"Well, Steve, how's everything going?"
Captain Steve Strong didn't answer right away. He returned the salute of
a Space Cadet passing on the opposite slidewalk and then faced Commander
Walters who stood beside him, eyeing him quizzically.
"Things are shaping up pretty well, Commander," he replied, finally,
with an air of unconcern.
"The Earthworm units buckling down to business?" Commander Walters'
voice matched Strong's in nonchalance.
"Yes, I'd say so, sir. Speaking generally, of course." Strong felt the
back of his neck begin to flush as Walters kept eyeing him.
"And--speaking specifically, Steve?"
"Why--ah--what do you mean, sir?"
"Let's stop fencing with each other, Steve." Walters spoke kindly but
firmly. "What about Manning and Unit 42-D? Are those boys learning to
work together or not? And I want facts, not hopes!"
Strong hesitated, trying to word his reply. In these weeks that had
followed Tom's fight with Roger in the gym, there had been no further
incidents of open warfare. Roger's attitude, once openly defiant, had
now subsided into a stream of never-ending sarcasm. The sting had been
taken out of his attack and he seemed satisfied merely to annoy. Astro
had withdrawn into a shell, refusing to allow Roger to bother him and
only an occasional rumble of anger indicated his true feelings toward
his troublesome unit-mate. Tom maintained his role of peacemaker and
daily, in many ways, showed his capacity for leadership by steering his
unit-mates away from any storm-provoking activities.
Strong finally broke the silence. "It's difficult to answer that
question with facts, Commander Walters."
"Why?" insisted Walters.
"Well, nothing's really happened," answered Steve.
"You mean, nothing since the fight in the gym?"
"Oh--" Strong flushed. "You know about that?"
Commander Walters smiled. "Black eyes and faces that looked like raw
beef don't go unnoticed, Steve."
"Uhh--no, sir," was Strong's lame reply.
"What I want to know is," pursued Walters, "did the fight prove
anything? Did the boys get it out of their systems and are they
concentrating on becoming a unit?"
"Right now, Commander, they're concentrating on passing their manuals.
They realize that they have to work together to get through this series
of tests. Why, Dr. Dale told me the other day that she's sure Tom's been
giving Roger a few pointers on control-deck operation. And one night I
found Manning giving Astro a lecture in compression ratios. Of course,
Manning's way of talking is a way that would confuse the Venusian more
than it would help him, but at least they weren't snarling at each
other."
"Hmm," Walters nodded. "Sounds hopeful, but still not conclusive. After
all, they have to help each other in the manuals. If one member of the
unit fails, it will reflect on the marks of the other two and they might
be washed out too. Even the deadliest enemies will unite to save their
lives."
"Perhaps, sir," replied Strong. "But we're not dealing with deadly
enemies now. These are three boys, with three distinct personalities
who've been lumped together in strange surroundings. It takes time and
patience to make a team that will last for years."
"You may have the patience, Steve, but the Academy hasn't the time."
Commander Walters was suddenly curt. "When does Unit 42-D take its
manuals?"
"This afternoon, sir," replied Strong. "I'm on my way over to the
examination hall right now."
"Very well. I won't take any action yet. I'll wait for the results of
the tests. Perhaps they will solve both our problems. See you later,
Steve." Turning abruptly, Commander Walters stepped off the slidewalk
onto the steps of the Administration Building and rapidly disappeared
from view.
Left alone, Strong pondered the commander's parting statement. The
implication was clear. If the unit failed to make a grade high enough to
warrant the trouble it took keeping it together, it would be broken up.
Or even worse, one or more of the boys would be dismissed from the
Academy.
A few minutes later Strong arrived in the examination hall, a large,
barren room with a small door in each of the three walls other than the
one containing the entrance. Tom Corbett was waiting in the center of
the hall and saluted smartly as Strong approached.
"Cadet Corbett reporting for manual examination, sir!"
"Stand easy, Corbett," replied Strong, returning the salute. "This is
going to be a rough one. Are you fully prepared?"
"I believe so, sir." Tom's voice wasn't too steady.
A fleeting smile passed over Strong's lips, then he continued. "You'll
take the control-deck examination first. Manning will be next on the
radar bridge and Astro last on the power deck."
"They'll be here according to schedule, sir."
"Very well. Follow me."
Strong walked quickly to the small door in the left wall, Tom staying a
respectful step behind. When they reached the door, the officer pressed
a button in the wall beside it and the door slid open.
"All right, Corbett. Inside." Strong nodded toward the interior of the
room.
The boy stepped in quickly, then stopped in amazement. All around him
was a maze of instruments and controls. And in the center, twin pilot's
chairs.
"Captain Strong!" Tom was so surprised that he could hardly get the
words out. "It's--it's a real control deck!"
Strong smiled. "As real as we can make it, Corbett, without allowing the
building to blast off." He gestured toward the pilot's chairs. "Take
your place and strap in."
"Yes, sir." His eyes still wide with wonder, Tom stepped over to the
indicated chair and Strong followed him, leaning casually against the
other.
He watched the young cadet nervously adjust his seat strap and put a
comforting hand on his shoulder. "Nervous, Corbett?"
"Yes, sir--just a little," replied Tom.
"Don't worry," said Strong. "You should have seen the way I came into
this room fifteen years ago. My cadet officer had to help me into the
control pilot's seat."
Tom managed a fleeting smile.
"Now, Corbett"--Strong's voice became businesslike--"as you know, these
manual tests are the last tests before actually blasting off. In the
past weeks, you cadets have been subjected to every possible
examination, to discover any flaw in your work that might later crop up
in space. This manual operations test of the control board, like
Manning's on the radar bridge and Astro's on the power deck, is designed
to test you under simulated space conditions. If you pass this test,
your next step is real space."
"Yes, sir."
"I warn you, it isn't easy. And if you fail, you personally will wash
out, and if other members of the unit do not get a high enough mark to
average out to a passing grade for all of you, you fail as a unit."
"I understand, sir," said Tom.
"All right, then we'll begin. Your crew is aboard, the air lock is
closed. What is the first thing you do?"
"Adjust the air circulating system to ensure standard Earth conditions."
"How do you do that?"
"By pressing this button which will activate the servo units. They
automatically keep the circulating pumps in operation, based on
thermostatic readings from the main gauge." Tom pointed to a black clock
face, with a luminous white hand and numbers.
"All right, carry on," said Strong.
Tom reached over the huge control board that extended around him for
some two feet on three sides. He placed a nervous finger on a small
button, waited for the gauge below to register with a swing of the hand,
and then released it. "All pressures steady, sir."
"What next?"
"Check the crew, sir--all departments--" replied Tom.
"Carry on," said Strong.
Tom reached out and pulled a microphone toward him.
"All hands! Station check!" said Tom, and then was startled to hear a
metallic voice answer him.
"Power deck, ready for blast-off!" And then another voice: "Radar deck,
ready for blast-off!"
Tom leaned back in the pilot's seat and turned to the captain. "All
stations ready, sir."
"Good! What next?" asked Strong.
"Ask spaceport tower for blast-off clearance--"
Strong nodded. Tom turned back to the microphone, and without looking,
punched a button in front of him.
"Rocket cruiser--" He paused and turned back to Strong. "What name do I
give, sir?"
Strong smiled. "_Noah's Ark_--"
"Rocket cruiser _Noah's Ark_ to spaceport control! Request blast-off
clearance and orbit."
Once again a thin metallic voice answered him and gave the necessary
instructions.
On and on, through every possible command, condition or decision that
would be placed in front of him, Tom guided his imaginary ship on its
imaginary flight through space. For two hours he pushed buttons, snapped
switches and jockeyed controls. He gave orders and received them from
the thin metallic voices. They answered him with such accuracy, and
sometimes with seeming hesitation, that Tom found it difficult to
believe that they were only electronically controlled recording devices.
Once, when supposedly blasting through space at three-quarters space
speed, he received a warning from the radar bridge of an approaching
asteroid. He asked for a course change, but in reply received only
static. Believing the recording to have broken down, he turned
inquiringly to Captain Strong, but received only a blank stare in
return. Tom hesitated for a split second, then turned back to the
controls. He quickly flipped the teleceiver button on and began plotting
the course of the approaching asteroid, ignoring for the moment his
other duties on the control deck. When he had finished, he gave the
course shift to the power deck and ordered a blast on the starboard jet.
He waited for the course change, saw it register on the gauges in front
of him, then continued his work.
Strong suddenly leaned over and clapped him on the back
enthusiastically.
"Good work, Corbett. That broken recording was put there intentionally
to trap you. Not one cadet in twenty would have had the presence of mind
you showed in plotting the course of that asteroid yourself."
"Thank you, sir," stammered Tom.
"That's all--the test is over. Return to your quarters." He came over
and laid a hand on Tom's shoulder. "And don't worry, Corbett. While it
isn't customary to tell a cadet, I think you deserve it. You've passed
with a perfect score!"
"I have, sir? You mean--_I really passed?_"
"Next step is Manning," said Strong. "You've done as much as one cadet
can do."
"Thank you, sir"--Tom could only repeat it over and over--"thank you,
sir--thank you."
Dazed, he saluted his superior and turned to the door. Two hours in the
pilot's chair had made him dizzy. But he was happy.
Five minutes later he slammed back the sliding door and entered the
quarters of 42-D with a lusty shout.
"Meet Space Cadet Corbett--an Earthworm who's just passed his
control-deck manual operations exam!"
Astro looked up from a book of tables on astrogation and gave Tom a wan
smile.
"Congratulations, Tom," he said, and turned back to his book, adding
bitterly, "but if I don't get these tables down by this afternoon for my
power-deck manual, you're sunk."
"Say--what's going on here?" asked Tom. "Where's Roger? Didn't he help
you with them?"
"He left. Said he had to see someone before taking his radar-bridge
manual. He helped me a little. But when I'd ask him a question, he'd
just rattle the answer off so fast--well, I just couldn't follow him."
Suddenly slamming the book shut, he got up. "Me and these tables"--he
indicated the book--"just don't mix!"
"What's the trouble?"
"Ah--I can get the easy ones about astrogation. They're simple. But it's
the ones where I have to _combine_ it with the power deck."
"Well--I mean--what specifically?" asked Tom softly.
"For instance, I've got to find the ratio for compression on the main
firing tubes, using a given amount of fuel, heading for a given
destination, and taking a given time for the passage."
"But that's control-deck operations--as well as astrogation and power!"
exclaimed Tom.
"Yeah--I know," answered Astro, "but I've still got to be able to do it.
If anything happened to you two guys and I didn't know how to get you
home, then what?"
Tom hesitated. Astro was right. Each member of the unit had to depend on
the other in any emergency. And if one of them failed...? Tom saw why
the ground manuals were so important now.
"Look," offered Tom. "Suppose we go over the whole thing again together.
Maybe you're fouled up on the basic concept."
Tom grabbed a chair, hitched it close to the desk and pulled Astro down
beside him. He opened the book and began studying the problem.
"Now look--you have twenty-two tons of fuel--and considering the
position of your ship in space--"
As the two boys, their shoulders hunched over the table, began reviewing
the table of ratios, across the quadrangle in the examination hall
Roger Manning stood in a replica of a rocket ship's radar bridge and
faced Captain Strong.
"Cadet Manning reporting for manual examination, sir." Roger brought up
his arm in a crisp salute to Captain Strong, who returned it casually.
"Stand easy, Manning," replied Strong. "Do you recognize this room?"
"Yes, sir. It's a mock-up of a radar bridge."
"A workable mock-up, cadet!" Strong was vaguely irritated by Roger's
nonchalance in accepting a situation that Tom had marveled at. "You will
take your manuals here!"
"Yes, sir."
"On these tests you will be timed for both efficiency and speed and
you'll use all the tables, charts and astrogation equipment that you'd
find in a spaceship. Your problems are purely mathematical. There are no
decisions to make. Just use your head."
Strong handed Roger several sheets of paper containing written problems.
Roger shuffled them around in his fingers, giving each a quick glance.
"You may begin any time you are ready, Manning," said Strong.
"I'm ready now, sir," replied Roger calmly. He turned to the swivel
chair located between the huge communications board, the adjustable
chart table and the astrogation prism. Directly in front of him was the
huge radar scanner, and to one side and overhead was a tube mounted on a
swivel joint that looked like a small telescope, but which was actually
an astrogation prism for taking sights on the celestial bodies in space.
Roger concentrated on the first problem.
" ... you are now in the northwest quadrant of Mars, chart M, area
twenty-eight. You have been notified by the control deck that it has
been necessary to jettison three quarters of your fuel supply. For the
last five hundred and seventy-nine seconds you have been blasting at
one-quarter space speed. The four main drive rockets were cut out at
thirty-second intervals. Making adjustment for degree of slip on each
successive rocket cutout, find present position by using cross-fix with
Regulus as your starboard fix, Alpha Centauri as your port fix."
Suddenly a bell began to ring in front of Roger. Without hesitation he
adjusted a dial that brought the radar scanner into focus. When the
screen remained blank, he made a second adjustment, and then a third and
fourth, until the bright white flash of a meteor was seen on the
scanner. He quickly grabbed two knobs, one in each hand, and twisted
them to move two thin, plotting lines, one horizontal and one vertical,
across the surface of the scanner. Setting the vertical line, he
fingered a tabulating machine with his right hand, as he adjusted the
second line with his left, thus cross-fixing the meteor. Then he turned
his whole attention to the tabulator, ripped off the answer with
lightning moves of his fingers and began talking rapidly into the
microphone.
"Radar bridge to control deck! Alien body bearing zero-one-five,
one-point-seven degrees over plane of the ecliptic. On intersecting
orbit. Change course two degrees, hold for fifteen seconds, then resume
original heading. Will compensate for change nearer destination!"
Roger watched the scanner a moment longer. When the rumbling blast of
the steering jets sounded in the chamber and the meteor flash shifted on
the scanner screen, he returned to the problem in his hand.
Seven minutes later he turned to Strong and handed him the answer.
"Present position by dead reckoning is northwest quadrant of Mars,
chart O, area thirty-nine, sir," he announced confidently.
[Illustration: "_I was unable to get a sight on Alpha Centauri_"]
Strong tried to mask his surprise, but a lifted eyebrow gave him away.
"And how did you arrive at this conclusion, Manning?"
"I was unable to get a sight on Alpha Centauri due to the present
position of Jupiter, sir," replied Roger easily. "So I took a fix on
Earth, allowed for its rotational speed around the sun and took the
cross-fix with Regulus as ordered in the problem. Of course, I included
all the other factors of the speed and heading of our ship. That was
routine."
Strong accepted the answer with a curt nod, motioning for Roger to
continue. It would not do, thought Strong, to let Manning know that he
was the first cadet in thirty-nine years to make the correct selection
of Earth in working up the fix with Regulus, and still have the presence
of mind to plot a meteor without so much as a half-degree error. Of
course the problem varied with each cadet, but it remained essentially
the same.
"Seven-and-a-half minutes. Commander Walters will be surprised, to say
the least," thought Steve.
Forty-five minutes later, Roger, as unruffled as if he had been sitting
listening to a lecture from a sound slide, handed in the rest of his
papers, executed a sharp salute and walked out.
"Two down and one to go," thought Strong, and the toughest one of them
all coming up. Astro. The big Venusian was unable to understand anything
that couldn't be turned with a wrench. The only thing that would prevent
Unit 42-D from taking Academy unit honors over Unit 77-K, the unit
assigned to Lieutenant Wolcheck, would be Astro. While none of the
members of the other units could come up to the individual brilliance of
Corbett or Manning, they worked together as a unit, helping one another.
They might make a higher unit rating, simply because they were better
balanced.
He shrugged his shoulders and collected the papers. It was as much
torture for him, as it was for any cadet, he thought, and turned to the
door. "All right, Astro," he said to himself, "in ten minutes it'll be
your turn and I'm going to make it tough!"
Back in the quarters of Unit 42-D, Tom and Astro still pored over the
books and papers on the desk.
"Let's try again, Astro," sighed Tom as he hitched his chair closer to
the desk. "You've got thirty tons of fuel--you want to find the
compression ratio of the number-one firing-tube chamber--so what do you
do?"
"Start up the auxiliary, burn a little of the stuff and judge what it'll
be," the big cadet replied. "That's the way I did it on the space
freighters."
"But you're not on a space freighter now!" exclaimed Tom. "You've got to
do things the way they want it done here at the Academy. By the book!
These tables have been figured out by great minds to help you, and you
just want to burn a little of the stuff and guess at what it'll be!" Tom
threw up his hands in disgust.
"Seems to me I heard of an old saying back in the teen centuries about
leading a horse to water, but not being able to make him drink!" drawled
Roger from the doorway. He strolled in and kicked at the crumpled sheets
of paper that littered the floor, stark evidence of Tom's efforts with
Astro.
"All right, wise guy," said Tom, "suppose you explain it to him!"
"No can do," replied Roger. "I tried. I explained it to him twenty times
this morning while you were taking your control-deck manual." He tapped
his head delicately with his forefinger. "Can't get through--too thick!"
Astro turned to the window to hide the mist in his eyes.
"Lay off, Roger," snapped Tom. He got up and walked over to the big
cadet. "Come on, Astro, we haven't got much time. You're due in the
examination hall in a few minutes."
"It's no good, Tom, I just can't understand that stuff." Astro turned
and faced his unit-mates, his voice charged with sudden emotion. "Just
fifteen minutes on the power deck of anything with rockets in her and
I'll run her from here to the next galaxy. I--I can't explain it, but
when I look at those motors, I can read 'em like you read an astrogation
chart, Roger, or you the gauges on the control deck, Tom. But I just
can't get those ratios out of a book. I gotta put my hands on those
motors--touch 'em--I mean really _touch 'em_--then I know what to do!"
As suddenly as he had started, he stopped and turned, leaving Tom and
Roger staring at him, startled by this unusual outburst.
"Cadets--stand _to!_" roared a voice from the doorway.
The three cadets snapped to attention and faced the entrance.
"Take it easy, Earthworms!" said Tony Richards. A tall cadet with
closely cut black hair and a lazy, smiling face stood in the doorway.
"Lay off, Richards," said Tom. "We haven't time for gags now. Astro's
going to take his power-deck manual in a few minutes and we're cramming
with him."
"O.K.--O.K.--don't blow your jets," said Richards. "I just wanted to see
if there were any bets on which unit would cop honors in the manuals
this afternoon."
"I suppose you think your Unit 77-K will finish on top?" drawled Roger.
"I'd like to bet all the galley demerits we have in 77-K against yours."
"With Astro on our team?" complained Roger.
"What's the matter with Astro?" asked Richards. "From what I hear, he's
hot stuff!" It wasn't a compliment, but a sharp dig made with a sly
smile. Astro balled his huge hands into fists.
"Astro," said Roger, "is the type that can smell out trouble on any
power deck. But today he came down with a cold. No, I'm afraid it's no
bet, Richards."
"I'll give you two to one," Richards offered.
"Nothing doing," replied Roger. "Not even at five to one. Not with
Astro."
Richards grinned, nodded and disappeared.
Roger turned to face the hard stare of Tom.
"That was the dirtiest sellout I've ever heard, Manning," Tom growled.
"Sorry, Corbett," said Roger. "I only bet on sure things."
"That's O.K. with me, Manning," said Astro, "but I'm afraid you sold
yourself a hot rocket, because I'm going to pass!"
"Who are you kidding?" Roger laughed and sprawled on his bunk.
Astro took a quick step forward, his fists clenched, his face a mask of
burning anger, but Tom quickly jumped in front of him.
"You'll be late for the exam, Astro!" he shouted. "Get going or it'll
count against your mark!"
"Huh. What's a few points more or less when you're going to fail
anyway," snorted Roger from the bunk.
Again, Astro started to lunge forward and Tom braced himself against the
Venusian's charge, but suddenly the burly cadet stopped. Disengaging
Tom's restraining arms, he spoke coldly to the sneering boy on the bed.
"I'm going to pass the exam, Manning. Get that? I'm going to pass and
then come back and beat your head off!" Turning on his heel, he stalked
out of the room.
Tom immediately wheeled to face Roger, fire in his eyes, and the
arrogant cadet, sensing trouble, jumped to his feet to meet him.
"What's the idea of giving Astro a hard time?" demanded Tom.
"Cool off, Corbett," replied Roger warily. "You're fusing your tubes
you're so hot."
"You bet I'm hot! Hot enough to blast you--again!" Tom deliberately spat
out the last word.
Roger flushed and brought his fists up quickly as though to charge in,
then suddenly dropped them again. He turned to the door and slowly
walked out.
"Go blow your jets," his voice drifted back to Tom as he disappeared.
Tom stood there, looking at the empty door, almost blind with rage and
frustration. He was failing in the main job assigned to him, that of
keeping the unit on an even keel and working together. How could he
command a crew out in space if he couldn't keep the friction of his own
unit under control?
Slowly, he left the room to wait for Astro in the recreation hall where
the results of the manuals would be announced. He thought of Astro, now
probably deep in his exam, and wondered how bad it would be for him.
Then another thought crossed his mind. Roger had said nothing of his own
test and neither he nor Astro had even inquired.
He shook his head. No matter where the unit placed in the manuals, it
just couldn't stay together.
[Illustration]