_A thin speck appeared in the visor plate and grew with sinister and
terrifying speed. Bursts of flame began to play around the rocketing
spaceship, the explosions hurtling it from side to side as it twisted
and turned in a frantic effort to escape. Rogue Rogan, his vicious lips
compressed, his glittering evil eyes narrowed, heart pounding, knew that
this was it._
_This was the day of retribution, he had so long feared...._
* * * * *
"Plato!"
Plato leaped to his feet and slid the book under the pillow. Then he
seized a textbook at random, and opened it wide. His eyes fastened
themselves to the print, seizing upon the meaningless words as if they
would save him from a retribution that Rogue Rogan had never had to
fear.
The dorm master frowned from the doorway. "Plato, didn't you hear the
Assembly bell?"
"Assembly?" Plato's eyes looked up in mild astonishment. "No, sir, I
didn't hear any bell. I was so absorbed in my studying, sir--" He shut
the book and placed it back with the others. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm
willing to accept my punishment."
The dorm master studied the little martyr's expression. "You'd better
be, Plato. Now live up to your name and show some intelligence. Run
along to Assembly."
Plato ran, but he also winced. How he had suffered from that miserable
name of his! Even before he had known that the original Plato had been a
philosopher, even before he had been capable of understanding what a
philosopher was, he had been able to see the amused expression in the
eyes of those who heard his name, and had hated them for it. "Show a
little intelligence, Plato." Why couldn't they have given him a name
like the others? There were so many ordinary, commonplace, _manly_ names
from which they might have chosen. Jim, Jack, George, Tom,
Bill--anything would have been better than Plato. And infinitely better
than what he was sometimes called by his equals--"Plato, the dopy
philosopher."
* * * * *
He slipped into his seat in the Assembly quietly, so as not to interrupt
the droning of the principal. So they thought his name was funny, did
they? Let them laugh at him. He was only ten now, but some day he would
really act like a man. Some day it would be he himself, and not a
fictional hero like Comets Carter, who would be adventuring on strange
planets of unknown suns, tracking down the Rogans and the other
criminals who sought refuge in the wide reaches of galactic space.
Some day--and then the thought burst on him like a nova exploding in his
brain.
_Why not now?_
Why not indeed? He was smart; he could take care of himself. Even his
masters admitted that, when they weren't carping at him for his
daydreaming. Take that model of a spaceship they had brought to school
one day, with a retired astrogator to explain to the pupils how the
thing was run, and how it avoided stray meteors. He had sat down at the
controls, and even the astrogator had been surprised at how confidently
he took over the role of pilot, how he got the idea at once.
He could do as well in real life. He was sure of it. Give him a really
worthwhile problem to work on, instead of these silly questions about
square roots and who discovered the third satellite of Mars, and he'd
show them.
[Illustration]
"Thus," declaimed the principal, "you will be prepared to take up your
duties--"
"Norberts to you," thought Plato. "I'm going to run away."
Where to? There were so many stars to go to, such a bewildering number
of planets and asteroids.
Plato sat lost in thought. A planet whose habitation required a
spacesuit was out of the question. Spacesuits his size were hard to get.
The sensible thing would be to choose a place where the physical
conditions, from gravity to atmospheric pressure and composition would
tend to resemble those here on Venus or on Earth. But full of the most
thrilling danger.