. A feeling of belonging, a knowledge that there wasalwayssomeone who would believe in you and your ideas.
One thing. Friendship.
Captain Strong spun on his heel, walked back into the Tower, and rode the slidestairs back to his quarters. He had made up his mind.
"Stand by to raise ship!"
Connel's bull-throated roar blasted through the intercom of the gleaming projectile ship from the power deck where Dave Barret was stationed, up to the radar bridge where Professor Hemmingwell waited anxiously.
On the main deck, seated at the controls, Connel spoke rapidly into the audioceiver microphone. "Projectile vessel to spaceport traffic control," he called. "Request blast-off clearance!"
"Spaceport traffic control to Connel," came a voice in reply over the audioceiver. "You are cleared. Your time is two minutes to zero!"
Connel began snapping the many levers and switches on the control panel in proper sequence, keeping a wary eye on the astral chronometer over his head as one of its red hands ticked off the seconds to blast-off.
The teleceiver screen to his right showed a view of the stern of the vessel and Connel could see some of the ground crew slowly rolling away the boarding equipment. Flipping on the switch that opened a circuit toan outside loud-speaker, he bellowed an order for the area to be cleared. The crew scurried back behind the blast deflectors and watched the ship through the thick crystal viewports.
"Power deck," Connel called into the intercom, "check in!"
"Power deck, aye!" reported Barret.
"Radar deck, check in!"
"Radar deck, aye!" Professor Hemmingwell acknowledged in a thin voice.
"Feed reactant!" Connel ordered.
"Reactant feeding at D-9 rate," said Barret after a split-second pause.
"Energize cooling pumps!"
"Cooling pumps, aye!"
"Cut in take-off gyros!"
"Gyros on," repeated Barret.
"All clear forward and up!" replied the elderly man.
"Right!" bawled Major Connel. "Stand by!"
Tensely he watched the red hand crawl up the face of the chronometer and he gripped the intercom microphone tightly. "Blast off," he began, "minus five, four, three, two, one,zero!"
Connel slammed home the master control switch and in an instant the silver ship trembled under a tremendous surge of power. Flame and smoke poured out of its exhaust and slowly it began to reach for sky, straining as if to break invisible bonds holding it to Earth. Her jets shrieking torturously, the ship picked up speed and then suddenly, as though shot from a cannon, it blasted up through the atmosphere—spacebound.
A moment later, on the control deck of the ship, Major Connel swung forward in his chair, shook off the effects of the tremendous acceleration, and called into the intercom, "Switch on the gravity generators!"
As soon as the artificial gravity was in effect, the officer put the ship on standard cruising speed, changed course slightly to put them on a direct heading to Mars, and then ordered Barret and Hemmingwell to the control deck.
"Well, Professor," he said as he gave the old man a hearty handshake, "so far so good. She handles like a baby carriage. If the projectiles work half as well, you'll really have yourself something!"
Professor Hemmingwell smiled appreciatively and turned to Barret, who was just climbing through the hatch from the power deck. "You've done as much as anyone to help this ship get into space, Dave," he said. "Thank you!"
"Think nothing of it, Professor," replied Barret airily.
"Well, shall we begin the first series of tests?" asked Connel.
"By all means!" said the professor enthusiastically. "If you and Dave will check the firing stations, I'll take care of the paper work!"
"Right," replied Connel. "Let's go, Barret!"
"I'll work outside, Major," said Barret, turning toward the air lock. "You see that all the firing chambers are properly loaded."
"Anything you say, Barret."
The two men turned away from the smiling professor and left the control deck. They separated in the companionway,Connel hurrying to the starboard firing chambers and Barret going to the midships air lock where he put on a space suit for his task out on the hull.
In two minutes the young scientist was out on the odd-looking blisters that marked the exterior of the firing chambers ringing the hull.
At each blister Barret examined the hollow firing tube carefully. In several he made delicate adjustments to a small metallic ring extending from the opening of the tube. The ring was one of the most important parts of the firing unit, emitting the long-range electronic beam controlling the flight of the projectile.
Meanwhile, inside the ship, Connel checked the loading of each of the chambers, making certain that each of the ten-foot-long torpedolike projectiles was properly secured in its blasting cradle. After fifteen minutes and a complete trip around the ship, the major was satisfied that all was in readiness. He returned to the control deck, meeting Barret on the way, and they found Professor Hemmingwell just completing his calculations for the initial test. He turned to them, waving a paper in front of their eyes.
"Gentlemen," he said proudly, "we are almost ready. If you will adjust course fifteen degrees to port, we'll be in proper position for the test!"
"Right," nodded Connel. "Stand by below, Barret."
"On my way," replied Barret, disappearing through the hatch.
"Well, Professor," said Connel, walking to the controls, "this is the big moment!"
"Yes," nodded Hemmingwell. "If these rocket projectilesprove workable now, there's nothing to stop us from carrying on with our test of the ground receivers on Mars immediately."
"Power deck to control deck, check in!" Barret's voice suddenly crackled over the intercom.
"Control deck, aye," replied Connel. "Ready to blast?"
"All set!"
"Give me a ten-second burst on the starboard steering rockets," ordered Connel, gripping the steering vane control tightly.
"Coming up!"
There was a sudden, jolting blast from the stern and Connel and Hemmingwell hung on grimly as the mighty ship turned in space. Watching the control panel instruments carefully, Connel slammed home the switch that opened the powerful nose braking rockets and brought the ship to a dead stop in space.
"On course, Professor, ready to fire!" Connel announced triumphantly, and Hemmingwell took his station before the giant projectile control board.
"Stand by to fire one!" said the professor, making a minute adjustment on the panel. Behind him, Connel unconsciously crossed his fingers.
"Fire one!" shouted Hemmingwell.
Connel pressed a red button on the panel and waited, holding his breath. There was a distinct hissing and then the great ship lurched slightly. On the teleceiver overhead a white flash appeared, streaked across the screen, and then disappeared in the darkness of space.
"Fire two!"
Again there was a hissing sound and another white burst of light faded into the millions of other pinpoints of lights in the black void.
Over and over again, at one-minute intervals, the projectiles were fired, until all twelve of the firing chambers had discharged their fire-tailed missiles.
The professor sat back and smiled weakly at Connel. The gruff major winked encouragingly and they both turned to watch the teleceiver screen anxiously. The gyros on each projectile had been preset for a circular flight of fifteen minutes' duration. Soon they would be returning and the delicate job of bringing them safely aboard would begin.
"Here comes number one," shouted Connel, as a small pinpoint of light appeared on the screen.
"I'm ready!" said the professor. He watched the teleceiver screen carefully, made a minute adjustment of the dial controlling the directional beam emitted by the ring in the number-one firing chamber, and at the last possible moment, snapped the remote-control switch that cut the power in the approaching test projectile. It hung dead in space, immediately over the chamber. Gently the professor increased the power of the electro-magnetic ring and pulled the projectile back into the chamber as easily as slipping a hand in a glove.
"Success!" Connel shouted. "Professor, you've done it!"
"Congratulations, sir," Dave Barret called over the intercom from the power deck.
"Here comes number two," said Professor Hemmingwell excitedly, and began to repeat the processto draw the approaching projectiles back into the ship.
One after another, five projectiles were taken aboard successfully. Then, as he worked on the sixth, the professor began to frown. He rechecked his instruments and then shook his head, obviously disturbed.
"What's the trouble?" growled Connel, noticing Hemmingwell's growing nervousness.
"The homing ring on number six tube isn't working properly," replied Hemmingwell. "I can't control the projectile."
"Any idea what's wrong?" the Solar Guard officer asked.
"The settings on the ring must be wrong." The professor picked up the intercom mike. "Dave," he called, "check in!"
"Yes, sir?" replied Barret immediately.
"Did you check the settings on all the rings in the firing chambers?"
"Yes, sir," reported Barret. "They looked O.K. to me. Why don't you check with Connel? He supervised their installation."
"That's true," said the major. "I'll go outside and look them over."
Connel turned on his heel and hurried to the air-lock chamber. Moving with amazing speed for a big man, he donned the space suit in the chamber while the pressure was being equalized. As soon as the air-lock portal opened, he scrambled out on the hull and made his way forward to the bulging firing chambers. Stooping over the empty tube of number six, he examined the ring carefully and began to frown. Moving on to numberseven, his frown deepened. By the time he checked the rings of eight and nine, his face was a grim mask of anger.
"Professor," he called into his helmet microphone, "check in."
"Yes, Major," replied Hemmingwell from the control deck. "Have you found the trouble?"
"I sure have," Connel growled. "It's sabotage! And now I think I know who—"
Connel never finished. There was a sudden burst of power from the great ship and the officer was hurled into space.
"Major!" cried Hemmingwell. "Barret! What have you done? Connel is outside!"
"I couldn't help it, Professor," replied Barret from the power deck. "My hand slipped and—"
"Don't talk!" shouted Hemmingwell. "Stop the ship!"
"I can't! The control is jammed!"
As the ship surged through space and the professor and Barret yelled at each other over the intercom, three Space Cadets rose from their hiding place in the hold of the ship.
Tom Corbett nudged Roger and Astro. "You hear that?" he said grimly.
"Yeah!" replied Roger.
"Let's go!" growled Astro.
Without another word, they opened the hatch and made their way quickly through the rocketing ship, each going to their separate stations, according to the prearranged plan. Roger climbed up to the radar bridge, Tom entered the control deck, and Astro burst into the power deck.
"You!" Barret cried out, his eyes wide with sudden fear as the huge Venusian advanced on him menacingly.
"Get away from those controls," growled the big cadet. "If you don't, so help me, I'll break you in two!"
Barret backed away, his face white, hands pawing the air frantically as if he were trying to push the big cadet back.
"Get over there," said Astro. "Sit down and keep your mouth shut!"
On the control deck, Tom was strapping himself into the pilot's chair and calling frantically into the intercom, "Give me a course, Roger!"
"One-seventy-degree turn to starboard," replied Roger, "and full ahead! I've got the major on my scanner."
"Pour on the power, Astro!" shouted Tom, gripping the controls firmly.
As the mighty ship blasted in a long, sweeping arc, Professor Hemmingwell sat numbly in his chair, aware only that the three cadets were taking the vessel back into the area where the remaining projectiles, completely out of control, were buzzing around in space like maddened hornets.
"There he is!"
Roger's voice rose to a triumphant shout on the intercom. "Put the brakes on this wagon!"
"Check!" retorted Astro from the power deck, his fingers flying over the switches of the control panel and bringing the ship to a sudden blasting stop.
On the control deck, Tom turned to Professor Hemmingwell. "I'm going outside to get Major Connel, sir," he said. "Do you think you'll be all right?"
The old man nodded absently, still dazed by the sudden turn of events. Tom hurried past him and met Roger coming down from the radar bridge. "I'm going too!" the blond-haired cadet announced.
"You tell Astro?"
"Yeah. He's got Barret locked in the power-deck storeroom and he'll take over the control deck. Wonder if they have a jet boat aboard?"
"I doubt it. Not on a test flight."
"We'll have to hurry," said Roger as they reached the air lock and began to scramble into space suits.
"Yes," replied Tom. "He probably doesn't have much oxygen."
"There's another reason," grunted Roger.
"What?"
"Those projectiles. We're right back in the middle of them. Any one of them could wreck the ship."
"I see what you mean," said Tom. "Guess it's up to Astro to keep dodging them."
"Never thought I'd be out in space ducking hot projectiles to save old Blast-off Connel's hide."
"Neither did I," said Tom. "But here we are."
Stepping into the air lock, they quickly equalized the pressure and a moment later climbed out on the hull.
"See him, Roger?" asked Tom over the helmet intercom.
"Not yet," replied Roger.
"I see him," called Astro from the control deck. "I got him spotted on the teleceiver. Go aft, about a thousand, maybe fifteen hundred yards. I'll direct you from there."
"Right!" snapped Roger. "And listen, you Venusian bonehead! Make it good. I don't like being a clay pigeon for this crazy shooting gallery out here!"
"Aw, damp your tubes and get to work," drawled Astro. "Honestly, Tom, did you ever hear himnotcomplain?"
Tom did not answer. He was busy fastening two oxygen tanks to the front of his space suit and Roger's. When he had finished, he checked the pressure and, satisfied, nodded to his unit mate.
Opening the nozzles of the bottles, they shot away from the ship into the nothingness of space.
"You have to go about fifteen degrees to your starboard and five degrees up on the ecliptic," called Astro from the control deck. "You'll hit Connel right on the nose!"
"Right!" replied Tom, turning the nozzle of the oxygen bottle to the left and immediately shooting off in the indicated direction. Roger followed quickly and expertly.
"See him?" called Tom.
"No," replied Roger. "Are you sure, you big clunk?"
"He's right above you!" snorted Astro over the intercom. Then his voice rose in alarm. "No! That isn't—"
"Duck, Tom!" cried Roger.
Tom opened the nozzle of his oxygen bottle wide and turned it. As he shot away, a projectile roared through the area he had just left.
Roger had done the same thing, flipping over and shooting up and away from the moving object.
"Whew!" exclaimed Tom. "That was close!"
"You blockhead!" roared Roger. "What are you trying to do to us? Set us up for coffins?"
"For you, that's not a bad idea, Manning!" snorted Astro. "Just damp your tubes. I made a mistake."
"Some mistake!" growled Roger.
Tom and Roger maneuvered back together, and locking arms so they would not drift apart, scanned the void around them for Connel. Suddenly Tom jerked free. "Roger!" he cried.
"What is it?" replied the cadet. "Do you see him?"
"There!" Tom pointed back to the ship. "On the stern! He's hanging on to the cleat over the main tubes!"
"He's hanging on to the cleat over the main tube!""He's hanging on to the cleat over the main tube!"
"Astro," Roger called, "we're coming back in. We've spotted him."
"I heard you!" said Astro. "Must've come back on his own steam. Go get him, quick!"
Turning the nozzles of their oxygen tanks, the two cadets shot toward the ship. They quickly clambered onto the stern where Connel lay stretched out on the side of the hull, arms extended, his gloved hands gripping the small cleat on the side of the hull.
In a matter of minutes, the two boys had the Solar Guard officer safely inside the air-lock chamber and had removed his space helmet and suit. His eyes were closed, and his face was deathly white. Tom immediately clapped an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, while Roger applied heating units to the wrists and neck.
Astro burst into the chamber, followed by the professor. "Will he be all right?" Hemmingwell asked anxiously.
"Think nothing of it, Professor Hummingbird," said Roger. "The old major will come around any second, and when he does, stand back. The first thing he'll do is yell."
"Roger, the name is Hemmingwell," hissed Tom.
"Oh, yeah, sure," nodded Roger, and then turned to Astro. "Is Barret still locked up?"
"Yeah," replied the Venusian. "And I hid the key, so Connel can't get to him until he cools off."
"The major is coming around," said Tom.
As they watched, Connel stirred, coughed several times, and then opened his eyes. He stared in amazementat Tom, then turned to blink unbelievingly at Roger and Astro. "What in the star-blazing—?"
"It's us all right, sir!" Tom assured him.
"Yeah," chimed in Roger. "And you're not in heaven or—er—any place else either."
As Connel suddenly flushed with anger and sat up, Hemmingwell spoke quickly. "They saved your life, Major," he said.
"They did?" Connel's face clouded in confusion. "I don't understand. How did you three get aboard, anyway?"
"It's a long story, sir," said Tom. "Right now, maybe we'd better—"
Before the cadet could finish, there was a loud crashing and a series of jolting bumps as the ship lurched.
"What the blue blazes!" roared Connel, jumping to his feet in alarm.
"The projectiles!" exclaimed Roger. "We've got to get out of here!"
"By the craters of Luna!" cried Astro. "I forgot all about them!"
Tom, Roger, Astro, Hemmingwell, and Connel raced out of the air lock to their stations. Astro poured on the power without waiting for an order from the control deck and soon they were rocketing into the safety of space.
Watching the wildly flying missiles on the teleceiver screen, Connel breathed a sigh of relief.
"Wow!" he snorted. "Glad we're out of that mess."
"But what are we going to do about them, sir," asked Tom, a worried frown wrinkling his forehead as hewatched the screen. "We can't just leave those things there. Some other ship may—"
"Don't worry about it," Connel broke in brusquely. "The projectiles will run out of fuel in a few minutes and they'll just drift. They can be fished out any time."
"We can go back and get them ourselves," said the young cadet eagerly. "Roger and I can—"
"We've got more important things to do now!" thundered Connel. Switching on the intercom, he ordered Roger and Astro to report to the control deck. They appeared within seconds of his order and he faced the three cadets grimly.
"Well, boys," he asked, "what's the story?"
"I guess we'd better explain, sir," said Tom.
"I guess you'd better," nodded Connel.
Tom quickly ran over the chain of events, beginning with his abduction on Mars to their appearance on the ship, including the part Barret had played in tricking Roger and Astro into taking the scout. As he spoke, Connel looked more and more amazed, and when Tom finally uttered the name of the man he thought was responsible for all the sabotage, Connel jumped out of his chair.
"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed.
"You were nearly killed a few minutes ago, sir," said Tom. "And who sabotaged the rings? Barret! Who was around every time something happened? Who incited the crew to keep from taking this ship into space? Who spread the rumor that it was jinxed? The answer to every one of those questions, sir, is Barret. And Dave Barret is working for—"
"Let me at that sniveling space pup!" interrupted Connel, snarling his rage. "I'll tear him apart and throw him to the buzzards!"
The enraged major jumped to the hatch but Astro and Tom barred his way, with Roger stepping quickly in back of him, a heavy wrench in his hand, ready to assist in any manner necessary to subdue the howling officer.
"Try to kill me!" Connel howled. "Why, I'll—I'll—"
"No, Major!" shouted Tom. "He's the only one that can help us convict Carter Devers!"
Connel stopped. He stared at Astro's bulk and then turned to see Roger trying to hide the wrench. "Were you going to hit me with that thing, Manning?" he growled.
Roger gulped. "Yes, sir," he said. "If it was necessary to keep you away from Barret, sir. I'm sorry, sir."
Connel spun back to face Tom. "Corbett, you must have a plan," he said. "Let's have it quick."
Tom grinned. "All right, sir," he began. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Professor Hemmingwell slump to the deck.
Hurriedly they picked up the old man and eased him gently to the nearby acceleration couch. After gulping some water that Roger poured for him, the old man smiled weakly. "I'm afraid I don't have the strength to withstand all this excitement," he said. "But now I understand why things were never easy for me. Carter Devers—he did this to me. He blocked the proposals every time that they were submitted to the Solar delegations. He—" Hemmingwell's head fell back. Rogerhad put a sedative into the water and the old man was now unconscious.
"It's just fatigue," said Connel. "He'll be all right in a little while." He turned to Tom. "All right, Corbett, carry on!"
Tom hurriedly concluded his story of the events leading up to their startling appearance on the ship, and as he spoke, he saw the major's frown change to a glowing grin. When Tom finished, Connel suddenly extended his hand in a gesture of friendship.
"I have to admit it, Corbett," he said. "You've done a good job. And," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "by going along with you, I am an accomplice with Captain Strong in the aiding of three fugitives from the Solar Guard."
Tom, Astro, and Roger grinned. "Now, let's get Barret up here and ask him a few questions," continued Connel. "And, Manning, if I can't restrain myself, you have my permission to hit me with that wrench! But so help me, if you belt me before the time comes, I'll bend that wrench over your skull!"
While Astro and Roger went below to get Barret, Connel and Tom reviewed their plan.
"Better keep the news quiet for a while," said Connel. "If we telecast it back to the Academy, Devers might get wise."
"Good idea, sir," acknowledged Tom.
"But I can't understand Devers' motive," said Connel. "What does he stand to gain if this project is a failure?"
"He'll lose plenty if it's a success," Tom asserted.
"Devers owns Jilolo Spaceways, the parent company of Universal Jet Trucking and Surface Transportation! If the projectiles worked, surface cargo delivery would be wiped out."
Before Connel could comment on Tom's startling revelation, they heard the sound of angry voices just outside the control-deck hatch.
"That must be Astro and Roger bringing in Barret," said Tom with a grin.
The hatch clanked open and Astro appeared, carrying Roger under one arm and Barret under the other. He dropped them both unceremoniously on the deck, but when they jumped to their feet, Roger charged forward quickly and landed a stinging right to Barret's jaw. The man dropped to the deck again like a stone.
"Manning!" roared Connel. "What was the idea?"
"I wanted to make sure I got in my licks before the Solar Guard got hold of him," replied Roger, rubbing his knuckles and looking down at Barret's inert form.
Astro grinned sheepishly. "I tried to stop him, sir!" he said.
"I'll just bet you tried to stop him!" bellowed Connel. "Cadet Manning, you put that man to sleep, now you wake him up!"
"Yes, sir!" said Roger, and while Connel, Astro, and Tom roared with laughter, he poured an entire bottle of water on Barret's face.
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
Shouting angrily, Barret sat in one of the pilot's chairs, flanked by Roger and Astro, while Connel and Tom stood in front of him firing questions.
"Barret," said Connel, "I have enough evidence on you now to send you to a prison asteroid for ten years at least!"
"On what charge?" demanded the young man.
"Trying to kill an officer of the Solar Guard."
"Where is your proof?" demanded Barret.
"Right there!" snorted Major Connel, pointing to the sleeping figure of Professor Hemmingwell.
"What do you mean?" demanded Barret.
"He'll swear that you deliberately sent this ship into full drive while I was out on the hull checking the rings."
"He can't," protested Barret. "He was on the bridge! He couldn't have seen a thing!"
Tom shook his head gently. "Barret, after what you'vedone to his ship and the projectile operation," he said, "Hemmingwell will swear to anything."
"It's a frame-up!" shouted Barret.
"And what do you think you did to us?" snarled Roger.
Barret flushed and turned away. "You can't scare me," he muttered. "Go ahead. Let him swear to whatever he wants."
Connel stepped back grimly and turned to Astro and Roger. "All right, boys," he said. "Take him below and see if you can't get some different answers out of him." The hardened spaceman turned his back and walked to the viewport.
"Why, you dirty space rat!" screamed Barret. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Oh, wouldn't he!" retorted Roger. "Listen, pal, he figures we owe you plenty for what you did to us, and he's just giving us a chance to pay you back!" He faced Barret grimly. "Mister, you're going to get the works! Come on, Astro!"
As the giant Venusian advanced on Barret, the man shrank back in his chair, eyes widening in sudden fear. When Astro stretched out his huge hand and grabbed him by the front of his jacket, he screamed in fright.
"All right, all right!" he cried out. "I'll talk! Devers did it! He made me do it! He's responsible for the whole thing!"
"Turn on that audiograph, Corbett!" shouted Connel.
Tom snapped on the machine and brought the microphone over to Barret, holding it in front of his trembling mouth.
"All right, talk!" Connel growled. "And tell it all."
Barret had hardly uttered the first stumbling words when Roger let out a shout of alarm. "Hey! The scanner!" he cried.
They all turned to the teleceiver screen. To their horror, they saw a menacing shape blasting toward them. They recognized it instantly—a space torpedo!
Astro dove through the power-deck hatch while Roger raced for the radar-bridge ladder. Tom hurled himself into the copilot's chair, and with Connel beside him in the command position, he waited for Astro to supply power. Suddenly the ship trembled violently and then shot forward as, far below, the jet exhausts screamed under the full thrust of all the atomic reactors. Tom rode the controls hard and kept his eye on the scanner screen.
"It's a magnetic gyrofish!" he cried as he saw the torpedo curve after them. "Roger, can you plot her for me?"
"Working on it now, Tom!" yelled Roger over the intercom.
"How in blazes did that thing get out here?" muttered Connel.
"We'll have to worry about that later, I'm afraid, sir," replied Tom. "We're going to have our hands full getting away from her. With that magnetic warhead, she'll follow us all over space unless we can throw her off."
"Which will take some doing!" grunted Connel, frowning in deep concern.
"Hey, Tom!" Roger's voice called over the intercom. "It's blasting on maximum thrust now. We have a prettygood chance. Use that idea we worked out. Make a series of left turns and always on the up-plane of the ecliptic!"
"Right!" said Tom, clutching the master manual-control lever and beginning to fly the giant ship through space by "feel."
"What in blazes are you doing, Corbett?" shouted Connel in sudden alarm.
"Just hang on and watch, sir," replied Tom, keeping his eyes on the scanner where he could see the space torpedo trailing them. Over and over, Tom kept slamming the ship into sharp left turns, while the torpedo followed in an ever-narrowing circle.
"All right, Tom!" yelled Roger again. "Give it the same thing on the right and the down-plane of the ecliptic!"
"Check!" answered Tom, reversing his controls and sending the ship corkscrewing through space on an opposite course.
Connel grabbed the arms of his chair and gasped, "You kids are space happy!"
"Those gyros are so perfect, sir," said Tom, working the controls quickly and smoothly, "that the only way you can throw them off balance is to confuse them."
"Confuse them!" exclaimed Connel.
"Yes, sir," said Tom. "It's a theory Roger and I worked out together. No gyro is perfect, and if you can get it bouncing back and forth in extreme turns, it will be thrown out of balance. Then all we have to do is make the torpedo miss once and it won't come back."
"Heaven help us all!" was Connel's groaning reply.
"On the ball, Tom!" cried Roger. "She's closing in on us!"
"I see her," replied Tom calmly. "Hang on, everybody. I'm going to turn this ship inside out!"
Jerking the controls, Tom threw the ship into a mad, whirling spin, subjecting the vessel to the most severe strain tests it would ever undergo. The hull groaned and creaked, and badly fitted equipment tore loose and clattered across the deck. Suddenly the young cadet leveled the ship.
"Nose braking rockets, Astro!" he called.
"Braking rockets, aye!" acknowledged the Venusian over the intercom.
On the power deck, Astro jammed the forward drive closed and slammed open the nose rockets. The ship trembled, bucked, and finally came to a shuddering stop before it started a reverse course, accelerating quickly.
"Here it comes!" yelled Roger.
As Connel and Tom watched tensely, the space torpedo loomed large and menacing on the scanner, and then, as they held their breaths, it whistled past the silvery hull of the ship, with less than two feet to spare!
Sighing deeply, Tom brought the ship back to level flight. "We're O.K. now, sir," he said. "Her gyros are out. She won't come back."
"By the craters of Luna!" Connel suddenly exploded. "The Solar Guard spends a fortune to develop a foolproof space torpedo and two hot-shot cadets come along and get away from the blasted thing! Why haven't you told this to anyone before?"
"Why—er—" stammered Tom, "we've never had the chance to prove it, sir."
Behind them, the power-deck hatch suddenly opened and Astro stepped in. "Nice work, Tom!" he called.
"And as for you, you Venusian ape," roared Connel, "don't you realize that you can blow a reactor tube by throwing so much power into a ship without energizing the cooling pumps first?"
Astro smiled. "Not if you open the by-pass, sir," he said, "and feed directly off the pump reservoir. The gas cools the tube and at the same time expands itself and adds to the power thrust."
At Astro's easy reply Connel could only stand openmouthed in amazement. Again, one of the three cadets of thePolarisunit had developed a revolutionary procedure that even top rocket scientists would be proud to call their own.
Winking at Tom, Astro turned away and suddenly noticed Barret sprawled on the deck, unconscious.
"What happened to him?" asked the big Venusian.
"Oh, I forgot all about him," said Tom. "Guess he didn't get into an acceleration chair in time. Better get some more water."
"We haven't time for him now!" snapped Connel. "Strap him in good and tight. We've got to find out where that torpedo came from."
As though in answer to the major's order, there was a sudden call over the ship's intercom.
"Radar bridge to control deck, check in!" There was a note of alarm in Roger's voice.
Tom jumped to the control panel to reply.
"Control deck, aye!" he snapped into the microphone.
"There's a spaceship to starboard!" called Roger. "Distance twenty miles, fifteen degrees up on the plane of the ecliptic. And I swear she's maneuvering to fire another torpedo!"
"Stand by action stations!" roared Connel, diving into his chair before the control panel. Tom strapped in next to him, while Astro made a headlong dash for the power deck.
"Yes!" shouted Roger. "She's fired a torpedo!"
"Raise her! Raise her!" bellowed Connel. "Tell them who we are!" He turned to Tom. "Go into your act, Corbett," he said, "and make it good!"
As Tom manipulated the controls again, the silver ship plunged through space, turning and gyrating in the same series of maneuvers it had performed to escape the first torpedo. But this time the distance separating them was not as great and the torpedo closed in quickly.
"Can't you raise that ship yet, Manning?" Connel roared into the intercom.
"I just have, sir," replied Roger in a strained voice. "But it's—"
"Let me talk to that lame brain of a skipper," interrupted Connel. "By the stars, I'll teach him to—"
"It's no use, Connel," said a gruff voice over the control-deck loud-speaker. "Even if you duck this torpedo, I've got ten more!"
"Who is this?" roared Connel.
"Don't you know, Connel? Why, I'm surprised!"
The teleceiver screen glowed into life and Tom andConnel stared in horror as they recognized the images of three men. The one in the foreground smiled mockingly and said, "Remember me, Connel?"
"Devers!" Connel roared.
"And the other two behind him—" stuttered Tom. "Cag and Monty!"
"Why, you dirty space crawler," cried Connel, "I'll get you if it's the last thing I do!"