" ... Chamber was cut open and Cadet Corbett was rushed to the
spaceport's sick bay...."
As the metallic voice of the Deimos tower operator continued his report
of the tragic crash of the _Space Lance_, Strong and Walters sighed with
relief. At least Tom was not dead!
"He is still in a state of shock, but after a preliminary examination,
the medical officer reports that he will recover. That is all the
information I have at this time, Titan. End transmission." The
loud-speaker was silent except for the continuous flow of static.
"By the stars," breathed Strong, "I'm sure glad to hear that."
Walters put his arm around the captain's shoulder. "I'm glad too, Steve.
I know how you feel about those three boys."
"And that Astro," said Strong, beaming. "Wouldn't you know he'd be the
one to rescue Tom." He paused and then continued thoughtfully, "You
know, sir, with the exception of Manning, I'd be willing to recommend
Solar Guard commissions for the unit right now."
Walters snorted. "Manning! By the stars, he could be the best astrogator
in the universe, but--but he's so undisciplined."
"Excuse me, sir," the enlisted spaceman interrupted. "Here is a
transcript of the report from Deimos if you care to have it."
"Thank you," said Walters, putting it into his pocket. "Well, Steve, I
guess we'd better start to work here." He turned to the Titan senior
officer who had been waiting respectfully.
"Ready, Captain Howard?"
"Yes, sir."
"Lead on, then," said Walters.
As the three officers turned to leave the control tower, they noticed
Charley Brett sitting near the door. In the excitement of the news of
Tom's narrow escape, they had forgotten the company owner was there.
Strong stopped and looked at him coldly. "What are you doing on Titan,
Brett?"
"Came on ahead to welcome the winner," Brett replied easily, not even
bothering to stand.
"Pretty confident your man will win, eh?"
"Most assuredly," said Brett with elaborate sarcasm. "I would never have
entered a ship in the race if I didn't think I would win. Though, in all
fairness, I think I should have received the contract to haul the
crystal without this extra effort."
"What kind of reactant is Quent Miles using in that ship of yours?"
asked Walters sharply.
Brett smiled. "The same as everyone else, Commander."
"What about your feeders?" asked Strong. "With ordinary reactant, and no
new cooling units aboard your ship, you must have oversized feeders to
make such fantastic speeds."
Brett shrugged and held out his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I
don't even know myself, Captain Strong," he said blandly. "It's one
reason why I have Quent Miles piloting for me. He has a few tricks that
apparently are quite effective."
"I hope they are legitimate tricks, Mr. Brett," said Walters. "Let's go,
Steve."
The three officers turned away and left Brett sitting there, smiling
triumphantly.
"I think we'd better start from the beginning in our inspection of the
screens, Captain Howard," said Walters, as the three officers left the
control tower and walked across the spaceport. "First of all, I want a
twenty-four-hour watch placed on all operational centers, pump houses,
and generator plants. I cannot discount the idea of sabotage. Why anyone
would want to wreck the screens is beyond me, but we cannot ignore the
possibility."
"I already have men stationed at the main operational centers, sir,"
replied Howard. "Your Space Marines will help me cover the rest."
"Steve," said Walters, turning to the Solar Guard officer, "if this is a
natural phenomenon--some new element in Titan's atmosphere breaking down
the force screens--the problem is bad enough. But if this is caused by
man--if it really is sabotage--we'll have a doubly hard time. We can
find the reason eventually, if it is natural, but man can conceal his
reasons. And until we find out the motives behind this we must count on
the situation getting worse. I want you to pursue _that_ line of
investigation. Find out if anyone has a good reason to force the
abandonment of Titan."
"It's a big order, sir," said Strong. "I'll do the best I can."
"That's good enough for me," replied the commander, nodding his
satisfaction.
* * * * *
"Any word, sir?" asked Astro eagerly as the white-clad medical officer
emerged from the room.
The man smiled. "Thanks to you, Cadet Astro," he replied, "your friend
will be able to leave as soon as he gets his pants on."
"Yeow!" bawled Astro in his famous bull-like bellow. "Thanks, sir.
Thanks a million!" He turned and wrenched open the sick-bay door, almost
splintering it in his enthusiasm. Tom was just sitting up on the side of
the bed.
"Hiya, Astro!" called Tom with a weak grin. "The sawbones tells me I owe
you a brand-new shiny credit piece for saving my life."
His enthusiasm at high pitch, Astro was nevertheless unable to do more
than smile broadly at his unit mate. "Only reason I did it," he said.
"All right, here you are." Tom handed over a coin. "That's all I thought
my chances were worth."
At that moment the Solar Guard major in command of the Deimos spaceport
entered, followed by Kit Barnard and Sid. After greeting Tom with
enthusiasm that matched Astro's, Kit and Sid stood to one side quietly
and listened while Tom gave his preliminary report to the major who
held a recorder microphone in front of him.
[Illustration: _"Yeow!" bawled Astro. "Thanks, sir. Thanks a
million!"_]
"I heard a terrific noise on the power deck as soon as we blasted off,"
Tom began. "And Captain Sticoon ordered me to go below and check on it.
I saw the trouble right away. The lead baffles around the reactant
chambers had become loose and the reactant was spilling out, starting to
wildcat. I called Bill over the intercom right away and he ordered me to
get into a space suit and wait for him in the air lock. I heard him shut
off the generators--but that's all. The reactant blew and I must've been
knocked cold, because the next thing I remember was this big ugly face
bending over me ordering me to wake up." Tom grinned at Astro.
"I see," mused the major aloud. "Now about the baffles. How could they
have worked loose? Do you think the lock bolts gave way in the excessive
heat due to the intense blast-off speed?"
"No, sir," said Tom firmly. "Those bolts were loosened. I distinctly
remember seeing one of them fall to the deck as I walked in."
"Then you suspect that the ship was sabotaged?"
"That's not for me to say, sir," said Tom after a moment's hesitation.
"In all my experience, I have never seen one of those bolts work loose
of its own accord or because of heat or vibration on the power deck." He
glanced at Astro, who was hunched forward, listening intently. "Have
you, Astro?"
The big Venusian shook his head slowly. "Never," he said.
"Well, thank you, Corbett, that will be all for now," said the major and
then turned to Kit. "I want to congratulate you, sir, on your sacrifice
in going to the aid of the _Space Lance_."
"Wild Bill would have done the same thing for me," said Kit without
emotion. "Do I have permission to continue the race now?"
The major was startled. "You mean you still want to go on?"
"Every cent I have is tied up in my ship and in this race, sir," said
Kit. "I have my new reactor unit working properly now, and I believe
that I still have a chance."
"But you've lost hours, man," protested the major.
"I can make them up, sir," said Kit. "Am I permitted to carry on?"
The major was flustered, but nodded his head. "By all means. Yes,
indeed! And spaceman's luck to you."
"I'd like to make the trip with him if he'll have me, sir," said Tom,
getting off the bed. "I'm all right. The doctor said so."
"But--but--but you need rest, Cadet Corbett," said the major. "No, I
can't permit it."
Just at that moment the medical officer walked in.
"So far as I'm concerned," he said, looking at Tom, "he's a lot
healthier than you are, sir. With all due respect, sir."
"Very well, then," shrugged the major. "Carry on! Do as you please!"
Shaking his head in confusion, the major left the room.
"Well," said Kit Barnard, stepping forward, a big smile on his face,
"what are we waiting for?"
* * * * *
"Minus five, four, three, two, one--_zero!_"
The spaceship _Good Company_ shot away from the small moon of Mars and
thousands of eyes at the spaceport followed it into the heavens,
watching its blazing track disappear into the depths of space. If
sympathy and good wishes could decide the race to Titan, the spaceship
_Good Company_ was a certain winner.
Aboard the sleek craft, Tom Corbett relaxed after the tremendous
blast-off acceleration and turned to look at the tense face of Kit
Barnard who was seated in the pilot's chair.
"Why don't you get some sleep, Kit?" said Tom. "I can take this baby
over. It's the least I can do for all you've done for _me_."
"Thanks, Tom, but I'll stay with it awhile longer," replied the veteran
spaceman. "At least until we find out where the _Space Knight_ is."
Tom suddenly remembered the trouble with Roger.
"Has there been any news of them at all?" he asked.
"The last thing we heard was that he was approaching Ganymede. And that
was a few hours ago, when you were trapped in the air-lock chamber."
"Ganymede!" Tom was thunderstruck. "But--but--how did he do it?"
Kit shook his head. "I don't know, Tom, but he sure has some speed in
that black ship of his."
"Ganymede!" Tom repeated in bewilderment. It was beyond belief. The
_Polaris_, using hyperdrive, could scarcely have made the flight any
faster. Tom felt his heart sinking. The hope that Kit Barnard could
catch the black _Space Knight_ was faint now.
"Shall I call Ganymede again and see if they have anything new?" Tom
asked finally.
"Yes, do that, Tom," Kit replied.
The curly-haired cadet quickly climbed the ladder to the radar bridge
and sat wearily in front of the teleceiver.
"Spaceship _Good Company_ to Ganymede spaceport," he called. "Come in,
Ganymede."
Seconds later, the voice of the Ganymede control operator crackled over
the loud-speaker in reply. "Ganymede station to _Good Company_. Go
ahead."
"Can you give me any information on the departure time of _Space Knight_
from Ganymede?"
"She has not blasted off yet. She is having trouble in her after
burners."
"How long do you estimate it will take for her to effect repairs and
blast off?" asked Tom, a note of rising hope in his voice. While the
black ship had made it to Ganymede under full power without refueling,
the strain might have damaged her seriously. Tom waited patiently for
the reply, drumming his fingers on the table in his excitement.
"Not more than sixteen hours, _Good Company_," the Ganymede operator
finally answered. "Where are you now?"
Tom quickly ascertained his position and relayed it to the tiny
Jovian-moon station. "Space sector fourteen, chart B for baker." After
the metallic voice had repeated the information, Tom asked for
information on Roger Manning.
"No such person has reported to this office, Cadet Corbett," came the
negative reply. "End transmission."
"End transmission," said Tom gloomily and slumped back into his chair.
Something had happened to Roger, or he had completely blown his top. And
in the light of past performances by the blond-haired radar expert, Tom
could not decide which. Roger had threatened many times that if he
should ever leave the Academy, he would do it quietly, without fanfare.
There was no better place to drop out of sight than on Ganymede, for it
was here that the deep spacers, gigantic spaceships that hauled supplies
to the colonies of Alpha Centauri, Tara, and Roald made their last stop.
If Roger had finally made good his threat to leave the Academy, Ganymede
was the logical place to do it.
But why?
[Illustration]