"_Yeeooowww!_"
Roaring with jubilation and jumping high in the air at every other step,
Astro raced out of the gigantic maintenance hangar at the Venusport
spaceport and charged at his two unit mates waiting on the concrete
apron.
"Everything's O.K.," he yelled, throwing his arms around them. "The
_Polaris_ is going to be brought in for full repairs! I just saw the
audiograph report from the maintenance chief!"
Tom and Roger broke into loud cheers and pounded each other on the back.
"Great Jupiter," gasped Roger, "I feel as though I've been sitting up
with a sick friend!"
"Your friend's going to make a full recovery," asserted Astro.
"Did you see Major Connel?" asked Tom.
"Yeah," said Astro. "I think he had a lot to do with it. I saw him
talking to the head maintenance officer."
"Well, now that we've sweated the old girl through the crisis," asserted
Roger, "how's about us concentrating on our vacation?"
"Great," agreed Tom. "This is your party, Astro. Lead the way."
The three cadets left the spaceport in a jet cab and rode happily into
the city of Venusport. As they slid along the superhighway toward the
first and largest of the Venusian cities, Astro pointed out the sights.
Like slim fingers of glass, the towering Titan crystal buildings of the
city arose before them, reaching above the misty atmosphere to catch the
sunlight.
"Where do we get our safari gear, Astro?" asked Roger.
"In the secondhand shops along Spaceman's Row," replied the big
Venusian. "We can get good equipment down there at half the price."
The cab turned abruptly off the main highway and began twisting through
a section of the city shunned by the average Venusian citizen.
Spaceman's Row had a long and unsavory history. For ten square blocks it
was the hide-out and refuge of the underworld of space. The grimy stores
and shadowy buildings supplied the needs of the countless shadowy
figures who lived beyond the law and moved as silently as ghosts.
Leaving the jet cab, the three cadets walked along the streets, past the
cheaply decorated store fronts and dingy hallways, until they finally
came to a corner shop showing the universal symbol of the pawnshop:
three golden balls. Tom and Roger looked at Astro who nodded, and they
stepped inside.
The interior of the shop was filthy. Rusted and worn space gear was
piled in heaps along the walls and on dusty counters. An old-fashioned
multiple neon light fixture cast an eerie blue glow over everything.
Roger grimaced as he looked around. "Are you sure we're in the right
place, Astro?"
Tom winked. Roger had a reputation for being fastidious.
"This is it," nodded Astro. "I know the old geezer that runs this
place. Nice guy. Name's Spike." He turned to the back of the shop and
bawled, "Hey, Spike! Customers!"
Out of the gloomy darkness a figure emerged slowly. "Yeah?" The man
stepped out into the pale light. He dragged one foot as he walked.
"Whaddaya want?"
Astro looked puzzled. "Where's Spike?" he asked. "Doesn't Spike Freyer
own this place?"
"He died a couple months ago. I bought him out just before." The
crippled man eyed the three cadets warily. "Wanna buy something?"
Astro looked shocked. "Spike, dead? What happened?"
"How should I know," snarled the little man. "I bought him out and he
died a few weeks later. Now, you wanna buy something or not?"
"We're looking for jungle gear," said Tom, puzzled by the man's strange
belligerence.
"Jungle gear?" the man's eyes widened. "Going hunting?"
"Yeah," supplied Roger. "We need complete outfits for three. But you
don't look like you have them. Let's go, fellas." He turned toward the
door, anxious to get out into the open air.
"Just a minute! Just a minute, Cadet," said the proprietor eagerly.
"I've got some fine hunting gear here! A little used, but you won't mind
that! Save you at least half on anything you'd buy up in the city." He
started toward the back of the store and then paused. "Where you going
hunting?"
"Why?" asked Tom.
"So I'll know what kind of gear you need. Light--heavy--kind of guns--"
"Jungle belt in the Eastern Hemisphere," supplied Astro.
"Big game?" asked the man.
"Yeah. Tyrannosaurus."
"Tyranno, eh?" nodded the little man. "Well, now, you'll need heavy
stuff for that. I'd say at least three heavy-duty paralo-ray pistols for
side arms, and three shock rifles. Then you'll need camping equipment,
synthetics, and all the rest." He counted the items off on grubby little
fingers.
"Let's take a look at the blasters," said Tom.
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"Right this way," said the man. He turned and limped to the rear of the
shop, followed by the three cadets. Opening a large cabinet, he pulled
out a heavy rifle, a shock gun that could knock out any living thing at
a range of a thousand yards, and stun the largest animal at twice the
distance.
"This blaster will knock the scales off any tyranno that you hit," he
said, handing the weapon over to Tom who expertly broke it down and
examined it.
As Tom checked the gun, the proprietor turned to the other cadets
casually.
"Why would three cadets want to go into that section of the jungle
belt?"
"We just told you," said Roger. "We're hunting tyranno."
"Uh, yes, of course." He turned away and pulled three heavy-duty
paralo-ray pistols out of the cabinet. "Now these ray guns are the
finest money can buy. Standard Solar Guard equipment...."
"Where did you get them?" demanded Roger sharply.
"Well, you know how it is, Cadet." The man laughed. "One way or another,
we get a lot of gear. A man is discharged from the Solar Guard and he
can keep his equipment, then he gets hard up for a few credits and so he
comes to me."
Tom closed the shock rifle and turned to Astro. "This gun is clean
enough. Think it can stop a tyranno, Astro?"
"Sure," said the big cadet confidently. "Easy."
"O.K.," announced Tom, turning back to the proprietor. "Give us the rest
of the stuff."
"And watch your addition when you make out the bill," said Roger
blandly. "We can add, too."
A half-hour later the three cadets stood in front of the shop with all
the gear they would need and hailed a jet cab. They stowed their newly
purchased equipment inside and started to climb in as Astro announced,
"Spaceport, driver!"
"Huh?" Roger paused. "Why back there?"
"How do you think we're going to get to the jungle belt?" asked Astro.
"Walk?"
"Well, no, but--"
"We have to rent a jet launch," said Astro. "Or try to buy a used one
that we can sell back again. Pile in, now!"
As the cab shot away from the curb with the three cadets, the proprietor
of the pawnshop stepped out of the doorway and watched it disappear, a
puzzled frown on his face. Quickly he re-entered the shop, and limping
to a small locker in the rear, opened it, exposing the screen of a
teleceiver. He flipped on the switch, tuned it carefully, and in a
moment the screen glowed to life.
"Hello, this is the shop," called the little man. "Lemme speak to Lactu!
This is urgent!" As he waited he stared out through the dirty window to
the street where the cadets had been a moment before and he smiled
thinly.
* * * * *
Arriving at the spaceport, Astro led his unit mates to a privately owned
repair hangar and dry dock where wealthier Venusian citizens kept their
space yachts, jet-powered craft, and small runabouts. Astro opened the
door to the office with a bang, and a young girl, operating an automatic
typewriter, looked up.
"Astro!" she cried. "How wonderful to see you!"
"Hiya, Agnes," replied Astro shyly. The big cadet was well known and
liked at the repair hangar. His early life had been spent in and around
the spaceport. First just listening to the stories of the older spacemen
and running errands for them, then lending a helping hand wherever he
could, and finally becoming a rigger and mechanic. This all preceded his
years as an enlisted spaceman and his eventual appointment to Space
Academy. His big heart and honesty, his wild enthusiasm for any kind of
rocket power had won him many friends.
"Is Mr. Keene around?" asked Astro.
"He's with a customer right now," replied Agnes. "He'll be out in a
minute." Her eyes swept past Astro to Tom and Roger who were standing in
the doorway. "Who are your friends?"
"Oh, excuse me!" mumbled Astro. "These are my unit mates, Cadet Corbett
and Cadet Manning."
Before Tom could acknowledge the introduction, Roger stepped in front of
him and sat on the edge of the desk. Looking into her eyes, he
announced, "Tell you what, Astro, you and Tom go hunting. I've found all
I could ever want to find right here. Tell me, my little space pet, are
you engaged for dinner tonight?"
Agnes looked back into his eyes innocently. "As a matter of fact I am."
Then, grinning mischievously, she added, "But don't let that stop you."
"I wouldn't let a tyranno stop me," bragged the blond-haired cadet.
"Tell me who your previous engagement is with and I'll get rid of him in
nothing flat!"
The girl giggled and looked past Roger. He turned to see a tall, solidly
built man in coveralls scowling at him.
"Friend of yours, Agnes?" the newcomer asked.
"Friend of Astro's, Roy," said Agnes. "Cadet Manning, I'd like you to
meet my brother, Roy Keene."
Roger jumped up and stuck out his hand. "Oh--er--ah--how do you do,
sir?"
"Quite well, Cadet," replied Keene gruffly, but with a slight twinkle in
his eye. He turned to Astro and gripped the big cadet's hand solidly.
"Well, Astro, it's good to see you. How's everything going at Space
Academy?"
"Swell, sir," replied Astro, and after introducing Tom and bringing
Keene up to date on his life history, he explained the purpose of their
visit. "We're on summer leave, sir, and we'd like to go hunting
tyrannosaurus. But what we need most right now is a jet boat. We'd like
to rent one, or if you've got something cheap, we'd buy it."
Keene rubbed his chin. "I'm afraid I can't help you, Astro. There's
nothing available in the shop right now. I'd lend you my Beetle, but one
of the boys has it out on a three-day repair job."
Astro's face fell. "Oh, that's too bad." He turned to Tom and Roger.
"Well, we could drop in from a stratosphere cruiser and then work our
way back to the nearest colony in three or four weeks."
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Keene. "I've got an idea." He turned and
called to a man standing on the other side of the hangar, studying a
radar scanner for private yachts. "Hey, Rex, mind coming over here a
minute."
The man walked over. He was in his late thirties, tall and
broad-shouldered, his hair was almost snow-white, contrasting sharply
with his deeply tanned and handsome features.
"This is the _Polaris_ unit from Space Academy, Rex," said Keene. "Boys,
meet Rex Sinclair." After the introductions were completed, Keene
explained the cadets' situation. Sinclair broke into a smile. "It would
be a pleasure to have you three boys as my guests!"
"Guests!" exclaimed Tom.
Sinclair nodded. "I have a plantation right on the edge of the jungle
belt. Things get pretty dull down there in the middle of the summer. I'd
be honored if you'd use my home as a base of operations while you hunt
for your tyrannosaurus. As a matter of fact, you'd be helping me out.
Those brutes destroy a lot of my crops and we have to go after them
every three or four years."
"Well, thanks," said Tom, "but we wouldn't want to impose. We'd be happy
to pay you--"
Sinclair held up his hand. "Wouldn't think of it. Do you have your
gear?"
"Yes, sir," replied Astro. "Arms, synthetics, the works. Everything but
transportation."
"Well, that's sitting out on the spaceport. That black space yacht on
Ramp Three." Sinclair smiled. "Get your gear aboard and make yourselves
at home. I'll be ready to blast off in half an hour."
Astro turned to Keene. "Thanks a lot, sir. It was swell of you to set us
up this way."
Keene slapped him on the shoulder. "Go on. Have a good time."
Shaking hands all around and saying quick good-bys, the three boys
hurried out to stow their gear aboard Sinclair's luxurious space yacht.
While Roger and Tom relaxed in the comfortable main cabin, Astro hurried
below to inspect the power deck.
Roger laughed as the big cadet disappeared down the hatch. "That guy
would rather play with a rocket tube than do anything else in the
universe!"
"Yes," said Tom. "He's a real lucky guy."
"How?"
"Ever meet anyone that didn't love that big hick?"
"Nope," said Roger with a sly grin. "And that goes for me too! But don't
you ever tell him!"
* * * * *
Major Connel had been waiting to see the Solar Alliance Delegate from
Venus for three hours. And Major Connel didn't like to wait for anyone
or anything. He had read every magazine in the lavish outer office atop
the Solar Guard Building in downtown Venusport, drunk ten glasses of
water, and was now wearing a path in the rug as he paced back and forth
in front of the secretary who watched him shyly.
The buzzer on the desk finally broke the silence and the girl answered
quickly as Connel stopped and glared at her expectantly. She listened
for a second, then replacing the receiver, turned to the seething Solar
Guard officer and smiled sweetly. "Delegate James will see you now,
Major."
"Thank you," said Connel gruffly, trying hard not to take his impatience
out on the pretty girl. He stepped toward an apparently solid wall that
suddenly slid back as he passed a light beam and entered the spacious
office of E. Philips James, Venusian Delegate to the Grand Council of
the Solar Alliance.
E. Philips James was a small man, with small hands that were moving
nervously all the time. His head was a little too large for his narrow
body that was clothed in the latest fashion, and his tiny black mustache
was carefully trimmed. As Connel stalked into the room, James bounced
out of his chair to meet him, smiling warmly.
"Major Connel! How delightful to see you again," he said, extending a
perfumed hand.
"You could have seen me a lot sooner," growled Connel. "I've been
sitting outside for over three hours!"
James lifted one eyebrow and sat down without making any comment. A true
diplomat, E. Philips James never said anything unless it was absolutely
necessary. And when he spoke, he never really said very much. He sat
back and waited patiently for Connel to cool off and get to the point of
his call.
In typical fashion, Connel jumped to it without any idle conversational
prologue. "I'm here on a security assignment. I need confidential
information."
"Just one moment, Major," said James. He flipped open his desk intercom
and called to his secretary outside. "Record this conversation, please."
"Record!" roared Connel. "I just told you this was secret!"
"It will be secret, Major," assured James softly. "The record will go
into the confidential files of the Alliance for future reference. A
precaution, Major. Standard procedure. Please go on."
Connel hesitated, and then, shrugging his shoulders, continued, "I want
to know everything you know about an organization here on Venus known as
the Venusian Nationalists."
James's expression changed slightly. "Specific information, Major? Or
just random bits of gossip?"
"No rocket wash, Mr. James. Information. Everything you know!"
"I don't know why you've come to me," replied James, visibly annoyed at
the directness of the rough spaceman. "I know really very little."
"I'm working under direct orders of Commander Walters," said Connel
grimly, "who is also a delegate to the Solar Council. His position as
head of the Solar Guard is equal to yours in every respect. This request
comes from his office, not out of my personal curiosity."
"Ah, yes, of course, Major," replied James. "Of course."
The delegate rose and walked over to the window, seemingly trying to
collect his thoughts. After a moment he turned back. "Major, the
organization you speak of is, so far as I know, an innocent group of
Venusian farmers and frontier people who meet regularly to exchange
information about crops, prices, and the latest farming methods. You
see, Major"--James's voice took on a slightly singsong tone, as though
he were making a speech--"Venus is a young planet, a vast new world,
with Venusport the only large metropolis and cultural center. Out in
the wilderness, there are great tracts of cultivated land that supply
food to the planets of the Solar Alliance and her satellites. We are
becoming the breadbasket of the universe, you might say." James smiled
at Connel, who did not return the smile.
"Great distances separate these plantations," continued James. "Life is
hard and lonely for the Venusian plantation owner. The Venusian
Nationalists are, to my knowledge, no more than a group of landowners
who have gotten together and formed a club, a fraternity. It's true they
speak the Venusian dialect, these groups have taken names from the old
Venusian explorers, but I hardly think it is worth while investigating."
"Do they have a headquarters?" Connel asked. "A central meeting place?"
"So far as I know, they don't. But Al Sharkey, the owner of the largest
plantation on Venus, is the president of the organization. He's a very
amiable fellow. Why don't you talk to him?"
"Al Sharkey, eh?" Connel made a mental note of the name.
"And there's Rex Sinclair, a rather stubborn individualist who wrote to
me recently complaining that he was being pressured into joining the
organization."
"What kind of pressure?" asked Connel sharply.
James held up his hand. "Don't get me wrong, Major. There was no
violence." The delegate suddenly became very businesslike. "I'm afraid
that's all the information I can give you, Major." He offered his hand.
"So nice to see you again. Please don't hesitate to call on me again for
any assistance you feel we can give you."
"Thank you, Mr. James," said Connel gruffly and left the office, a frown
creasing his forehead. Being a straightforward person himself, Major
Connel could not understand why anyone would hesitate about answering a
direct question. He didn't for a moment consider the delegate anything
but an intelligent man. It was the rocket wash that went with being a
diplomat that annoyed the ramrod spaceman. He shrugged it off. Perhaps
he would find out something from Al Sharkey or the other plantation
owner, Rex Sinclair.
When he crossed the slidewalk and waited at the curb for a jet cab,
Connel suddenly paused and looked around. He felt a strange excitement
in the air--a kind of tension. The faces of passing pedestrians seemed
strained, intense, their eyes were glowing, as though they all were in
on some huge secret. He saw groups of men and women sitting in open
sidewalk cafés, leaning over the table to talk to each other, their
voices low and guarded. Connel shivered. He didn't like it. Something
was happening on Venus and he had to find out what it was before it was
too late.
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