"She tried to get farther into the cave.""She tried to get farther into the cave."
Tom gulped and Roger's eyes widened.
"I figured there was only one thing to do," continued Astro. "Use the blaster, even though it couldn't do much damage. I let her have one right in the eye!" Astroshook his head and laughed. "You should have seen her pull her head out of that cave! I couldn't sleep for months after that. I used to dream that she was sticking her head in my window, always getting closer."
"Did the blaster do any damage at all?" asked Sinclair.
"Oh, yes, sir," said Astro. "I was close enough for the heat charge from the muzzle to get her on the side of the head. Nothing fatal, but she's probably still out there in the jungle more ugly than ever with half a face."
The group fell silent, each thinking of how he would have reacted under similar conditions; each silently thankful that it hadn't happened to him. Finally Mrs. Hill rose and said good night, and George excused himself to take a last look at the stock. Remembering their early call for the next morning, the cadets said good night to Sinclair and retired to their comfortable rooms. In bed at last, each boy stretched full length on his bed and in no time was sound asleep.
It was still dark, an hour and a half before the sun would burst over the top of the jungle, when Sinclair went to the cadets' room to rouse them. He found them already up and dressed in their jungle garb. Each boy was wearing skin-tight trousers and jerseys made of double strength space-suit cloth and colored a dark moldy green. A hunter dressed in this manner and standing still could not be seen at twenty paces. The snug fit of the suit was protection against thorns and snags that could find no hold on the hard, smooth-surfaced material.
After a hearty breakfast the three cadets collected their gear, the paralo-ray pistols, the shock rifles, and the small shoulder packs of synthetic food and camping equipment. Each boy also carried a two-foot jungleknife with a compass inlaid in the handle. A helmet of clear plastic with a small mesh-covered opening in the face covered each boy's head. Dressed as they were, they could walk through the worst part of the jungles and not get so much as a scratch.
"Well," commented Sinclair, looking them over, "I guess you boys have everything. I'd hate to be the tyranno that crosses your path!"
The boys grinned. "Thanks for everything, sir," said Tom. "You've been a lot of help."
"Think nothing of it, Tom. Just bring back a pair of tyranno scalps!"
"Where are Mr. and Mrs. Hill?" asked Astro. "We'd like to say good-by to them."
"They left before you got up," replied Sinclair. "They're taking a few days off for a visit to Venusport."
The boys pulled on their jungle boots. Knee-length and paper-thin, they were nonetheless unpenetrable even if the boys should step on one of the needle-sharp ground thorns.
They waved a last good-by to their host, standing on the steps of the big house, and moved across the clearing to the edge of the jungle wall.
As the cadets approached the thick tangle of vines, the calls and rustling noises from the many crawling things hidden in the forbidding thicket slowly died down. They walked along the edge of the tangle of jungle creepers until they found an opening and stepped through.
They were completely surrounded by the jungleThey were completely surrounded by the jungle
After walking only ten feet they were completely surrounded by the jungle and could not even see the clearing they had just left. It was dark, the network of vines, the thick tree trunks and rank growing vegetation shutting out the sun, leaving the interior of the jungle strangely plunged in gloom. Astro moved ahead,followed by Roger, with Tom bringing up the rear. They followed the path they had entered, as far as it went, and then began cutting their way through the underbrush, stopping only to cut notches in the trees to mark their passage.
Their long-bladed knives slicing through vines and brush easily, Tom, Roger, and Astro hacked their way deeper and deeper into the mysterious and suffocating green world.
"I guess that's the Sharkey place over there," mumbled Major Connel to himself, banking his jet launch over the green jungles and pointing the speedy little craft's nose toward the clearing in the distance. The Solar Guard officer wrenched the scout around violently in his approach. He was still boiling over the Venusian Delegate's indifference toward his mission.
The launch skimmed the jungle treetops and glided to a perfect stop near the largest of a group of farm buildings. Cutting the motors, Connel sat and waited for someone to appear. He sat there for ten minutes but no one came out to greet him. Finally he climbed out of the launch and stood by the hatch, peering intently at the buildings around him, his eyes squinting against the glare of the fiery sun overhead. The plantation seemed deserted. Reaching back into the launch and pulling out a paralo-ray gun, he strapped its reassuring bulk to his side and stepped toward the building that was obviously the main house. Nothing else moved in the hot noon sun.
As he strode purposefully toward the house, eyes alert for any sign of life, he thought for a moment everyonemight be taking a midday nap. Many of the Venusian colonists adapted the age-old custom of the tropics to escape the intense heat of midday. But he dismissed the thought immediately, realizing that his approach in the jet would have awakened the deepest of sleepers.
Entering the house, he stopped in the spacious front hall and called:
"Hello! Anybody home? Halloo!"
The only answer was the echo of his own voice, vibrating through the large rooms.
"Funny," muttered the spaceman. "Why is this place deserted?"
He walked slowly through the house, opening doors and looking into all the rooms, searching the whole place thoroughly before returning to the clearing. Going to the nearest of the outbuildings, he opened one of the wide doors and stared into the gloomy interior. With his experienced eye he saw immediately that the building had been used to house a large jet craft. There was the slightly pungent odor of jet fuel, and on the floor the tire marks of a dolly used to roll the craft out to the launching strip. He followed the tracks outside and around to the side of the building where he saw the dolly. It was empty.
Shaking his head grimly, Connel made a quick tour of the remaining buildings. They were all deserted but the last one, which seemed to be built a little more sturdily than the others. Unlike the others, it was locked. He looked for a window and discovered that the walls were solid. There were no openings except the locked door. He hesitated in front of the door, looking down at the ground for a sign of what might have been stored in the building. The surrounding area revealed no tracks. He pulled out a thick-bladed pocketknife and stepped to the lock, then suddenly stopped and grinned.
"Great," he said to himself. "A Solar Guard officer about to break into private property without a warrant. Fine thing to have known back at the Academy!"
He turned abruptly and strode back to the scout. Climbing into the craft, he picked up the audioscriber microphone and recorded a brief message. Removing the threadlike tape from the machine, he returned to the house and left it on the spool of the audioscribe-replay machine near the front door.
A few moments later the eerie silence of the Sharkey plantation was once again shattered by the hissing roar of jets as the launch took off and climbed rapidly over the jungle. Air-borne, Connel glanced briefly at a chart, changed course, and sent the launch hurtling at full speed across the jungle toward the Sinclair plantation.
"How far do you think we've come?" asked Tom sleepily.
Astro yawned and stretched before answering. "I'd say about fifteen miles, Tom."
"Seems more like a hundred and fifteen," moaned Roger who was sprawled on the ground. "I ache all over. Start at the top of my head and work down, and you won't find one square inch that isn't sore."
Tom grinned. He was tired himself, but the three-day march through the jungle had been three of the most exciting days in his life. Coming from a large city where he had to travel two hours by monorail to get to open green country, the curly-haired cadet found this passage through the wildest jungle in the solar system new and fascinating. He had seen flowers of every color in the spectrum, some as large as himself; giant shrubs with leaves so fine that they looked like spider webs; Venusian teakwood trees fifty to a hundred feet thick at the base with some twisted into strange spirals astheir trunks, shaded by another larger tree, sought a clear avenue to the sun. There were bushes that grew thorns three inches long, hard as steel and thin as needles; jungle creepers, vines two and three feet thick, twisting around tree trunks and strangling them. He saw animals too, all double the size of anything on Earth because of the lighter Venusian gravity; insects the size of rats, rats the size of dogs, and wild dogs the size of ponies. Up in the trees, small anthropoids, cousins to the monkeys of Earth, scampered from limb to limb, screaming at the invaders of their jungle home. Smooth-furred animals that looked like deer, their horns curling overhead, scampered about the cadets like puppies, nuzzling them, nipping at their heels playfully, and barking as though in laughter when Astro roared at them for getting in the way.
But there were dangerous creatures in the jungle too; the beautiful but deadly poisonous brush snakes that lurked unseen in the varicolored foliage, striking out at anything that passed; animals resembling chipmunks with enlarged razor-sharp fangs, whose craving for raw meat was so great that they would attack an animal ten times its size; lizards the size of elephants with scales like armor plate that rooted in swampy ground for their food, but which would attack any intruder, charging with amazing speed, their three horns poised; and, finally, there were the monsters of Venus—giant beasts whose weights were measured in tons, ruled over by the most horrible of them all—the tyrannosaurus.
Fights to death between the jungle creatures were common sights for the boys during their march. They saw a weird soundless fight between a forty-foot snake and a giant vulture with talons nearly two feet across and a beak resembling a mammoth nutcracker. The vulture won, methodically cutting the reptile's bodyinto sections, its beak slicing through the snake as easily as a knife going through butter.
More than once Astro spotted a dangerous creature, and telling Roger and Tom to stand back, he would level his shock rifle and blast it.
So far they had seen nothing of their prey—the tyrannosaurus. Tracks around the steaming swamps were as close as they had come. Once, late in the evening of the second day they caught a fleeting glimpse of a plant-eating brontosaurus lumbering through the brush.
All three of the boys had found it difficult to sleep in the jungle. The first two nights they had taken turns at staying on guard and tending the campfire. Nothing had bothered them, and on the third night out, they decided the fire would be enough to scare off the jungle animals. It was risky, but the continual fight through the jungle underbrush had tired the three boys to the bone and the few hours they stood guard were sorely missed the next day, so they decided to chance it.
Roger was already asleep. Astro had just finished checking his rifle to be ready for instant fire, when Tom threw the last log on the campfire and crawled into his sleeping bag.
"Think it'll be all right, Astro?" asked Tom. "I'm not anxious to wake up inside one of these critter's stomachs."
"Most of them have never seen fire, Tom," Astro said reassuringly. "It scares them. Besides, we're getting close to the big stuff now. You might see a tyranno or a big bronto any time. And if they come along, you'll hear 'em, believe me. They're about as quiet as a squadron of cruisers on battle emergency blasting off from the Academy in the middle of the night!"
"O.K.," replied Tom. "You're the hunter in this crew." Suddenly he laughed. "You know I really got a bang outof the way Roger jumped back from that waddling ground bird yesterday."
Astro grinned. "Yeah, the one thing in this place that's as ferocious as a kitten and he pulls his ray gun like an ancient cowboy!"
A very tired voice spoke up from the other sleeping bag. "Is that so! Well, when you two brave men came face to face with that baby lizard on a tree root, you were ready to finish your leave in Atom City!" Roger unzipped the end of the bag, stuck his blond head out, and gave his unit mates a sour look. "Sack in, will you? Your rocket wash is keeping me awake!"
Laughing, Astro and Tom nodded good night to each other and closed their sleeping bags. The jungle was still, the only movement being the leaping tongues of flame from the campfire.
An hour later it began to rain, a light drizzle at first that increased until it reached the steady pounding of a tropical downpour. Tom awoke first, opening the flap of his sleeping bag only to get his face full of slimy water that spilled in. Spluttering and coughing he sat up and saw that the campfire was out and the campsite was already six inches deep in water.
"Roger, Astro!" he called and slapped the nearest sleeping bag. Astro opened the flap a little and peered out sleepily. Instantly he rolled out of the bag and jumped to his feet.
"Wake Roger up!" he snapped. "We've got to get out of here!"
"What's the matter?" Roger mumbled through the bag, not opening it. "Why the excitement over a little rain?"
"The fire's out, hotshot," said Astro. "It's as dark as the inside of a cow's number-four belly. We've got to move!"
"Why?" asked Tom, not understanding the big cadet's sudden nervous excitement. "What's the matter with staying right where we are? Why go trooping around in the dark?"
"We can't light a fire anywhere," added Roger, finally sticking his head out of his sleeping bag.
"We've got to get on high ground!" said Astro, hurriedly packing the camping equipment. "We're in a hollow here. The rain really comes down on Venus, and in another hour this place will be a pond!"
Sensing the urgency in Astro's voice, Roger began packing up his equipment and in a few moments the three boys had their gear slung over their shoulders and were slogging through water already knee-deep.
"I still don't see why we have to go tracking through the jungle in the middle of the night," grumbled Roger. "We could climb up a tree and wait out the storm."
"You'd have to wait long after the rain stops," replied Astro. "There is one thing in this place nothing ever gets enough of, and that's water. Animals know it and hang around all the water holes. If a small animal tries to get a drink, he more than likely winds up in something's stomach. When it rains like this, hollows fill up like the one we just left, and everything within running, hopping, and crawling distance heads for it to get a bellyful of water. In another hour our camp will be like something out of a nightmare, with every animal in the jungle coming down for a drink and starting to fight one another."
"Then if we stayed there—" Roger stopped.
"We'd be in the middle of it," said Astro grimly. "We wouldn't last two minutes."
Walking single file, with Astro in the lead, followed by Roger and then Tom, they stumbled through the pitch-black darkness. Astro refused to shine a light, forfear of being attacked by a desperate animal, more eager for water than afraid of the light. They carried their shock blasters cocked and ready to fire. The rain continued, increasing in fury until they were enveloped in a nearly solid wall of water. In a little while the floor of the jungle became one continuous mudhole, with each step taking them ankle-deep into the sucking mud. Their climb was uphill, and the water from above increased, washing down around them in torrents. More than once one of the cadets fell, gasping for breath, into the dirty water, only to be jerked back to more solid footing by the other two. Stumbling, their hands groping wildly in the dark, they pushed forward.
They were reaching higher ground when Astro stopped suddenly.
"Listen!" he whispered hoarsely.
The boys stood still, the rain pounding down on their plastic headgear, holding rifles ready and straining their ears for some sound other than the drumming of rain.
"I don't hear anything," said Roger.
"Shhh!" hissed Astro.
They waited, and then from a distance they heard the faint crashing of underbrush. Gradually it became more distinct until there was no mistaking its source. A large monster was moving through the jungle near them!
"What is it?" asked Tom, trying to keep his voice calm.
"A big one," said Astro. "A real big one. And I think it's heading this way!"
"By the craters of Luna!" gasped Roger. "What do we do?"
"We either run, or stay here and try to blast it."
"Whatever you say, Astro," said Roger. "You're the boss."
"Same here," said Tom. "Call it."
Astro did not answer right away. He strained his ears, listening to the movements of the advancing monster, trying to ascertain the exact direction the beast was taking. The noise became more violent, the crashing more sharply defined as small trees were crushed to the ground.
"If only I knew exactly what it is!" said Astro desperately. "If it's a tyranno, it walks on its hind legs and has its head way up in the trees, and could pass within ten feet of us and not see us. But if it's a bronto, it has a long snakelike neck that he pokes all around and he wouldn't miss us at a hundred feet!"
"Make up your mind quick, big boy," said Roger. "If that thing gets any closer, I'm opening up with this blaster. He might eat me, but I'll sure make his teeth rattle first!"
The ground began to shake as the approaching monster came nearer. Astro remained still, ears straining for some sound to indicate exactly what was crashing down on them.
Above them, the shrill scream of an anthropoid suddenly pierced the dark night as its tree home was sent crashing to the ground. There was a growing roar and the crashing stopped momentarily.
"Let's get out of here," said Astro tensely. "That's a tyranno, but he's down on all fours now, looking for that monkey! Keep together and make as little noise as you can. No talking. Keep your blasters and emergency lights ready. If he discovers us, you shine the light on his face Roger, and Tom and I will shoot. O.K.?"
Tom and Roger agreed.
"All right," said Astro, "let's go—and spaceman's luck!"
"What can I do for you, Officer?"
Connel heaved his bulk out of the jet launch and looked hard at the man standing in front of him. "You Rex Sinclair?"
Sinclair nodded. "That's right."
Connel offered his hand. "Major Connel, Solar Guard."
"Glad to meet you," replied the planter, gripping the spaceman's hand. "Have something to cool you off."
"Thanks," said Connel. "I can use it. Whew! Must be at least one twenty in the shade."
Sinclair chuckled. "This way, Major."
They didn't say anything more until Connel was resting comfortably in a deep chair, admiring the crystal roof of Sinclair's house. After a pleasant exchange about crops and problems of farming on Venus, the gruff spaceman squared his back and stared straight at his host. "Mr. James, the Solar Delegate, told me you've resisted pressure to join the Venusian Nationalists."
Sinclair's expression changed slightly. His eyebrows lifting quizzically. "Why—yes, that's true."
"I'd like you to tell me what you know about the organization."
"I see," mused Sinclair. "Is that an order?" he added, chuckling.
"That's a request. I'd like to learn as much about the Nationalists as possible."
"For what purpose?"
Connel paused and then said casually, "A spot check. The Solar Guard likes to keep its eyes open for trouble."
"Trouble?" exclaimed Sinclair. "You're not serious!"
Connel nodded his head. "It's probably nothing but a club. However, I'd like to get some facts on it."
"Have you spoken to anyone else?" asked Sinclair.
"I just came from the Sharkey plantation. It's deserted. Not a soul around. I'll drop back by there before I return to Venusport." Connel paused and looked squarely at Sinclair. "Well?"
"I don't know much about them, Major," replied the planter. "It always seemed to me nothing more than a group of planters getting together—"
Connel cut him off. "Possibly, but why didn't you join?"
"Well—"
"Aren't all your friends in it?"
"Yes, but I just don't have time. I have a big place, and there's only me and my foreman and housekeeper now. All the field hands left some time ago."
"Where'd they go?"
"Venusport, I guess. Can't get people to farm these days."
"All right, Mr. Sinclair," declared Connel, "let's lay our cards on the table. I know how you must feel talking about your friends, but this is really important. Vitally important to every citizen in the Solar Alliance. Suppose the Nationalists were really a tight organization with a purpose—a purpose of making Venus independent of the Solar Alliance. If they succeeded, ifVenus did break away, Mercury might follow, then Mars—the whole system fall apart—break up into independent states. And when that happens, there's trouble—customs barriers, jealousies, individual armies and navies, and then, ultimately, a space war. It's more than just friendship, Sinclair, it's the smallest crack in the solid front of the Solar Alliance, but it's a crack thatcanbe opened further if we don't stop it now."
Sinclair was impressed. "Very well, Major, I'll tell you everything I know about them. And you're right, it is hard to talk about your friends. I've grown up here in the Venusian jungle. I helped my father clear this land where the house is built. Most of the men in the Nationalists are friends of mine, but"—he sighed—"you're right, I can't allow this to happen to the Solar Alliance."
"Allow what to happen?" asked Connel.
"Just what you said, about Venus becoming an independent state."
"Tell me all you know," said Connel.
"The group began to form about three years ago. Al Sharkey came over here one night and said a group of the planters were getting together every so often to exchange information about crops and farming conditions. I went a few times, we all did, on this part of Venus. At first it was fun. We even had picnics and barn dances every three or four weeks. Then one night someone suggested we come dressed in old costumes—the type worn by our forefathers who founded Venus."
Connel nodded.
"Well, one thing led to another," continued Sinclair. "They started talking about the great history of our planet, and complaining about paying taxes to support the Solar Alliance. Instead of opening up new colonieslike the one out on Pluto, we should develop our own planet. We stopped dancing, the women stopped coming, and then one night we elected a president. Al Sharkey. The first thing he did was order all members to attend meetings in the dress of our forefathers. He gave the organization a name, the Venusian Nationalists. Right after that, I stopped going. I got tired of listening to speeches about the wonderful planet we live on, and how terrible it was to be governed by men on Earth, millions of miles away."
"Didn't they consider that they had equal representation in the Solar Alliance Chamber?" asked Connel.
"No, Major. There wasn't anything you could say to any of them. If you tried to reason with them, they called you a—a—" Sinclair stopped and turned away.
"What did they call you?" demanded Connel, getting madder by the minute.
"Anyone that disagreed with them was called an Earthling."
"And you disagreed?" asked Connel.
"I quit," said Sinclair stoutly. "And right after that, I started losing livestock. I found them dead in the pens, poisoned. And some of my crops were burned."
"Did you protest to the Solar Guard?"
"Of course, but there wasn't any proof any one of my neighbors had done it. They don't bother me any more, but they don't speak to me either. It's as though I had a horrible disease. There hasn't been a guest in this house in nearly two years. Three space cadets are the first visitors here since I quit the organization."
"Space Cadets?" Connel looked at the planter quizzically.
"Yes, nice young chaps. Corbett, Manning, and a big fellow named Astro. They're out in the jungle now huntingfor tyrannosaurus. I met them through a friend in Venusport and invited them to use my house as a base of operations. Do you know them?"
Connel nodded. "Very well. Finest cadet unit at the Academy. How long have they been in the jungle?"
"About four and a half days now."
"Hope they get themselves a tyranno. But at the same time"—Connel couldn't help chuckling—"if they do, Space Academy will never hear the end of it!"
Suddenly the hot wilting silence around the house was shattered by a thunderous roar. Connel jumped up, followed Sinclair to the window, and stared out over the clearing. They saw what appeared to be a well-organized squadron of jet boats come in for a landing with near military precision. The doors opened quickly and men poured out onto the dusty field. They were dressed alike in coveralls with short quarter-length space boots and round plastic crash helmets. Each man carried a paralo-ray gun strapped to his hips. The uniforms were a brilliant green, with a white band across the chest. The men formed ranks, waited for a command from a man dressed in darker green, and then marched up toward the house.
"By the craters of Luna!" roared Connel. "Who are they?"
"The Nationalists!" cried Sinclair. "They threatened to burn down my house and destroy my farm if I wrote that letter to the delegate. They've come to carry out their threat!"
Connel pulled the paralo-ray gun from his hip and gripped it firmly. "Do you want those men in your house?" he asked Sinclair.
"No—no, of course not!"
"Then you have Solar Guard protection."
"How—?" Sinclair asked. "There are no Solar Guardsmen around here!"
"What in blazes do you think I am, man!" roared Connel as he lunged for the door and stepped out onto the porch. The men were within a hundred feet of the porch when they saw Connel. The Solar Guard officer spread his legs and stuck out his jaw, his paralo-ray gun leveled. "The first one of you tin soldiers that puts a foot on these steps gets frozen stiffer than a snowball on Pluto! Now stand where you are, state your business, and thenblast off!"
"Halt!" The leader of the column of men held up his hand. Connel saw that the plastic helmets were frosted over, except for a clear band across the eye level. All of the faces were hidden. The leader stepped forward, his hand on his paralo-ray gun. "Greetings, Major Connel."
Connel snorted. "If you'd take off that Halloween mask, I might know who I'm talking to!"
"My name is Hilmarc."
"Hilmarc?"
"Yes. I am the leader of this detachment."
"Leader, huh?" grunted Connel. "Leader of what? A bunch of little tin soldiers?"
"You shall see, Major." Hilmarc's voice was low and threatening.
"I'm going to count to five," announced Connel grimly, lifting his paralo-ray gun, "and if you and your playmates aren't back in your ships, I start blasting."
"That would be unwise," replied Hilmarc. "Your one gun against all of ours."
Connel grinned. "I know. It's going to be a whale of a fight, isn't it?" Then, without pause, he shouted, "One—two—three—four—five!"
He opened fire, squeezing the trigger rapidly. Thefirst row of green-clad men were immediately frozen. Dropping to one knee, the spaceman again opened fire, and men in the second row stiffened as they tried to return the fire.
"Fire! Cut him down!" roared Hilmarc frantically.
The men broke ranks and the area in front of Sinclair's house crackled with paralo-ray gunfire. Darting behind a chair, Connel dropped to the floor, his gun growing hot under the continuous discharge of paralyzing energy. In a matter of moments the Solar Guard officer had frozen nearly half of the attacking troop, their bodies scattered in various positions. Suddenly his gun spit fire and began to smoke. The energy chargewas exhausted. Connel jumped to his feet and snapped to attention. He knew from experience that if being hit was inevitable, the best way to receive the charge was by standing at attention, taking the strain off the heart. He faced the clearing and a dozen shots of paralyzing energy hit him simultaneously. He became rigid and the short furious battle was over.
One of the green-clad men released Hilmarc from the effects of Connel's ninth shot and he stepped forward to stare straight into Connel's eyes. "I know you can hear me, Major. I want to compliment you on your shooting. But your brave resistance now is as futile as the resistance of the entire Solar Guard in the near future."Hilmarc smiled arrogantly and stepped back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I will attend to the business I came here for—to take care of a weakling and an informer!" He turned and shouted to his men. "You have your orders! Get Sinclair and then burn everything in sight."
"Astro, Tom," gasped Roger. "I—I can't go on."
The blond-haired cadet fell headlong to the ground, almost burying himself in the mud. Tom and Astro turned without a word, and gripping Roger under each arm, helped him to his feet. Behind them, the thunder of the stalking tyrannosaurus came closer, and they forced themselves to greater effort. For two days they had been running before the monster. It was a wild flight through a wild jungle that offered them little protection. And while their fears were centered on the brute behind them, their sleepy, weary eyes sought out other dangers that lay ahead. More than once they stopped to blast a hungry, frightened beast that barred their path, leaving it for the tyrannosaurus and giving themselves a momentary respite in their flight.
Astro led the way, tirelessly slashing at the vines and creepers with his jungle knife, opening the path for Roger and Tom. The Venusian cadet was sure that they were near the clearing around the Sinclair plantation. Since early morning he had seen the trail markers they had left when they started into the jungle. The cadets knew that if they didn't reach the clearing soon they would have to stand and fight the terrible thing that trailed them. During the first wild night, they had stumbled into a sinkhole, and as Tom wallowed helplessly in the clinging, suffocating mud, Astro and Roger stood and fought the giant beast. The shock rifles cracked against the armorlike hide of the monster, momentarilystunning him, but in the darkness and rain, they were unable to get a clear head shot. When Tom finally pulled himself out of the mudhole, they struggled onward through the jungle, with only one shot left in each blaster.
"How much farther, Astro?" asked Tom, his voice weak with fatigue. "I'm starting to fold too."
"Not too far now, Tom," the big cadet assured him. "We should be hitting the clearing soon now." He turned and looked back. "If we could only get a clear shot at that brute's head!"
"Hang on, Roger," said Tom. "Just a little more now."
Roger didn't answer, merely bobbing his head in acknowledgment.
Behind them, the crashing thunderous steps seemed to be getting closer and Astro drove himself harder, slashing at the vines and tangled underbrush, sometimes just bursting through by sheer driving strength. But the heavy-footed creature still stalked them ponderously.
Suddenly Astro stopped and sniffed the air. "Smoke!" he cried. "We're almost there!"
Tom and Roger smiled wanly and they pushed on. A moment later the giant cadet pointed through the underbrush. "There! I see the clearing! And—by the stars—there's a fire! The house is burning!"
Forgetting the danger behind them, the three boys raced toward the clearing. Just before they emerged from the jungle, they stopped and stood openmouthed with astonishment, staring at the scene before them.
"By the craters of Luna!" gasped Astro. "Look!"
The outbuildings of the plantation were burning furiously, sending up thick columns of smoke. The wind blew the dense fumes toward them and they began to cough and gag. Through the smoke they saw a strangearray of jet craft in the clearing. Then suddenly their attention was jerked back to another danger. The tyrannosaurus was nearly upon them.
"Run!" roared Astro. He broke for the clearing, followed by Roger and Tom. Once in the open, the boys ran several hundred yards to the nearest jet craft, and safely in the hatch, turned to see the monster come to the edge of the clearing and stop. They saw the brute clearly for the first time.
It stood up on its hind legs, standing almost a hundred feet high. It moved its flat, triangular-shaped head in a slow arc, peering out over the clearing. The smoke billowed around it. It snorted several times in fear and anger. Astro looked at it, wide-eyed, and finally spoke in awed tones. "By the rings of Saturn, it is!"
"Is what?" asked Tom.
"The same tyranno I blasted when I was a kid, the one that trapped me in the cave!"
"Impossible!" snorted Roger. "How can you tell?"
"There on the head, the scars—and that eye. That's the mark of a blaster!"
"Well, I'll be a rocket-headed Earthworm!" said Tom.
The smoke thickened at the moment, and when it cleared again, the great beast was gone. "I guess the smoke chased him away," said Astro. "Smoke!" He whirled around. With the threat of the tyrannosaurus gone, they could face the strange happenings around the clearing.
"Come on," said Tom. He started for the burning buildings in back of the house.
Just at that moment a group of the green-clad men came around the side of the house. Astro grabbed Tom by the arm and pulled him back.
"What's going on here? All these ships, buildings burning, and those men dressed in green. What is it?"
The three boys huddled behind the jet and studied the scene.
"I don't get it," said Tom. "Who are those men? They almost look as if they're soldiers of some kind, but I don't recognize the uniform."
"Maybe it's the fire department," suggested Roger.
"Wait a minute!" roared Tom suddenly. "There on the porch! Major Connel!"
"Omigosh!" said Astro. "It is, but what's the matter with him? Why is he standing there like that?"
"He's been paralo-rayed!" exclaimed Roger. "See how still he is! Whatever these jokers in uniforms are, they're not friendly!" He raised his shock rifle. "This last shot in my blaster should—"
"Wait a minute, Roger," said Tom, "don't go off half-cocked. We can't do much with just three shots. We'd better take over one of these ships. There must be guns aboard."
"Yeah," said Astro. "How about that big one over there?" He pointed to the largest of the assembled crafts.
"O.K.," said Tom. "Sneak around this side and make a dash for it."
Gripping their rifles, they slipped around the stern of the small ship, and keeping a wary eye on the milling men around the front of the building, they dashed toward the bigger ship.
On the porch of the main house, Major Connel, every muscle in his body paralyzed, saw the three cadets dart across the field and his heart skipped a beat. Immediately before him, two of the green-clad men were holding Sinclair while Hilmarc addressed him arrogantly.
"This is just the beginning, Sinclair. Don't try to cross us again. Neither you nor anyone else can stop us!" He whirled around and faced Connel. "And as for you andyour Solar Guard, Major Connel, you can tell them—"
Hilmarc's tirade was suddenly interrupted by a shrill whistle and the glare of a red flare overhead. There was a chorus of shouts as the men ducked for cover.
A voice, Connel recognized as Tom's, boomed out over the loud-speaker of the large jet ship near the edge of the clearing. "Now hear this! You are covered by an atomic mortar. Drop your guns and raise your hands!"
The men stared at the ship, confused, but Hilmarc issued a curt command. "Return to the ships!"
"But—but he'll blast us," whined one of the men. "He'll kill us all."
"You fool!" roared Hilmarc. "It must be a friend of Connel's or Sinclair's. He won't dare fire an atomic shell near this house, for fear of killing his friends! Now get aboard your ships and blast off!"
From their ship, Tom, Roger, and Astro saw the men scatter across the field, and realizing their bluff had failed, they opened fire with the paralo-ray guns. But their range was too far. In a few moments the clearing around the Sinclair home was alive with the coughing roar of the jets blasting off.
As soon as they were alone, Sinclair snatched up an abandoned ray gun and released the major from the charge. Connel immediately jumped for another gun. But then, as the jets started to take off, he saw that it would be useless to pursue the invaders. Thankful that the cadets had arrived in time, he trotted across the clearing to meet them as they climbed wearily from the remaining jet ship.
"By the craters of Luna," he roared good-naturedly, "you three space-brained idiots had me scared! I thought you would really let go with that mortar!"
Tom and Roger grinned, relieved to find the spacemanunhurt, while Astro looked off at the disappearing fleet of ships.
"What's happened, sir?" asked Tom. "What's it all about?"
"Haven't time to explain now," said Connel. "I just want you three to know you got back here in time to save the rest of this man's property." He turned toward Sinclair, who was just approaching. "Did you recognize any of them?" he asked the planter.
Sinclair shook his head. "I thought I did—by their voices, I mean. But I couldn't see anyone through that frosted headgear they were wearing."
"Well, they left a ship. We'll find out who that belongs to," said Connel. "All right, Corbett, Manning, Astro. Stand by to blast off!"
"Blast off?" exclaimed Roger. "But we're on leave, sir!"
"Not any more, you're not!" snapped Connel. "You're recalled as of now! Get this ship ready to blast off for Venusport in five minutes!"