"Will this do, Manning?" asked Tom.
The three boys were in a secluded corner of the gym, a large hall on the
fourteenth floor of the dormitory building. At the far end of the gym, a
group of cadets had just finished a game of mercuryball and were
sauntering to the showers. When the last boy had disappeared, the floor
was deserted except for Tom, Roger and Astro.
"This will do fine, Corbett," said Roger.
The boxing ring had been taken down the week before to make room for
drills and the physical exercises of the Earthworms, so the three boys
had to improvise a ring. They dragged four large tumbling mats together,
spreading them side by side to form a square close to the size of an
actual ring. Astro went to one of the small lockers under the balcony
and returned with two pairs of boxing gloves.
"Here," offered Astro, "put these on."
"Gloves?" asked Roger, in a voice of mock surprise. "I thought this was
going to be a battle of blood."
"Any way you want it, Manning. Any way at all," said Tom.
"You're going to use gloves," growled Astro. "I don't want anybody
killed." He threw a pair at each of them.
"There'll be three-minute rounds, with one minute rest," he continued.
"Go off the mats and you'll be counted out. Usual rules otherwise. Any
questions?"
"Clear to me, Astro," said Tom.
"Let's go," nodded Roger.
"One more thing," said Astro. "I hope Tom pins your ears back, Manning.
But I'm going to see that both of you get a fair deal. So keep the
punches up--and fight it out. All right--time!"
The two boys moved carefully to the center of the improvised ring, their
guards up, while Astro stood off the edge of the mat and watched the
sweeping second hand of his wrist chronograph.
Shuffling forward Tom pushed out a probing left and then tried to cross
his right, but Manning stepped back easily, countering with a hard left
to Tom's heart.
"I forgot to tell you, Corbett," he called out, "I'm considered a
counterpuncher. I always--"
He was cut off with a sharp left to the face that snapped his head back,
and his lips curled in a smile of condescension.
"Good--very good, Corbett."
Then with lightning speed and the grace of a cat, Roger slipped inside
Tom's guard, punching hard and true. A left, a right and a left pounded
into Tom's mid-section, and as he gave way momentarily Tom's face
clouded over.
They circled. Tom kept leading with sharp lefts that popped in and out
like a piston, always connecting and keeping Roger off balance. Roger
concentrated on penetrating Tom's defense, methodically pounding his
ribs and heart and trying to wear him down.
"Time!" bawled Astro.
The two boys dropped their hands and turned back to their corners. They
squatted on the floor breathing slowly and easily. Astro stood in the
middle of the ring, glaring at both of them in turn and shaking his
head.
"Huh. I expected to see you two try to wallop each other into meteor
dust! Keep fighting like that and we'll be here all night!"
"Talk to Corbett," sneered Roger. "Looks like he's afraid to mix it up!"
"You fight your way, Roger, and I'll fight mine," replied Tom, his voice
cold and impersonal.
"Time!" suddenly yelled Astro and stepped back off the mat.
The two cadets jumped to their feet and met in the center of the ring
again. With a bull-like rush, Roger changed tactics and began to rain
punches all over Tom's body, but the curly-haired cadet stood his ground
coolly, picking some off in mid-air with his gloves and sliding under
the others. Then, as Roger slowed down, Tom took the offensive, popping
his left into his opponent's face steadily and methodically, while
keeping his right cocked for a clear opening to the chin.
Roger danced in and out, watching Tom's left as though it was a snake
and trying unsuccessfully to get through his guard. But the sharp lefts
kept snapping his head back and his face began to redden, not only from
the sting of the blows but with the mounting fury of his frustration.
Suddenly, as Astro raised his arm to call time for the end of the round,
Roger jumped forward and rained another series of harmless blows on
Tom's shoulders and arms. But then, as the big Venusian called time, he
stepped back and Tom dropped his guard. Instantly, Roger threw a right
with all his weight behind it. It landed flush on Tom's jaw and he
dropped, sprawling full length on the mats and lying still.
Smiling, Roger sauntered to his corner while Astro charged in and bent
over the fallen cadet.
"None of that, Astro!" snapped Roger. "Since when does a referee take
sides? Leave him alone! If he doesn't come out for the next round, you
have to count him out!"
The big Venusian straightened and walked menacingly toward Roger's
corner. "You hit him after I called time," he growled.
"So I have to take you on too, huh?" Roger jumped to his feet. "All
right--come on, you big blast of space gas!"
"Wait, Astro ... wait!"
Astro suddenly wheeled around to see Tom shaking his head weakly and
trying to rise up on his elbows. He rushed back to the fallen boy's
side.
Roger shouted at him angrily, "Leave him alone!"
"Ahhh--go blow your jets!" was Astro's snarling reply as he bent over
Tom, who was now sitting up. "Tom, are you O.K.?"
"Yeah--yeah," he replied weakly. "But stay out of this. You're the
referee. How much time left?"
"Twenty seconds," said Astro. "Roger smacked you after I called time."
"If he did, I didn't know a thing about it. I was out." Tom managed a
cold smile. "Nice punch, Roger."
"Ten seconds," said Astro, stepping back off the mat.
"Thanks for the compliment, Corbett." Roger eyed the other cadet
speculatively. "But are you sure you want to go on?"
"I was saved by the bell, wasn't I?"
"Yeah--sure--but if you'd rather quit--"
"Time!" cried Astro.
Tom rose to his feet--shook his head--and brought up his hands. He
wasn't a moment too soon. Roger had rushed across the mat, trying to
land another murderous right. Tom brought up his shoulder just in time,
slipping with the punch, and at the same time, bringing up a terrific
left to Roger's open mid-section. Manning let out a grunt and clinched.
Tom pursued his advantage, pumping rights and lefts to the body, and he
could feel the arrogant cadet weakening. Suddenly, Roger crowded in
close, wrestling Tom around so that Astro was on the opposite side of
the mat, then brought up his head under Tom's chin. The pop of Tom's
teeth could be heard all over the great hall. Roger quickly stepped
back, and back-pedaled until Astro called time.
"Thanks for teaching me that one, Roger. Learned two tricks from you
today," said Tom, breathing heavily, but with the same cold smile on his
face.
"That's all right, Corbett. Any time," said Manning.
"What tricks?" asked Astro. He looked suspiciously at Manning, who was
doubled over, finding it hard to breath.
"Nothing I can't handle in time," said Tom, looking at Roger.
"Time!" called Astro and stepped off the mat.
The two boys got to their feet slowly. The pace was beginning to show on
them and they boxed carefully.
The boys were perfectly matched, Tom constantly snapping Roger's head
back with the jolting left jabs and following to the head or heart with
a right cross. And Roger counterpunching, slipping hooks and body
punches in under Tom's long leads. It was a savage fight. The three
weeks of hard physical training had conditioned the boys perfectly.
At the end of the twelfth round, both boys showed many signs of wear.
Roger's cheeks were as red as the glow of a jet blast deflector from the
hundreds of lefts Tom had pumped into his face, while Tom's ribs and
mid-section were bruised and raw where Roger's punches had landed
successfully.
It couldn't last much longer, thought Astro, as he called time for the
beginning of the thirteenth round.
Roger quickened his pace, dancing in and out, trying to move in under
Tom's lefts, but suddenly Tom caught him with a right hand that was
cocked and ready. It staggered him and he fell back, covering up. Tom
pressed his advantage, showering rights and lefts everywhere he could
find an opening. In desperation, his knees buckling, Roger clinched
tightly, quickly brought up his open glove and gouged his thumb into
Tom's eyes. Tom pulled back, instinctively pawing at his eye with his
right glove. Roger, spotting the opening, took immediate advantage of
it, shooting a hard looping right that landed flush on Tom's jaw. Tom
went down.
Unaware of Roger's tactics, Astro jumped into the ring and his arm
pumped the deadly count.
"One--two--three--four--"
It was going to be tough if Roger won, Astro thought, as he counted.
"Five--six--"
Arrogant enough now, he would be impossible to live with.
"Seven--eight--"
Tom struggled up to a sitting position and stared angrily at his
opponent in the far corner.
"Nine--"
With one convulsive effort, Tom regained his feet. His left eye was
closed and swollen, his right bleary with fatigue. He wobbled drunkenly
on his feet. But he pressed forward. This was one fight he had to win.
Roger moved in for the finish. He slammed a left into Tom's shell,
trying to find an opening for the last finishing blow. But Tom remained
in his shell, forearms picking off the smashes that even hurt his arms,
as he waited for the strength to return to his legs and arms and his
head to clear. He knew that he couldn't go another round. He wouldn't be
able to see. It would have to be this round, and he had to _beat_ Roger.
_Not_ because he wanted to, but because Roger was a member of the unit.
And he had to keep the unit together.
He circled his unit-mate with care, shielding himself from the shower of
rights and lefts that rained around him. He waited--waited for the one
perfect opening.
"Come on! Open up and fight, Corbett," panted Roger.
Tom snapped his right in reply. He noticed that Roger moved in with a
hook every time he tried to cross his right. He waited--his legs began
to shake. Roger circled and Tom shot out the left again, dropped into a
semicrouch and feinted with the right cross. Roger moved in, cocking his
fist for the left hook and Tom was ready for him. He threw the right,
threw it with every ounce of strength left in his body. Roger was caught
moving in and took the blow flush on the chin. He stopped as if
poleaxed. His eyes turned glassy and then he dropped to the mat. He was
out cold.
Astro didn't even bother to count.
Tom squatted on the mat beside Roger and rubbed the blond head with his
glove.
"Get some water, Astro," he said, gasping for breath. "I'm glad I don't
have to fight this guy again. And I'll tell you something else--"
"What?" asked Astro.
"Anybody that wants to win as much as this guy does, is going to win,
and I want to have him on my side!"
Astro merely grunted as he turned toward the water cooler.
"Maybe," he called back. "But he ought to read a book of rules first!"
When he came back to the mat with the water, Roger was sitting up,
biting the knots of the laces on his gloves. Tom helped him, and when
the soggy leather was finally discarded, he stuck out his hand. "Well,
Roger, I'm ready to forget everything we've said and start all over
again."
Roger looked at the extended hand for a moment, his eyes blank and
expressionless. Then, with a quick movement, he slapped it away and
lurched to his feet.
"Go blow your jets," he snarled, and turning his back on them, stumbled
across the gym.
Tom watched him go, bewilderment and pain mirrored on his face.
"I thought sure this would work, Astro," he sighed. "I thought he'd come
to his senses if--"
"Nothing'll make that space creep come to his senses," Astro broke in
disgustedly. "At least, nothing short of an atomic war head! Come on.
Let's get you cleaned up!"
Putting his arm around Tom's shoulder, the big Venusian led him across
the floor of the deserted gym, and as they disappeared through the
automatic sliding doors, a tall figure in the uniform of the Solar Guard
stepped out of the shadows on the balcony above. It was Captain Strong.
He stood silently at the rail, looking down at the mats and the soggy
discarded boxing gloves. Tom had won the fight, he thought, but he had
lost the war. The unit was now farther apart than it had ever been.
[Illustration]