"All clear ahead, Bill!"
Tom Corbett stood at the radarscope and watched the thin white line
sweep around the face of the instrument. "Nothing in space but us!" he
announced.
The veteran spaceman grunted and grinned at the curly-haired cadet he
had grown to like and respect in the short time they had been together.
Not only did Tom know how to handle a ship, spelling the pilot for a few
moments to have a walk around the control deck, but he was good company
as well. More than once, Tom had surprised the Martian spaceman with his
sober judgment of the minor decisions Sticoon had to make in flight.
"Why don't you try to contact Manning again, Tom?" Sticoon suggested.
"He might be awake now."
Tom grinned, but in his heart he did not think it very funny. It was no
joke that Captain Strong had called him to contact Roger. And Tom was
worried. So far, he had not been able to reach the blond-haired cadet.
He settled himself in front of the communicator and began calling the
black ship again.
"Rocket ship _Space Lance_ to rocket ship _Space Knight_! Come in!"
He waited. Nothing but static and silence greeted him.
"_Space Knight_, come in!"
He waited again as the sleek white ship plummeted deeper into space
toward the first refueling stop on Deimos, one of the small twin moons
of Mars. Still there was no acknowledging reply from the black ship that
had streaked ahead of them after the blast-off.
"I'm going to try to contact Kit Barnard," said Tom. "Maybe he can pick
up Miles' blip on his radar."
Tom made the necessary adjustment on the audioceiver and broadcast the
call for the owner-pilot of the _Good Company_. Finally, after repeated
tries, he heard a faint signal and recognized the voice of his unit mate
Astro.
"What's the matter, Astro?" asked Tom. "I can hardly hear you."
"We're having trouble with the by-pass lines to the generators," replied
Astro. "We've cut down to standard space speed, and Sid and Kit are
making repairs now."
"Have you heard from Roger?" asked Tom across the vast abyss of space
separating them. "I've been trying to contact the _Space Knight_ for the
last six hours and can't get any acknowledgment."
"Haven't seen it," replied Astro. "Lost contact with her a long time
ago. She moved ahead at emergency space speed and we lost her on our
radar an hour after we blasted off."
"O.K., Astro. Hope Kit gets his wagon going again. We've got to make a
race of this, or the people throughout the system will be disappointed."
He turned and winked at Wild Bill.
"Listen, you curly-haired twerp!" roared Astro, and it seemed to Tom
that he could hear his friend without the loud-speaker. "We're going to
give you the hottest run of your lives when we get going!"
"O.K., Astro," said Tom. "If you can contact Roger, tell him to get in
touch with Captain Strong right away. He's probably blasted off on the
_Polaris_ by now."
"Right, Tom. End transmission."
"End transmission."
Tom turned back to the skipper of the _Space Lance_ with a feeling of
despair. "I can't figure it out, Bill," he said. "Roger's pulled some
boners before, real rocket blasters, but refusing to answer a call from
Strong--" He shook his head.
The audioceiver suddenly crackled into life. "_Space Knight_ to _Space
Lance_, check in!" Quent Miles' voice was harsh and clear.
Tom jumped back to the microphone. "_Space Lance_, Cadet Corbett here!"
he shouted eagerly. "Go ahead, _Space Knight_! Where's Manning?"
"Still asleep!" replied Miles. "Just wanted to tell you boys good-by.
I'm not stopping to refuel at Deimos! I'm going right on through to
Ganymede! End transmission!"
Only static filled the control deck of the _Space Lance_ as Tom clutched
the microphone and pleaded desperately for Quent Miles to answer him.
"Come in, Miles! This is Corbett on the _Space Lance_ to Quent Miles on
the _Space Knight_! Come in, Miles! Come in!"
Bill Sticoon shook his head. "Miles must be nuts trying to get to
Ganymede without refueling," he muttered. "Traveling at emergency space
speed, he'll eat up his fuel before he gets one third of the way to
Jupiter!"
Tom looked at Sticoon. "And Roger's with him."
Sticoon nodded grimly. "They'll wind up drifting around in space halfway
between Mars and Jupiter. Finding them will be about as easy as looking
for a pebble in the Martian desert."
* * * * *
"Have you found the _Space Lance_ yet, Astro?" asked Kit Barnard,
glancing over his shoulder at the giant Venusian, standing at the
radarscope.
"I think I'm getting it now," said Astro. "Either that or I've picked up
an asteroid."
"Not likely," said Kit. "We're too far from the belt to have anything
that big drifting around without being charted. It must be Sticoon."
"Boy!" chuckled Astro. "This reactor really packs a load of power!"
"How are we doing on fuel, Sid?" Kit called into the intercom.
"We lost a lot trying to prime the pumps," replied the young crew chief.
"We have to touch down on Deimos and refuel."
"That's all right," replied Kit with a smile. "We're gaining on Sticoon
fast. We should make Deimos about the same time. I wonder where Quent
Miles is by now."
"Probably wishing he had stopped for fuel!" interjected Astro with a
sour look on his face.
"See if you can pick up Sticoon on the audioceiver, Astro," said Kit.
"Ask him for an estimated time of arrival on Deimos. One of us will
have to come in first."
Astro flipped the switch on the panel and began his call "_Good Company_
to _Space Lance_, come in!"
"Right here, Astro," replied Tom immediately. "Boy, you certainly are
burning up space! What have you got in your fuel tanks? Light speed?"
"Just a little thing we whipped up," said Astro with a grin. "What is
your ETA on Deimos, Tom?"
"Less than five minutes. Four minutes and thirty seconds, to be exact.
Think you can beat that?"
"If we can't beat it, we can equal it!" said Astro. "See you on the
Martian moon, buddy! End transmission!"
Steadily, the _Good Company_ rocketed through space, eating up the miles
and gaining on the _Space Lance_. Both ships now made contact with the
control tower on Deimos and received landing instructions.
"_Space Lance_ will touch down on Ramp Three, _Good Company_ on Ramp
Six," crackled the voice of the Deimos tower operator, "and don't forget
your approach orbits!"
"Have you heard from the _Space Knight_?" called Tom.
"Sorry, _Space Lance_," came the reply, "there has been no contact with
_Space Knight_."
Tom began to feel the fingers of fear creeping up and down his spine.
Quent Miles had carried out his plan of going on to Ganymede without
refueling, threatening not only his own life, but Roger's as well.
Sticoon completed the three circling passes around Deimos and shouted to
Tom over his shoulder. "Stand by, Corbett. We're ready to go in!"
Tom strapped himself into his acceleration chair and, watching the
atmospheric altimeter, a delicate instrument that recorded their height
above the surface of a heavenly body, began to call off the indicated
figures.
"Five thousand feet, four, three--dropping too fast--compensate for
lesser gravity--two thousand, one, five hundred, two hundred--" Tom
braced himself and seconds later felt the impact of the ship settling
stern first on the concrete ramp. "Touchdown," he sang out in a clear
voice.
While Sticoon secured the control deck, closing the many switches and
circuits on the master panel, Tom opened the air lock. Almost
immediately, special-trained crews swarmed into the ship to refuel her
and prepare her for the next lap of the race. Tom and Sticoon stepped
out onto the spaceport of the tiny moon of Mars and gazed up at the red
planet that loomed large over the horizon. As a transfer point for the
great passenger liners that rocketed between Venusport, Atom City, and
Marsopolis, the refueling station at Deimos was well staffed and
expertly manned.
Standing at the air lock, Tom and Sticoon heard the blasting roar of the
_Good Company_ coming down in a fast, expert touchdown, and they hurried
across the spaceport to greet their rivals.
When the air lock opened, Tom immediately began to kid Astro and Sid,
while Sticoon and Kit Barnard compared flight notes. A Universal Stereo
reporter rushed up with a small portable camera and conducted an
interview that was to be telecast back to Earth. Both spacemen were
reluctant to voice any predictions of the outcome of the race, but Tom
noticed that Kit was smiling and seemed in good spirits. Tom, with all
his worries about Roger, could not help but feel happy that the
independent spaceman was proving his reactor.
A man in the uniform of a Solar Guard major appeared. He introduced
himself as an official monitor of the race, appointed by Commander
Walters, and asked them for a report.
"Captain Sticoon has followed all regulations, sir," said Tom.
"And Captain Barnard, Cadet Astro?" asked the officer.
"Same thing, sir," replied Astro. "Captain Barnard has followed the
rules of the race exactly."
"Thank you," replied the officer and started to turn away.
"Any word from the _Space Knight_, sir?" Tom asked quickly.
"Nothing, Corbett," the officer replied. "We received the same message
that Captain Miles would attempt to go on through to Ganymede without
stopping here at Deimos for refueling."
"And you've heard nothing from him since, sir?" asked Astro.
"Nothing, why?" The officer looked at both of the boys sharply.
"Anything wrong?"
"No, sir," said Tom. "It's just that Cadet Roger Manning is monitor on
the _Space Knight_ and we haven't been able to talk to him since we
blasted off from Space Academy."
"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, Cadet Corbett," snapped the
major. "I've heard of Cadet Manning's reluctance to stick to
regulations. I suspect you will be hearing from him soon enough, when
the ship runs out of fuel and starts drifting around in the asteroid
belt. Those individualists always scream for help when they get in
trouble."
"Yes, sir," said Tom stiffly.
"I already have a squadron of ships standing by to go to their
assistance when they do send out a distress alert."
"Yes, sir," said Tom. "Will that be all, sir? Cadet Astro and I would
like to have a bite to eat before we blast off again."
"Yes, that will be all, Corbett. Don't wander off too far." The major
turned and walked toward the ships without another word.
"Wonder what's eating him?" said Tom.
"Never mind," said Astro. "Come on. Let's grab a bite while we have the
chance."
They headed for the restaurant in the control building of the spaceport,
but were recognized by the reporter of the stereo company who badgered
them into stepping before the camera and making statements about the
race. He tried to get the boys to commit themselves as to who they hoped
would win, and to offer an opinion on what had happened to the _Space
Knight_. But neither Tom nor Astro said anything but that the best man
would win. There were the usual eager spectators too, thousands from the
large cities on Mars who had taken the ferry rocket up to the spaceport
to see the ships come in for refueling. As soon as Tom and Astro could
tear away from the stereo reporter, they were mobbed by the onlookers
who clamored for autographs. Finally the two cadets had to forego their
meal and return to their respective ships to escape the wild
demonstration.
Seated in his acceleration chair on the control deck of the _Space
Lance_, waiting for Bill Sticoon to come aboard, Tom found his concern
for Roger overriding his enthusiasm for the race. When Sticoon appeared
and began to prepare the ship for blast-off, Tom went through the
motions mechanically. The _Space Lance_ was scheduled to leave first,
with Kit Barnard following at the exact time interval of their arrivals.
The Deimos tower operator's voice droned over the loud-speaker on the
control deck of the _Space Lance_ " ... minus five, four, three, two,
one"--then the breath-taking pause before the climactic--"_zero!_"
[Illustration]
The ship shot spaceward, rockets roaring loudly in the thin atmosphere
of the small satellite. The next moment, before the horrified eyes of
thousands of people, the _Space Lance_ exploded a few miles above the
ground.
Astro stood frozen at the viewport of the _Good Company_, his eyes
glazed with shock as he watched the Martian ship disintegrate far above
him. All he could do was mutter brokenly, "Tom ... Tom ..."
[Illustration]