"Sound off, Corbett!"
Seated in the pilot's chair on the control deck of the rocket cruiser
_Polaris_, Major Connel bellowed the order into the intercom as he
scanned the many dials on the huge control board.
"One minute to touchdown, sir," reported Tom over the intercom from the
radar bridge of the _Polaris_.
"One minute to touchdown," repeated Connel. "Right!"
Connel reached for the switches and levers that would bring the giant
ship to rest on the red planet of Mars. Even after his many years in the
Solar Guard and thousands of space flights, landing a rocket ship was
still a thrill to the veteran spaceman, and knowing that he had a good
man on the radar deck made it even more exciting and demanding of his
skill.
"Decelerate!" yelled Tom over the intercom.
Connel shut down the main drive rockets and at the same time opened the
nose braking rockets. "Braking rockets on!" he yelled.
"One thousand feet to touchdown," said Tom.
Connel watched the dials spinning before him.
"Seven hundred and fifty feet to touchdown," reported Tom.
"Keep counting, Corbett!" yelled Connel enthusiastically.
"Five hundred feet!"
Connel quickly cut back the nose braking rockets and again opened the
main drive rockets as the ship plummeted tailfirst toward the surface of
Mars.
"Two hundred feet!" came the warning call over the intercom.
Connel glanced up at the teleceiver screen over his head that showed the
spaceport below. The concrete runways and platforms were rushing up to
meet the giant ship. He opened the main rockets full.
"Seventy-five feet! Stand by!" yelled Tom.
Connel's hands flashed over the control panel of the ship, snapping
switches, flipping levers, and turning dials in an effort to bring the
ship to a smooth landing. There was a sudden roar of rockets and then a
gentle bump.
"Touchdown!" roared Connel.
He flipped off the main switches on the control board, spun around in
his chair, and noted the time on the astral chronometer. "Touchdown
Marsport, 2117!" he announced.
Tom clambered down the ladder from the radar bridge and immediately
noted the time of arrival in the logbook. He turned around and saluted
the major sharply. "All secure, sir," he said.
"Congratulations on a smooth trip, Corbett," Connel said. "And thanks
for letting me take her in. I know it's unusual to have the senior
officer take over the ship, but once in a while I get the urge to put my
hands on those controls and--well--" Connel paused, fumbling for words.
Tom was so startled by the major's stumbling attempt to explain his
feelings, he felt himself blush. He had always suspected the major of
being a rocket jockey at heart and now he was certain. But he would
never tell anyone, not even Roger and Astro about this incident. It was
something he knew that he himself would feel if he ever got to be as old
as Major Connel and had reached his position. There passed between the
officer and the cadet a sudden feeling of mutual understanding.
"I understand, sir," said Tom quietly.
"Dismissed!" roared Connel, recovering his composure again, and very
conscious that he had exposed his innermost feelings to the cadet. But
he didn't mind too much. Tom Corbett had proven beyond the shadow of a
doubt that he had the stuff true spacemen are made of, and because of
this, Connel could feel as close to him as a man near his own age. There
was never a breed of men who were drawn so close together in their love
of work as the spacemen and there was no need for further explanation.
When they had climbed out of the _Polaris_ and stepped on the landing
ramp at Marsport, Connel and Tom saw that the ground crews were already
checking over the afterburners and exhaust tubes of the ship. A young
Solar Guard lieutenant, wearing a decidedly greasy uniform, snapped to
attention before Connel.
"Lieutenant Slick at your service, sir," he announced.
"Lieutenant," bawled Connel, "your uniform is filthy!"
"Yes, sir, I know it is, sir," replied the young officer. "But I was
overhauling a firing unit this morning, sir, and I guess I got a little
dirty."
"That is enlisted man's work, sir," stated Connel. "You are an officer."
"I know, sir, but--" Slick stammered. "Well, sir, once in a while I like
to do it myself."
Tom turned away, hiding a smile. The young officer was expressing the
same feelings Connel himself had uttered just a few minutes before.
Connel cleared his throat, and with a sidelong glance at Tom and a wink,
dismissed the young officer, ordering him to have a jet car sent for
them right away.
"Take mine, sir," said the young officer, happy to have escaped Connel's
wrath so easily. It was not too long ago that he had been a cadet at the
Academy and he remembered all too clearly what Connel could do when he
was mad.
When the jet car was brought up, Tom slipped behind the wheel, and with
Connel seated beside him, he sent the sleek little vehicle roaring
across the spaceport to the main administration building.
Inside the gleaming crystal building, Connel and Tom were escorted by a
Space Marine guard to the office of the spaceport commander, Captain Jim
Arnold. He and Connel knew each other well, and after quick greetings
and the introduction of the young cadet, Connel asked for the latest
reports on the projectile receivers.
"Lou, I've got good news for you," announced Arnold. "We've completed
the receiver ramps for the test. As soon as your ship is ready to fire
her cargo projectiles, we can receive them."
Connel's face showed the surprise he felt. "Why, Jim, that's the most
amazing news I've ever heard!" he exclaimed. "How did you do it?"
"Through hard work," replied Arnold, "and the efforts of a young officer
named Slick. He handled the whole thing."
"Slick!" exclaimed Connel. "I just bawled him out for wearing a dirty
uniform."
"He's responsible for our success," asserted Arnold. "And what's more,
those receivers can be taken apart and reassembled again in less than
ten minutes."
"Incredible," gasped Connel. "I've got to see those things right away.
Come along, Corbett."
Tom followed the major out of the office and back to the jet car. They
were about to drive off to the opposite end of the field when they heard
someone shout to them. Tom stopped the speedy little car and Connel
turned around to see who had called them.
Carter Devers rushed up and greeted the Solar Guard officer
enthusiastically. "Major, this is a surprise."
"Hello, Carter. What are you doing here?" Connel asked bluntly.
"Had some business here on Mars," said Devers. "I've finished and I'm
on my way back to Earth. You wouldn't, by any chance, be going back
soon, would you? I saw the Solar Guard cruiser come in and one of the
attendants told me that they were preparing it for immediate
blast-off--"
"Of course, Carter," Connel said briskly. "Get in. We're just going over
to inspect the receivers and then we'll be heading back."
Devers jumped into the jet car and Tom headed across the broad expanse
of the spaceport.
Connel turned to Devers and said enthusiastically, "Can you imagine,
Devers? Some young officer here at Marsport has worked out a way to
assemble and transport the receivers in a fantastically small amount of
time."
"That's amazing," said Devers. "I'd like very much to see them." He
looked at Tom and said, "Incidentally, who is your young friend?"
"Oh, sorry," replied Connel. "This is Cadet Corbett of the _Polaris_
unit. No doubt you've heard of them. He and his unit mates manage to get
into more trouble than all the monkeys in the Venusian jungle."
Carter laughed. "I've known Lou Connel long enough to know that when he
says something like that about you, son, he thinks very highly of you."
"Thank you, sir," replied Tom, not knowing what else to say.
While Connel and Devers talked of the problems surrounding the
projectile operation, Tom concentrated on his driving. He was following
directions given him by Jim Arnold to reach the testing grounds and this
made it necessary for Tom to drive right through the center of the
spaceport, weaving in and out of the dozens of spaceships parked on the
concrete ramps.
Tom swept past them, driving expertly, heading toward a group of
concrete blockhouses enclosed by a fence which he knew would be the
testing area. Beside the fence, a short, stubby-nosed spaceship was
loading cargo, and beneath the vessel, two huge jet trucks were backing
into position. Tom steered the car up to the gate and stopped at the
signal of an armed guard. Connel, Devers, and Tom stepped out of the car
and waited for a minute, and then young Lieutenant Slick appeared,
wearing a clean uniform.
Slick checked their names off against a list he carried and then drew
Connel to one side. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, just out of Tom and
Dever's hearing, "I can't allow the cadet inside this area."
"Why not?" asked Connel. "I'll vouch for him."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Slick. "Those are my orders. I can let you and
Mr. Devers in, but not Cadet Corbett." He showed Connel a list of names:
Connel, Strong, Hemmingwell, Walters, Devers, and Barret. They were the
only names on it.
Connel nodded. "I understand," he said and turned to Tom. "You'll have
to stay here, Corbett," he called. "Wait for me in the car."
"Yes, sir," replied Tom and hopped back in the jet.
He backed out through the gate, pulling up alongside the fence near the
stubby-nosed freighter. When Connel and Devers, escorted by Slick, had
disappeared behind a blockhouse inside the restricted area, Tom
casually walked over to watch the loading operation of the spaceship. A
few of the workers stopped when he walked up, and recognizing his cadet
uniform, greeted him warmly.
"Space Cadet, eh?" said one of the men. "Sure wish I could get my boy in
the Academy."
"Me too," said another man. "All I hear from morning until night is
Space Academy--Space Academy."
Tom smiled his appreciation of their admiration. While he answered their
questions about the training school of the Solar Guard, they continued
working. After a while the conversation turned to the restricted area
behind the fence.
"Some pretty important work going on in there," said one of the men.
"But how come they wouldn't let you go in?"
"I haven't been cleared by security," replied Tom. "It's top secret."
"Secret," said a man who had just joined the group. Tom had noticed him
before, climbing out of one of the huge jet trucks parked near the gate.
"Why, there ain't nothing secret about what's going on in there," he
continued.
"Why do you say that?" asked Tom alertly.
"Why, we all know about it, Cadet," said one of the first men Tom had
spoken to. "They're building receivers for cargo projectiles."
Tom gulped in surprise. "But how did you know?" he asked.
"Why, it's the only thing we've been talking about down at the garage
and at Sloppy Sam's, the jet-truckers hangout," replied the trucker.
"If this thing works, surface transportation will be finished."
"That's right," asserted another worker. "The whole industry will be
wiped out overnight. Nobody will have anything trucked any more.
Cargo'll be loaded into a projectile and shot off into space to a
passing freighter. Then the freighter carries it to its destination and
shoots it back down to a receiver."
"But how could you know all this?" asked Tom. "It is one of the Solar
Guard's most closely guarded secrets."
"It's all over Mars," declared the truck driver with a derisive laugh.
"Why, everybody knows it."
Suddenly one of the men yelled and pointed toward the fence. The jet
truck parked near the gate was rolling forward slowly. As Tom and the
men watched in horror, the giant vehicle crashed through the fence and
rolled into the restricted area, picking up speed.
In a flash Tom was inside the jet car, driving right through the hole in
the fence and speeding after the huge machine. Around him, guards were
running after the truck, shouting frantic warnings. Far ahead of him,
Tom saw Major Connel and Devers standing near several receivers lined up
outside a blockhouse. The truck was rolling straight toward them.
Hearing the shouts of alarm, the two men turned and saw their danger.
Devers immediately jumped into the safety of the blockhouse, but Connel
stumbled and fell heavily. Tom's blood ran cold. He saw that the major
had struck his head against one of the receivers and he lay on the
ground, dazed and unable to move.
Tom jammed the accelerator of the tiny jet car to the floor and shot
ahead like a rocket. He was alongside the truck now, but the distance
between the huge machine and Connel was narrowing rapidly. Tom clenched
his teeth and urged the little car on faster. He knew that there was not
enough time for him to jump into the truck and pull the brake. There
was only one thing he could do.
Regaining his senses, Connel tried to crawl to safety, but there was no
time. He braced himself for what he knew would be instant death, and
then to his amazement he saw Tom's jet car swerve sharply in front of
the runaway truck.
[Illustration: _Tom swerved the jet car in front of the runaway truck_]
There was a wrenching crash of metal, a shrill scream of skidding tires,
climaxed by a thunderous roar. After that, deathly silence.
For a second Connel stood frozen in horror, staring at the overturned
truck and the tangle of twisted metal that was the jet car. Then he
lunged forward with a frantic cry.
"Corbett! Corbett!"
[Illustration]