"Sound off, Corbett!"
Seated in the pilot's chair on the control deck of the rocket cruiserPolaris, Major Connel bellowed the order into the intercom as he scanned the many dials on the huge control board.
"One minute to touchdown, sir," reported Tom over the intercom from the radar bridge of thePolaris.
"One minute to touchdown," repeated Connel. "Right!"
Connel reached for the switches and levers that would bring the giant ship to rest on the red planet of Mars. Even after his many years in the Solar Guard and thousands of space flights, landing a rocket ship was still a thrill to the veteran spaceman, and knowing that he had a good man on the radar deck made it even more exciting and demanding of his skill.
"Decelerate!" yelled Tom over the intercom.
Connel shut down the main drive rockets and at the same time opened the nose braking rockets. "Braking rockets on!" he yelled.
"One thousand feet to touchdown," said Tom.
Connel watched the dials spinning before him.
"Seven hundred and fifty feet to touchdown," reported Tom.
"Keep counting, Corbett!" yelled Connel enthusiastically.
"Five hundred feet!"
Connel quickly cut back the nose braking rockets and again opened the main drive rockets as the ship plummeted tailfirst toward the surface of Mars.
"Two hundred feet!" came the warning call over the intercom.
Connel glanced up at the teleceiver screen over his head that showed the spaceport below. The concrete runways and platforms were rushing up to meet the giant ship. He opened the main rockets full.
"Seventy-five feet! Stand by!" yelled Tom.
Connel's hands flashed over the control panel of the ship, snapping switches, flipping levers, and turning dials in an effort to bring the ship to a smooth landing. There was a sudden roar of rockets and then a gentle bump.
"Touchdown!" roared Connel.
He flipped off the main switches on the control board, spun around in his chair, and noted the time on the astral chronometer. "Touchdown Marsport, 2117!" he announced.
Tom clambered down the ladder from the radar bridge and immediately noted the time of arrival in the logbook. He turned around and saluted the major sharply. "All secure, sir," he said.
"Congratulations on a smooth trip, Corbett," Connel said. "And thanks for letting me take her in. I know it's unusual to have the senior officer take over the ship, but once in a while I get the urge to put my hands on those controls and—well—" Connel paused, fumbling for words.
Tom was so startled by the major's stumbling attempt to explain his feelings, he felt himself blush. He had always suspected the major of being a rocket jockey at heart and now he was certain. But he would never tell anyone, not even Roger and Astro about this incident. It was something he knew that he himself would feel if he ever got to be as old as Major Connel and had reached his position. There passed between the officer and the cadet a sudden feeling of mutual understanding.
"I understand, sir," said Tom quietly.
"Dismissed!" roared Connel, recovering his composure again, and very conscious that he had exposed his innermost feelings to the cadet. But he didn't mind too much. Tom Corbett had proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had the stuff true spacemen are made of, and because of this, Connel could feel as close to him as a man near his own age. There was never a breed of men who were drawn so close together in their love of work as the spacemen and there was no need for further explanation.
When they had climbed out of thePolarisand stepped on the landing ramp at Marsport, Connel and Tom saw that the ground crews were already checking over the afterburners and exhaust tubes of the ship. Ayoung Solar Guard lieutenant, wearing a decidedly greasy uniform, snapped to attention before Connel.
"Lieutenant Slick at your service, sir," he announced.
"Lieutenant," bawled Connel, "your uniform is filthy!"
"Yes, sir, I know it is, sir," replied the young officer. "But I was overhauling a firing unit this morning, sir, and I guess I got a little dirty."
"That is enlisted man's work, sir," stated Connel. "You are an officer."
"I know, sir, but—" Slick stammered. "Well, sir, once in a while I like to do it myself."
Tom turned away, hiding a smile. The young officer was expressing the same feelings Connel himself had uttered just a few minutes before. Connel cleared his throat, and with a sidelong glance at Tom and a wink, dismissed the young officer, ordering him to have a jet car sent for them right away.
"Take mine, sir," said the young officer, happy to have escaped Connel's wrath so easily. It was not too long ago that he had been a cadet at the Academy and he remembered all too clearly what Connel could do when he was mad.
When the jet car was brought up, Tom slipped behind the wheel, and with Connel seated beside him, he sent the sleek little vehicle roaring across the spaceport to the main administration building.
Inside the gleaming crystal building, Connel and Tom were escorted by a Space Marine guard to the office of the spaceport commander, Captain Jim Arnold. He and Connel knew each other well, and after quickgreetings and the introduction of the young cadet, Connel asked for the latest reports on the projectile receivers.
"Lou, I've got good news for you," announced Arnold. "We've completed the receiver ramps for the test. As soon as your ship is ready to fire her cargo projectiles, we can receive them."
Connel's face showed the surprise he felt. "Why, Jim, that's the most amazing news I've ever heard!" he exclaimed. "How did you do it?"
"Through hard work," replied Arnold, "and the efforts of a young officer named Slick. He handled the whole thing."
"Slick!" exclaimed Connel. "I just bawled him out for wearing a dirty uniform."
"He's responsible for our success," asserted Arnold. "And what's more, those receivers can be taken apart and reassembled again in less than ten minutes."
"Incredible," gasped Connel. "I've got to see those things right away. Come along, Corbett."
Tom followed the major out of the office and back to the jet car. They were about to drive off to the opposite end of the field when they heard someone shout to them. Tom stopped the speedy little car and Connel turned around to see who had called them.
Carter Devers rushed up and greeted the Solar Guard officer enthusiastically. "Major, this is a surprise."
"Hello, Carter. What are you doing here?" Connel asked bluntly.
"Had some business here on Mars," said Devers. "I'vefinished and I'm on my way back to Earth. You wouldn't, by any chance, be going back soon, would you? I saw the Solar Guard cruiser come in and one of the attendants told me that they were preparing it for immediate blast-off—"
"Of course, Carter," Connel said briskly. "Get in. We're just going over to inspect the receivers and then we'll be heading back."
Devers jumped into the jet car and Tom headed across the broad expanse of the spaceport.
Connel turned to Devers and said enthusiastically, "Can you imagine, Devers? Some young officer here at Marsport has worked out a way to assemble and transport the receivers in a fantastically small amount of time."
"That's amazing," said Devers. "I'd like very much to see them." He looked at Tom and said, "Incidentally, who is your young friend?"
"Oh, sorry," replied Connel. "This is Cadet Corbett of thePolarisunit. No doubt you've heard of them. He and his unit mates manage to get into more trouble than all the monkeys in the Venusian jungle."
Carter laughed. "I've known Lou Connel long enough to know that when he says something like that about you, son, he thinks very highly of you."
"Thank you, sir," replied Tom, not knowing what else to say.
While Connel and Devers talked of the problems surrounding the projectile operation, Tom concentrated on his driving. He was following directions given him by Jim Arnold to reach the testing grounds and this madeit necessary for Tom to drive right through the center of the spaceport, weaving in and out of the dozens of spaceships parked on the concrete ramps.
Tom swept past them, driving expertly, heading toward a group of concrete blockhouses enclosed by a fence which he knew would be the testing area. Beside the fence, a short, stubby-nosed spaceship was loading cargo, and beneath the vessel, two huge jet trucks were backing into position. Tom steered the car up to the gate and stopped at the signal of an armed guard. Connel, Devers, and Tom stepped out of the car and waited for a minute, and then young Lieutenant Slick appeared, wearing a clean uniform.
Slick checked their names off against a list he carried and then drew Connel to one side. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, just out of Tom and Dever's hearing, "I can't allow the cadet inside this area."
"Why not?" asked Connel. "I'll vouch for him."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Slick. "Those are my orders. I can let you and Mr. Devers in, but not Cadet Corbett." He showed Connel a list of names: Connel, Strong, Hemmingwell, Walters, Devers, and Barret. They were the only names on it.
Connel nodded. "I understand," he said and turned to Tom. "You'll have to stay here, Corbett," he called. "Wait for me in the car."
"Yes, sir," replied Tom and hopped back in the jet.
He backed out through the gate, pulling up alongside the fence near the stubby-nosed freighter. When Connel and Devers, escorted by Slick, had disappeared behind a blockhouse inside the restricted area, Tom casuallywalked over to watch the loading operation of the spaceship. A few of the workers stopped when he walked up, and recognizing his cadet uniform, greeted him warmly.
"Space Cadet, eh?" said one of the men. "Sure wish I could get my boy in the Academy."
"Me too," said another man. "All I hear from morning until night is Space Academy—Space Academy."
Tom smiled his appreciation of their admiration. While he answered their questions about the training school of the Solar Guard, they continued working. After a while the conversation turned to the restricted area behind the fence.
"Some pretty important work going on in there," said one of the men. "But how come they wouldn't let you go in?"
"I haven't been cleared by security," replied Tom. "It's top secret."
"Secret," said a man who had just joined the group. Tom had noticed him before, climbing out of one of the huge jet trucks parked near the gate. "Why, there ain't nothing secret about what's going on in there," he continued.
"Why do you say that?" asked Tom alertly.
"Why, we all know about it, Cadet," said one of the first men Tom had spoken to. "They're building receivers for cargo projectiles."
Tom gulped in surprise. "But how did you know?" he asked.
"Why, it's the only thing we've been talking about down at the garage and at Sloppy Sam's, the jet-truckershangout," replied the trucker. "If this thing works, surface transportation will be finished."
"That's right," asserted another worker. "The whole industry will be wiped out overnight. Nobody will have anything trucked any more. Cargo'll be loaded into a projectile and shot off into space to a passing freighter. Then the freighter carries it to its destination and shoots it back down to a receiver."
"But how could you know all this?" asked Tom. "It is one of the Solar Guard's most closely guarded secrets."
"It's all over Mars," declared the truck driver with a derisive laugh. "Why, everybody knows it."
Suddenly one of the men yelled and pointed toward the fence. The jet truck parked near the gate was rolling forward slowly. As Tom and the men watched in horror, the giant vehicle crashed through the fence and rolled into the restricted area, picking up speed.
In a flash Tom was inside the jet car, driving right through the hole in the fence and speeding after the huge machine. Around him, guards were running after the truck, shouting frantic warnings. Far ahead of him, Tom saw Major Connel and Devers standing near several receivers lined up outside a blockhouse. The truck was rolling straight toward them. Hearing the shouts of alarm, the two men turned and saw their danger. Devers immediately jumped into the safety of the blockhouse, but Connel stumbled and fell heavily. Tom's blood ran cold. He saw that the major had struck his head against one of the receivers and he lay on the ground, dazed and unable to move.
Tom jammed the accelerator of the tiny jet car to thefloor and shot ahead like a rocket. He was alongside the truck now, but the distance between the huge machine and Connel was narrowing rapidly. Tom clenched his teeth and urged the little car on faster. He knew that there was not enough time for him to jump into the truck and pull the brake. There was only one thing he could do.
Regaining his senses, Connel tried to crawl to safety, but there was no time. He braced himself for what he knew would be instant death, and then to his amazement he saw Tom's jet car swerve sharply in front of the runaway truck.
Tom swerved the jet car in front of the runaway truckTom swerved the jet car in front of the runaway truckNote
There was a wrenching crash of metal, a shrill scream of skidding tires, climaxed by a thunderous roar. After that, deathly silence.
For a second Connel stood frozen in horror, staring at the overturned truck and the tangle of twisted metal that was the jet car. Then he lunged forward with a frantic cry.
"Corbett! Corbett!"
"Tom! Tom!"
Connel knelt beside the limp form of the Space Cadet, calling frantically, praying that the boy would be miraculously unhurt, yet fearing the worst. A few moments later Tom groaned and opened his eyes.
"Did I—did I stop the truck?" he asked weakly.
"You sure did, son!" said Connel, breathing a sigh of relief. "And thank the lucky spaceman's stars that you're all right. I don't see how you got out alive."
Tom sat up. "I jumped from the jet car at the last minute," he said. "I guess I must have bumped my head." He looked down at his torn uniform. "Wow," he said. "Look at me."
"Don't worry about it." Connel laughed. He turned to Lieutenant Slick who had just rushed up.
"Lieutenant, I want a complete check on the men who were standing outside the fence when that truck ran away."
"Yes, sir." The young lieutenant patted Tom on theshoulder. "Good work, Cadet," he said and started away.
Tom grinned his thanks at the young officer and struggled to his feet. "Sir," he said to Connel, "I think I should explain something about that truck."
"The truck!" cried Connel. He turned and called, "Lieutenant, come back here." The young officer turned back. "Go ahead, Tom," said Connel.
While Tom told his story of the truck having been parked near the gate, and having started to roll by itself, Connel and Slick listened intently. Quietly Devers joined them. Finally, when Tom had finished, Connel rubbed his chin thoughtfully and stared at the truck which was being examined by a swarm of guards.
A few moments later the sergeant in command reported to Connel that they had found a worn clutch plate that could have slipped and caused the truck to roll of its own accord, especially if the motor was turning over.
Connel nodded and then ordered, "Get the driver over here."
The man that had spoken to Tom about the secret project came forward under guard. He was thoroughly frightened and Connel was aware of it. "Relax, friend," he said. "I just want to ask you one question."
"Yes, sir," gulped the truck driver.
"Was there anything wrong with your truck?" demanded Connel.
"Yes, sir," replied the driver. "I had a slipping clutch."
Connel turned abruptly to Lieutenant Slick. "Allright, Slick, release this man and get that fence back up. I'm satisfied that it was an accident."
"Yes, sir," replied Slick, and left the group with the grateful driver.
Connel relaxed for the first time and turned to Carter Devers who had been standing by silently. "Well, Carter," he said, "see what I meant about thePolarisunit getting into trouble! Blast it, if they don't start it, they sure can finish it." He turned to Tom. "Son, you deserve some time off. Go back to the Spacelanes Hotel in Marsport and get yourself a room. Just forget everything and relax. And get a new uniform, too."
"And send the bill to me," Devers suddenly spoke up. "It's the least I can do."
"Thank you, sir," said Tom. "I could sure use a little sleep."
Hitching a ride on a jet sled, Tom rode over to the administration building where he managed to clean up enough to make himself presentable at the hotel. Later, as he rode along the curving canal in a jet cab into the main section of Marsport, he relaxed for the first time and enjoyed the sights.
The city of Marsport was built in a hurry—at least, the old section of the city was. Like many other planets, when first colonized by the early great conquerors of space several hundred years before, the city grew out of immediate need, with no formalized plan.
Years later, when the Solar Alliance was formed and there was uniform government all over the solar system, the citizens of Mars began to regard their ugly little capital with distaste. A major effort was made toclean up its squalid appearance and huge cargoes of Titan crystal were shipped to Mars for modern construction. Now, as Tom Corbett rode in comfort along a speedway bordering one of the ancient canals, he approached the city with a vague feeling of awe. Gleaming towers, reflecting the last rays of the setting sun, loomed just ahead of him, and the wavy lines of heat rising out of the sandy deserts seemed to make the buildings dance. It was a sunset ballet that never failed to thrill even the oldest Martian citizen.
At the magnificent Spacelanes Hotel, Tom was greeted with the greatest respect. Already his feat of stopping the runaway truck had been announced over the stereo newscasts, and when he asked the location of the nearest supply store to buy a uniform, one was immediately brought to his room by the manager.
"But how did you know?" asked Tom, astounded.
The manager showed Tom a photograph of himself in his ragged clothes, taken while he was talking to Connel. In the background was the remains of the jet car.
"Major Connel called and said you would be staying here," said the manager. "From the looks of you in this picture, we knew you would need a new uniform."
"And you've got my size!" exclaimed Tom, holding up the gleaming new blouse.
"We called the Academy." The manager smiled. "We wanted to be sure. Incidentally, there is a message for you." The manager handed Tom a typed space-o-gram and left. The cadet ripped it open and smiled as he read:
TRYING TO HOG ALL THE STEREO SPACE YOU CAN WHILE YOU LEAVE THE REAL COMPETITION AT HOME, YOU RAT! CONGRATULATIONS!ASTRO AND ROGER
TRYING TO HOG ALL THE STEREO SPACE YOU CAN WHILE YOU LEAVE THE REAL COMPETITION AT HOME, YOU RAT! CONGRATULATIONS!
ASTRO AND ROGER
Laughing to himself, Tom left the message on the desk, stripped off his torn, dirty clothes, and stepped into a hot, refreshing shower. Half an hour later he was digging into a thick steak with French fried potatoes.
After a third helping of dessert, the cadet stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. But sleep would not come. The incidents at the spaceport that afternoon kept flashing through his mind. He tossed restlessly, something he couldn't quite remember was tugging at the back of his mind.
He retraced the events of the day, beginning with the landing of thePolarisand ending with the crash of the jet truck.
Suddenly he sat up straight. Then quickly he jumped out of bed, hurriedly threw on the new uniform, and rammed his feet into the soft space boots.
Ten minutes later, having used the service elevator to avoid the lobby, he stood on the corner of Lowell Lane and Builker Avenue. He hailed a passing jet cab, and climbing in, asked the driver, "Do you know a restaurant or a bar called Sloppy Sam's?"
"Sure," said the driver. "That where you want to go?"
"As fast as this wagon will get me there," replied Tom.
"Why?" asked the driver strangely. "You look like anice kid. That joint's for—for—well, it ain't for a Space Cadet," he concluded lamely.
"The first thing they teach us at the Academy, buddy," said Tom impatiently, "is how to take care of ourselves, and the second thing is to mind our own business."
"Right," said the driver, tight-lipped. He slammed the car into motion and the force hurled Tom back in his seat.
Tom grinned. He hadn't meant to sound so tough. He leaned over and apologized. "I'm looking for an old friend. Someone told me he drives a truck and he might be there."
"Forget it, kid," said the driver. "I wouldn't want you in my cab if you couldn't take care of yourself. We pay taxes to teach guys like you how to protect us. A lot of good it would do if you were scared of a taxi driver."
Tom laughed and settled back in his seat to watch the city flash past.
A half hour later the curly-haired cadet became aware of the change from the magnificent crystal buildings to the dirty and streaked buildings of the poorer section of the city. And with the change, Tom noticed a difference in the people who walked the streets. Here were men who wore their coat collars high and their caps pulled low, and who would duck into the shadows at the approach of the cab and then watch it with dark, silent eyes.
"Here ya are, Cadet," the driver announced, stopping in front of a small, dirty building. "Sloppy Sam's."
Tom looked out. The door was open and he could seeinside. Sawdust covered the floor, and the tables and chairs were old and rickety. The men inside were the same as those he had seen on the street, tough-looking, hard, steely-eyed. Tom looked at the faded sign over the door. "That saysBadSam's," he protested.
The men inside were tough-looking and steely-eyedThe men inside were tough-looking and steely-eyedNote
"Used to be called Bad Sam's," replied the driver. "As a matter of fact, I think it's still officially Bad Sam's. You see, Sam used to be a real tough fella. Then one day a fella came along that was tougher than he was and beat the exhaust out of him. Sam went to pot after that. He got fat and lazy, and his place here got dirtier and dirtier. Finally everybody started calling him Sloppy Sam and it stuck."
"Quite a story." Tom laughed. "What happened to the fellow that took Sam over the hurdles?"
"He's got a joint on the other side of town called Bad Richard's. But they're friends now. Get along fine."
Tom paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk, watching the silver cab shoot away into the darkness. Then he took a deep breath and slowly moved toward the open door of Sloppy Sam's.
Inside, Tom saw that most of the customers were lined up at the bar, drinking rocket juice, a dark foul-tasting liquid that Tom had sipped once and vowed he would never try again. But as he looked around, he didn't think it was the type of place you could order anything milder, so he walked up to the bar and ordered loudly, "A bucket of juice."
Some of the men at the bar turned away from the stereo screen to look at the newcomer. They eyed thecrisp, clean uniform narrowly, and then turned silently back to the play on the screen.
The husky bartender placed the small glass of dark liquid in front of Tom. "Twenty credits," he announced in a hoarse voice.
"Twenty!" exclaimed Tom. "Don't give me that rocket wash! It's five credits a shot."
"To a Space Cadet that wants to keep his reputation, Corbett," replied the burly man, "it's twenty."
Tom realized that the man had seen his picture on the stereo news that afternoon and that it would be impossible to get out of paying this blatant form of blackmail. He handed over the money and picked up the glass. He sipped it to keep up appearances but even the few drops he allowed to trickle down his throat almost made him gag. He gasped for breath. Whatever information he might be able to get here, it wasn't worth another swallow of that stuff.
He stood at the bar for nearly half an hour, watching the stereo and waiting. When the show was over, the men turned back to the serious business of drinking. Two of them drifted over close to Tom and looked him up and down. After a whispered conversation, they turned to him and pointed to his drink, the same one he had bought and had not touched since.
"Drink up, mate," said the nearest man, a tall, heavy-shouldered man with a dark beard, "then join us in another one."
"No, thanks," said Tom. "One's my limit."
The two men laughed. "Well, I'll say this for you, lad,you're honest about it," said the tall one. "Most squirts coming in here try to put on they can take the stuff and then they wind up in the gutter."
"That's right, Cag!" said the other man, laughing.
"What are you doing in here, Cadet?" asked the man called Cag.
"Looking for a guy."
"What's his name? Maybe we know him."
"Yeah, we might," chimed in the other. "We know just about everybody that comes in here."
"Maybe he don't want to tell us, Monty," said Cag.
"I don't know his name," said Tom. "I just met him today and he mentioned this place. I wanted to talk to him about something."
"Where did you see him?"
Tom paused. It was only a chance remark that the driver of the jet truck had made and it was a slim chance that these two men might know him. He decided to risk it. "He's a jet trucker. I saw him out at the spaceport today."
The two men looked at each other. "Little guy, with a sort of funny twitch in his eye?" asked Cag.
"Yes," replied Tom. "That's him. Know him?"
"He hangs out in a joint across the street," said Monty. "Come on outside. I'll show you where it is. And his name's Pistol, in case you want to know."
"Pistol," said Tom. "That's an odd name."
"Not when you consider he carries a pistol all the time," snorted Cag.
Tom and the two men walked to the door and out into the street.
"What do you want to see him about, anyway?" asked Monty, as they walked to the corner.
"Just wanted to talk to him about the jet-trucking business."
"What about it? We're truckers, me and Cag, we could probably tell you a lot more than Pistol."
"Maybe," said Tom. "But I want to talk to Pistol."
They stopped at the corner and Monty stepped off the curb into the street. "See that light down there," he said, pointing down the block, "the one just above the door?"
Tom turned to look. "Where—?"
He suddenly felt a sharp jolting pain in the back of his head and then everything went black.
"Nice work, Cag," commented Monty.
"What'll we do with him?" asked Cag.
"Throw him in the back of the truck and get outta here," said Monty, pulling Tom's limp form into the shadows of an alley. "I'll get in touch with the boss and tell him what's happened. And you better send out word to get Pistol. He must know something."
"Right," said Cag. "Gee, Corbett's getting his nice clean uniform messed up."
Dirty gutter water flowed over Tom in the dark Martian alley as the boy lay deathly still.
"What!" exclaimed Major Connel. "Give me that again."
The messenger from the Solar Guard headquarters on Mars repeated the message. "Cadet Corbett has not been in his hotel since last night, sir," he said. "He was seen leaving the service entrance at about 2100 hours. There is no report as to his whereabouts, sir."
Standing at the foot of the ladder leading to the main air lock of thePolaris, Major Connel turned to Carter Devers angrily.
"This is the end!" he shouted. "I've had as much of this foolishness as I'm going to take. When that young space brat comes back, I'm going to throw the book at him."
"Now, now, Major," said Devers. "I wouldn't be too hard on the lad. How do you know that he isn't in some kind of trouble?"
"That's just it," growled Connel. "One of those three is always in trouble."
"He saved your life," reminded Devers.
"I'm well aware of that," replied Connel stiffly. "But it's a personal debt. It has nothing to do with his behavior as a cadet. I ordered him to go to that hotel and rest, not go skylarking all over Marsport. This is typical of the whole unit's attitude."
"But you said that they were the best crew you ever had," insisted Devers.
"I know, but what's worse is thattheyknow it! Blast it, Carter, it isn't easy to say the things I've said about Corbett! He's a fine lad. But look at it this way. I have to return to Atom City immediately. Corbett may be in trouble, right?" Devers nodded. "Well, how do you think I feel, blasting off and leaving him?"
Devers nodded his understanding as Connel continued furiously, "And furthermore, I have more important things to think about than wet-nursing a cadet."
At that moment Connel noticed a jet car racing across the spaceport toward thePolaris. As it drew near, he saw the insigne of the Solar Guard on the hood. His eyes widened hopefully for a second. "Humph," he grunted, "this may be him now!"
"If it is," cautioned Devers, "go easy on the boy."
"We'll see, we'll see."
The car screamed to a stop in front of them, the plastic blister was thrown back, and another Solar Guard messenger climbed out, saluting Connel smartly.
"Message from Solar Guard headquarters, Major Connel," he said.
Connel took the paper and ripped it open. "Excuse me, Carter," he muttered and stepped to one side to read the note hurriedly.
HEMMINGWELL'S CHIEF FOREMAN ARRESTED AS SABOTEUR. ADVISE YOU RETURN IMMEDIATELY. WALTERS
HEMMINGWELL'S CHIEF FOREMAN ARRESTED AS SABOTEUR. ADVISE YOU RETURN IMMEDIATELY. WALTERS
Dashing up the metal ladder, Connel roared the order to the waiting ground crew. "Stand by to blast off."
Carter Devers scrambled up into the giant ship after the Solar Guard officer, and in less than a minute later, all ports were sealed and thePolariswas ready for space. In the pilot's chair, Connel called traffic control for blast-off, and at the same time prepared to raise ship.
By the time Devers had strapped himself into the copilot's chair next to Connel, the ship was quivering with leashed power. Suddenly Connel roared the familiar call for space.
"Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one,zero!"
The great ship literally exploded off the ground, and within seconds, was rocketing through the thin atmosphere above Mars on course for Earth, far across the deep black velvet void of space, but leaving Tom Corbett, her true commander, behind.
Captain Steve Strong and Commander Walters watched grimly as thePolarislanded on the Academy spaceport. They had been in contact with Connel during his trip back to Earth and had already told the bluff major of still another incident that had taken place at the Academy while he was gone.
Roger and Astro had stolen a rocket scout and disappeared.
"I don't get it, sir," sighed Strong. "Manning and Astro blowing wide open, Corbett disappearing—" He shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."
"Perhaps not," said Walters. "But those three are really in trouble now. Connel won't stand for this kind of behavior."
"Do you think that he'll go so far as to ask for a court-martial?"
Walters hesitated. "I hate to say this, Steve," he said finally, "but if Major Connel doesn't, I will be forced to. No other unit has had more of an opportunity to prove itself than thePolarisunit. And every time, something like this happens."
"But suppose they have good explanations," insisted Strong.
"It would have to be better than anything they've had before," replied Walters. "Frankly, I cannot see how that is possible."
Walters climbed into his jet car and Strong followed, biting his lip.
The car shot across the field to the now groundedPolaris, pulling alongside it just as Major Connel and Carter Devers climbed out of the open hatch. Without even the courtesy of a greeting, Connel roared, "What's this about those two cadets stealing a ship?"
"Let's talk about that later, Lou," said Walters. "Climb in. We've got something more important to discuss. The saboteur."
Devers stepped forward. "This is no place for me, I know," he said. "I'llleave you here. And thanks for the lift, Major."
Connel grunted his acknowledgment and climbed into the car as Strong turned to Devers.
"There was a message for you, Mr. Devers," said the Solar Guard captain. "You're to get in touch with your Atom City office immediately."
"Thanks, Steve," said Devers, and with a wave of his hand to the others walked away.
As the jet car raced back to the Tower of Galileo, Walters brought Connel up to date on the incident at the hangar leading to the arrest of Pat Troy. When they reached Walters' office, high in the tower, Troy was ushered in by two guards.
"Sit down!" barked Connel, taking command of the situation.
Troy walked to the center of the room and sat down in the indicated chair, facing Walters, Connel, and Strong.
"We'd like to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible, Troy," began Connel. "So I suggest that you tell us the truth and save us the trouble of pulling it out of you.
"I will answer all of your questions to the best of my ability, sir," said Troy calmly. "And I will tell the truth at all times."
"Very well," snorted Connel. "Now, who are you working for?"
"Professor Hemmingwell," replied Troy.
"Stow that," snarled Connel. "Who paid you to sabotage the ship?"
"I have not committed any sabotage for anyone, sir."
"Then you deny that you wrecked that firing unit?"
"Yes."
Walters suddenly leaned forward. "But you do not deny that you knew about the special unit that Professor Hemmingwell had created," he said. "A unit that only he and I knew about?"
"I knew about the unit—yes, sir," replied Troy.
"How could you?" demanded Walters.
"I overheard you both discussing it one day."
"Where?"
"In the hangar," said Troy. "You and Professor Hemmingwell were talking on the main deck while I was inside—what will be the radar deck—working. I heard you talking about the unit, and after you left, I happened to find a blueprint on the table. It coincided with what you had been talking about. I looked at it and then thought nothing of it. A few minutes later the professor came running in and took the blueprint away."
"Did he ask you if you had read the print?" asked Connel.
"No, sir," replied Troy. "If he had, I would have told him that I had."
"Now," said Connel, "did you have anything to do with the so-called accident to the oscillating timing device?"
"No, sir."
"Do you know who did?"
"No, sir."
"We can put you under drugs, you know, and get the truth out of you," warned Connel.
"You'll get the same answer, sir," Troy calmly replied.
Walters, Strong, and Connel moved to one side of theroom and talked in low tones while Troy remained seated.
"Well," said Walters, "do we give him drugs or not?"
"I may be sticking my neck out, Commander," said Steve, "but I think that he's telling the truth."
"Same here," said Connel. "I would suggest that we let him loose, and even let him go back to work, but keep an eye on him."
"And you wouldn't give him drugs now?"
"No. I'd give the benefit of the doubt to a man any time," said the hardened space major.
"All right," said Walters. He turned back and told Troy he was free, but that he was not to leave the restricted area. And he was only permitted to work on less critical projects. "Do you have anything to say?" Walters asked.
Troy smiled at them and shook his head. "No, sir. That's fine with me," he said. "And I'll keep my eye open for the real saboteur—"
"That won't be necessary!" snapped Connel. "We're capable of handling our own detective work."
Troy grinned again. "Very well, sir," he said.
Connel dismissed the guards and the foreman walked out of the office a free man.
Connel and Walters turned to discussing the installation of the receivers on Mars, with Connel lauding young Lieutenant Slick highly. "That boy deserves a promotion in rank," he stated.
Walters nodded. "I'll put his name on the list at the end of the year," he said. "If he has done everything you say he has, he deserves it."
Steve Strong stood to one side, waiting impatiently for the two older men to finish their conversation before asking about Tom Corbett. At the same time, he was a little fearful of bringing up the subject of thePolarisunit, in the face of what Astro and Roger had just done. It was not an easy thing to do, but at the first opportunity he broke into the conversation with a direct question to Connel.
"Major, is there any doubt in your mind about Corbett's disappearance being an accident or do you—"
Connel cut him off. "Do I think he's AWOL?"
Strong nodded silently.
"Steve," said Connel patiently, "I know how you feel about those three boys, but tell me, how long can this go on? They constantly take off on their own, without authorization—"
"But they usually have a good reason," Strong interrupted quickly.
"Then why don't they give us the reason first?" Connel shot back.
"What Lou is trying to say," interjected Walters quietly, "is that Corbett, Manning, and Astro have time and time again committed us to take action, to get them out of situations that they initiated. It's time they were stopped! They are only one unit in this Academy, not the whole works."
"Then I guess you mean"—Strong hesitated, a lump in his throat—"it will be the end of the unit when they get back?"
"If they get back," snapped Connel, "I intend to see that all three receive solid disciplinary action."
"Very well, Major," said Strong. He rose and addressed the commander. "I request permission for emergency leave, sir, commencing now."