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Title: Treachery in Outer Space

Author: Carey Rockwell and Louis Glanzman

Release Date: July 8, 2006 [EBook #18786]

Language: English

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TREACHERY IN OUTER SPACE



THE TOM CORBETT
SPACE CADET STORIES

By Carey Rockwell


STAND BY FOR MARS!
DANGER IN DEEP SPACE
ON THE TRAIL OF THE SPACE PIRATES
THE SPACE PIONEERS
THE REVOLT ON VENUS
TREACHERY IN OUTER SPACE
SABOTAGE IN SPACE
THE ROBOT ROCKET



[Illustration]


A TOM CORBETT Space Cadet Adventure



TREACHERY IN
OUTER SPACE


By CAREY ROCKWELL

WILLY LEY _Technical Adviser_




GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers New York




COPYRIGHT, 1954, BY
ROCKHILL RADIO

[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
EXTENSIVE RESEARCH SHOWS NO EVIDENCE
OF REQUIRED COPYRIGHT RENEWAL]

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


ILLUSTRATIONS BY LOUIS GLANZMAN





PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




ILLUSTRATIONS


_Frontispiece_

"Great galaxy! There must be a hundred ships!"                27

The giant Venusian held up the oil-smeared test tube          63

"Yeow!" bawled Astro. "Thanks, sir. Thanks a million!"       102

Tom got down on his knees and felt around for an opening     131

"Look!" Strong cried. "It's Brett's ship!"                   151

It would be a rough ride, but at least he was hidden         165

Slowly and cautiously he began climbing                      181

"Proceed to quadrant five and seize the _Space Knight_!"     196





TREACHERY IN OUTER SPACE




CHAPTER I


"All right, you blasted Earthworms! _Stand to!_"

Three frightened cadet candidates for Space Academy stiffened their
backs and stood at rigid attention as Astro faced them, a furious scowl
on his rugged features. Behind him, Tom Corbett and Roger Manning
lounged on the dormitory bunks, watching their unit mate blast the
freshman cadets and trying to keep from laughing. It wasn't long ago
that they had gone through the terrifying experience of being hazed by
stern upperclassmen and they knew how the three pink-cheeked boys in
front of them felt.

"So," bawled Astro, "you want to blast off, do you?"

Neither of the three boys answered.

"Speak when you're spoken to, Mister!" snapped Roger at the boy in the
middle.

"Answer the question!" barked Tom, finding it difficult to maintain his
role of stern disciplinarian.

"Y-y-yes, sir," finally came a mumbled reply.

"What's your name? And don't say 'sir' to me!" roared Astro.

"Coglin, sir," gulped the boy.

"Don't say 'SIR'!"

"Yes, sir--er--I mean, O.K.," stuttered Coglin.

"And don't say O.K., either," Roger chimed in.

"Yes ... all right ... fine." The boy's face was flushed with
desperation.

Astro stepped forward, his chin jutting out. "For your information," he
bawled, "the correct manner of address is 'Very well.'"

"Very well," stammered Coglin.

Astro shook his head and turned back to Tom and Roger. "Have you ever
seen a greater display of audacity and sheer gall?" he demanded. "The
nerve of these three infants assuming that they could ever become Space
Cadets!"

Tom and Roger laughed, not at the three Earthworms, but at Astro's
sudden eloquence. The giant Venusian cadet usually limited his comments
to a gruff Yes or No, or at most, a garbled sentence full of a veteran
spaceman's oaths. Then, resuming his stern expression, Roger faced the
three boys.

"Sound off! Quick!" he demanded.

"Coglin, John."

"Spears, Albert."

"Duke, Phineas."

"You call those _names_?" Roger snorted incredulously. "Which of you
ground crawlers is radar officer?"

"I am, very well," replied Spears.

The blond-haired cadet stared at him in amazement.

"Very well, what?" he demanded.

"You said that's the correct form of address," replied Spears doggedly.

Roger turned to Tom. "Well, thump my rockets," he exclaimed, "I didn't
know they made them that dumb any more!"

"Who is the command cadet?" asked Tom, suppressing a grin.

"I am, very well," replied Duke.

"How fast is fast?"

"Fast is as fast must be, without being either supersonic or turgid.
Fast is necessarily that amount of speed that will not be the most nor
the least, yet will be sufficient unto the demands of fast ..." Duke
quoted directly from the _Earthworm Manual_, a book that was not
prescribed learning in the Academy, but woe unto the Earthworm who did
not know it by heart when questioned by a cadet upperclassman.

"What is a blip on a radar, Mister?" demanded Roger of Spears.

"A blip is never a slip. It is constant with the eye of the beholder,
and constant with the constant that is always--" Spears faltered, his
face flushing with embarrassment.

"Always what?" hounded Roger.

"I--I don't know," stammered the fledgling helplessly.

"_You don't know?_" yelled Roger. He looked at Tom and Astro, shaking
his head. "He doesn't know." The two cadets frowned at the quivering boy
and Roger faced him again. "For your information, Mr. Spears," he said
at his sarcastic best, "there are five words remaining in that sentence.
And for each word, you will spend one hour cleaning this room. Is that
clear?"

Spears could only nod his head.

"And for your further information," continued Roger, "the remaining
words are 'constantly alert to constant dangers'! Does that help you,
Mister?"

"Yes, Cadet Manning," gulped Spears. "You are very kind to give me this
information. And it will be a great honor to clean your room."

Astro stepped forward to take his turn. He towered over the remaining
cadet candidate and glowered at the thoroughly frightened boy. "So," he
roared, "I guess this means you're going to handle the power deck in one
of our space buckets, eh?"

"Yes, very well," came the quavering, high-pitched reply.

"Give me the correction of thrust when you are underway in a forward
motion and you receive orders from the control deck for immediate
reversal."

Coglin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and the words poured from
his lips. "To go forward is to overtake space, and to go sternward is to
retake space already overtaken. To correct thrust, I would figure in the
beginning of my flight how much space I intended to take and how much I
would retake, and since overtake and retake are both additional
quotients that have not been divided, I will add them together and
arrive at a correction." The cadet candidate stopped abruptly, gasping
for breath.

Secretly disappointed at the accuracy of the reply, Astro grunted and
turned to Tom and Roger. "Any questions before they blast off on their
solo hop?" he growled.

The two cadets shook their heads and Roger quickly lined three chairs in
a row. Tom addressed the frightened boys solemnly. "This is your
spaceship. The first chair is the command deck; second, radar deck;
third, power deck. Take your stations and stand by to blast off."

Spears, Coglin, and Duke jumped into the chairs and Tom walked around
them eying them coldly. "Now, Misters," he said, "you are to blast off,
make a complete circle of the Earth, and return to the Academy spaceport
for a touchdown. Is that clearly understood?"

"All clear," chorused the boys.

"Stand by to raise ship!" bawled Tom.

"Power deck, check in!" snapped Duke from the first chair. "Radar deck,
check in!"

"Just one moment, Mister," interrupted Roger. "When you issue an order
over the intercom, I want to see you pick up that mike. I want to see
all the motions. It's up to you, Misters, to make us believe that you
are blasting off!"

"Very well," replied Duke with a nervous glance back at his unit mates.

"Carry on!" roared Tom.

Then, as Tom, Roger, and Astro sprawled on their bunks, grinning openly,
the three Earthworm cadets began their simulated flight through space.
Going through the movements of operating the complicated equipment of a
spaceship, they pushed, pulled, jerked, snapped on imaginary switches,
read unseen meters and gauges, and slammed around in their chairs to
simulate acceleration reaction. The three cadets of the _Polaris_ unit
could no longer restrain themselves and broke into loud laughter at the
antics of the aspirants. Finally, when they had landed their imaginary
ship again, the Earthworms were pounded on the back heartily.

"Welcome to Space Academy!" said Tom with a grin. "That was as smooth a
ride as I've ever had."

"Yeah," agreed Astro, pumping Coglin's hand. "You handled those reactors
and atomic motors like a regular old space buster!"

"And that was real fine astrogation, Spears," Roger chimed in. "Why, you
laid out such a smooth course, you never left the ground!"

The three Earthworms relaxed, and while Astro brewed hot cups of tea
with synthetic pellets and water from the shower, Tom and Roger told
them about the traditions and customs of the Academy.

Tom began by telling them how important it was for each crew member to
be able to depend on his unit mate. "You see," he said, "in space there
isn't much time for individual heroics. Too many things can happen too
fast for it to be a one-man operation."

"I'll say," piped up Roger. "A couple of times I've been on the radar
deck and seen a hunk of space junk coming down on us fast. So instead of
following book procedure, relaying the dope to Tom on the control deck
to pass it on to Astro, I'd just sing out to Astro direct on the
intercom, 'Give me an upshot on the ecliptic!' or 'Give me a starboard
shot!' and Astro would come through because he knows I always know what
I'm talking about."

"Not always, hot-shot!" growled Astro. "How about the time we went out
to Tara and snatched that hot copper asteroid out of Alpha Centauri's
mouth? _You_ said the time on that reactor blast should be set at--"

"Is that so?" snapped Roger. "Listen, you big overgrown hunk of Venusian
space gas--" Roger got no further. Astro grabbed him by the shirt front,
held him at arm's length, and began tickling him in the ribs. The three
freshmen cadets backed out of the way, glancing fearfully at the giant
Venusian. Astro's strength was awesome when seen for the first time.

"Lemme go, you blasted space ape!" bellowed Roger, between fits of
laughter.

"Say uncle, Manning!" roared Astro. "Promise you won't call me names
again, or by the stars, I'll tickle you until you shake yourself apart!"

"All right--un-un-uncle!" managed Roger.

Astro dropped his unit mate on a bunk like a rag doll and turned back to
Tom with a shrug of his shoulders. "He'll never learn, will he?"

Tom grinned at Duke. "Astro's like a big overgrown puppy."

"Someone ought to put him on a leash," growled Roger, crawling out of
the bunk and rubbing his ribs. "Blast it, Astro, the next time you want
to show off, go play with an elephant and leave me alone."

Astro ignored him, turning to Coglin. "As much as I gas Roger," the
giant cadet said seriously, "I'd rather ride a thrust bucket with him on
the radar deck than Commander Walters. He's the best."

Tom smiled. "That's what I mean, Duke. Astro believes in Roger, and
Roger believes in Astro. I believe in them, and they in me. We've got
to, or we wouldn't last long out there in space."

The three fledgling spacemen were silent, watching and listening with
awe and envy as the _Polaris_ crew continued their indoctrination. They
considered themselves lucky to have been drawn by these famous cadets
for their hazing. The names of Corbett, Manning, and Astro were becoming
synonymous with great adventure in space. But, with all their
hairbreadth escapes, the _Polaris_ unit was still just learning its job.
The boys were still working off demerits, arguing with instructors on
theory, listening to endless study spools, learning the latest advanced
methods of astrogation, communication, and reactor-unit operation. They
were working toward the day when they would discard the vivid blue
uniforms of the Space Cadet Corps and don the magnificent black and gold
of the Solar Guard.

Tom was aware of the eager expressions on the faces of the Earthworms
and he smiled to himself. It was not a smile of smugness or conceit, but
rather of honest satisfaction. More than once he had shaken his head in
wonder at being a Space Cadet. The odds against it were enormous. Each
year thousands of boys from all the major planets and the occupied
satellites competed for entrance to the famed Academy and pitifully few
were accepted. And he was happy at having two unit mates like Roger
Manning and Astro to depend on when he was out in space, commanding one
of the finest ships ever built, the powerful rocket cruiser _Polaris_.

As Roger and Astro continued to talk to the fledglings, Tom sipped his
tea and thought of his own first days at the Academy. He remembered his
fear and insecurity, and how hard he had fought to make what was then
Unit 42-D a success, the unit that eventually became the _Polaris_ unit.
And how each assignment had brought him closer to his dream of becoming
an officer in the Solar Guard.

He got up and walked to the window and looked out across the Academy
campus, over the green lawns and white buildings connected by the
rolling slidewalks, to the gleaming crystal Tower, the symbol of man's
conquest of space. And beyond the Tower building, Tom saw a spaceship
blasting off from the spaceport, her rockets bucking hard against thin
air as she clawed her way spaceward. When it disappeared from sight, he
followed it with his mind's eye and it became the _Polaris_, his ship!
He and Roger and Astro were blasting through the cold black void, their
own personal domain!

A loud burst of laughter behind him suddenly brought Tom back to Earth.
He smiled to himself and shook his head, as though reluctant to leave
his dream world. He glanced out of the window again, this time down at
the quadrangle, and far below he recognized the squat, muscular figure
of Warrant Officer Mike McKenny drilling another group of newly arrived
cadet candidates. Tom saw the slidewalks begin to fill with boys and men
in varicolored uniforms, all released from duty as the day drew to a
close. Tonight, Astro, Roger, and he would go to see the latest stereo,
and tomorrow they would blast off in the _Polaris_ for the weekly
checkout of her equipment. He turned back to Spears, Coglin, and Duke.
Roger was just finishing the story of their latest adventure (described
in _The Revolt on Venus_).

"The best part, of course, was the actual hunting of the tyrannosaurus,"
said Astro.

"A tyrannosaurus?" exploded Spears, the youngest and most impressionable
of the three Earthworms. "You actually hunted for a dinosaur?"

Astro grinned. "That's right. They're extinct here on Earth, but on
Venus we catch 'em and make pets out of the baby ones."

"We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble, though," commented
Roger mockingly. "We have several officers here that would have served
just as well. Major 'Blast-off' Connel, for instance, the toughest,
meanest old son of a hot rocket you have ever seen!"

"_Stand to!_"

The six boys nearly broke their backs jumping to attention. A squat,
muscular figure, wearing the black-and-gold uniform of a Solar Guard,
strode heavily into their line of vision. Roger gulped as Major Connel
stopped in front of him. "Still gassing, eh, Manning?" he roared.

"'Evening, Major, sir," mumbled Roger, his face beet red.
"We--er--ah--were just telling this Earthworm unit about the Academy,
sir. Some of its pitfalls."

"Some of the cadets are going to fall into a pit if they don't learn to
keep their mouths shut!" snapped Connel. He glared at Tom, Astro, and
Roger, then wheeled sharply to face the three quaking freshmen cadets.
"You listen to anything they tell you and you'll wind up with a book
full of demerits! What in blazes are you doing here, anyway? You're
supposed to be at physical exams _right this minute!_"

The three boys began to shake visibly, not knowing whether to break
ranks and run or wait until ordered.

"Get out of here!" Connel roared. "You've got thirty seconds to make
it. And if you _don't_ make it, you'll go down on my bad-rocket list!"

Almost in one motion, the three cadet candidates saluted and charged
through the door. When they had gone, Connel turned to the _Polaris_
cadets who were still at attention. "At ease!" he roared and then
grinned.

The boys came to rest and smiled back at him tentatively. They never
knew what to expect from Connel. "Well, did you put them through their
paces?" he asked as he jerked his thumb toward the door.

"Yes, sir!" said Tom.

"Did they know their manual? Or give you any lip when you started giving
them hot rockets?" Connel referred to the hazing that was allowed by the
Academy, only as another of the multitude of tests given to cadets.
Cadet candidates might possibly hide dangerous flaws from Academy
officials but never from boys near their own ages.

"Major," said Astro, "those fellows came close to blasting off right
here in these chairs. They really thought they were out in _space!_"

"Fine!" said Connel. "Glad to hear it. I've singled them out as my
personal unit for instruction."

"Poor fellows," muttered Roger under his breath.

"What was that, Manning?" bellowed Connel.

"I said lucky fellows, sir," replied Roger innocently.

Connel glared at him. "I'll bet my last rocket that's what you said,
Manning."

"Yes, sir."

Connel turned to the door and then spun around quickly to catch Roger
grinning at Astro.

"'Poor fellows,' wasn't it?" said Connel with a grin. Roger reddened
and his unit mates laughed. "Oh, yes," continued Connel, "I almost
forgot. Report to Commander Walters on the double. You're getting
special assignments. I recommended you for this job, so see that you
behave yourselves. Especially you, Manning."

He turned and disappeared through the doorway, leaving the three cadets
staring at each other.

"Wowie!" yelled Astro. "And I thought we were going to get chewed up for
keeping those Earthworms too long!"

"Same here," said Roger.

"Wonder what the assignment is?" said Tom, grabbing his tunic and racing
for the door. Neither Roger nor Astro answered as they followed on his
heels. When they reached the slidestairs, a moving belt of plastic that
spiraled upward to an overhead slidewalk bridge connecting the dormitory
to the Tower of Galileo, Tom's eyes were bright and shiny. "Whatever it
is," he said, "if Major Connel suggested us for it, you can bet your
last reactor it'll be a rocket buster."

As the boys stepped on the slidestairs that would take them to Commander
Walters' office, each of them was very much aware that this was the
first step to a new adventure in space. And though the three realized
that they could expect danger, the special assignment meant that they
were going to hit the high, wide, and deep again. And that was all they
asked of life. To be in space, a spaceman's only real home!




CHAPTER 2


"Gentlemen, please!"

Commander Walters, the commandant of Space Academy, stood behind his
desk and slammed his fist down sharply on its plastic top. "I must
insist that you control your tempers and refrain from these repeated
outbursts," he growled.

The angry voices that had filled the room began to subside, but Walters
did not continue his address. He stood, arms folded across his chest,
glaring at the assembled group of men until, one by one, they stopped
talking and shifted nervously in their chairs. When the room was finally
still, the commander glanced significantly at Captain Steve Strong,
standing at the side of the desk, smiled grimly, and then resumed in a
calm, conversational tone of voice.

"I am quite aware that we have departed from standard operational
procedure in this case," he said slowly. "Heretofore, the Solar Guard
has always granted interplanetary shipping contracts to private
companies on the basis of sealed bids, the most reasonable bid winning
the job. However, for the job of hauling Titan crystal to Earth, we have
found that method unsatisfactory. Therefore, we have devised this new
plan to select the right company. And let me repeat"--Walters leaned
forward over his desk and spoke in a firm, decisive voice--"this
decision was reached in a special executive session of the Council of
the Solar Alliance last night."

A short, wiry man suddenly rose from his chair in the front row, his
face clearly showing his displeasure. "All right, get on with it,
Walters!" he snapped, deliberately omitting the courtesy of addressing
the commander by his title. "Don't waste our time with that 'official'
hogwash. It might work on your cadets and your tin soldiers, but not on
us!"

There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled group of men. Present
were some of the wealthiest and most powerful shipping magnates in the
entire Solar Alliance--men who controlled vast fleets of commercial
spaceships and whose actions and decisions carried a great deal of
weight. Each hoped to win the Solar Guard contract to transport Titan
crystal from the mines on the tiny satellite back to Earth. Combining
steellike strength and durability with its great natural beauty, the
crystal was replacing metal in all construction work and the demand was
enormous. The shipping company that got the job would have a guaranteed
income for years to come, and each of the men present was fighting with
every weapon at his command to win the contract.

Heartened by the reaction of the men around him, the speaker pressed
his advantage. "We've all hauled cargo for the Solar Guard before, and
the sealed-bid system was perfectly satisfactory then!" he shouted. "Why
isn't it satisfactory now? What's all this nonsense about a space race?"

Again, the murmur filled the room and the men glared accusingly at
Walters. But the commander refused to knuckle down to any show of
arrogance. He fixed a cold, stony eye on the short man. "Mr. Brett," he
snapped in a biting voice, "you have been invited to this meeting as a
guest, not by any right you think you have as the owner of a shipping
company. A guest, I said, and I ask that you conduct yourself with that
social obligation in mind!"

Before Brett could reply, Walters turned away from him and addressed the
others calmly. "Despite Mr. Brett's outburst, his question is a good
one. And the answer is quite simple. The bids submitted by your
companies were not satisfactory in this case because we believe that
they were made in bad faith!"

For once, there was silence in the room as the men stared at Walters in
shocked disbelief. "There are fourteen shipping companies represented in
this room, some of them the most respected in the Solar Alliance," he
continued, his voice edged with knifelike sarcasm. "I cannot find it in
my conscience to accuse all of you of complicity in this affair, but
nevertheless we are faced with one of the most startling coincidences I
have ever seen."

Walters paused and looked around the room, measuring the effect of his
words. Satisfied, he went on grimly, "There isn't enough difference
between the bids of each of you, not _five credits'_ worth of
difference, to award the contract to any single company!"

The men in the room gasped in amazement.

"The bids were exactly alike. The only differences we found were in
operational procedure. But the cost to the Solar Guard amounted to, in
the end, exactly the same thing from each of you! The inference is
clear, I believe," he added mockingly. "Someone stole the minimum
specifications and circulated them among you."

In the shocked quiet that followed Walters' statement, no one noticed
Tom, Roger, and Astro slip into the room. They finally caught the eye of
Captain Strong, who acknowledged their presence with a slight nod, as
they found seats in the rear of the room.

"Commander," a voice spoke up from the middle of the group, "may I make
a statement?"

"Certainly, Mr. Barnard," agreed Walters, and stepped back from his desk
as a tall, slender man in his late thirties rose to address the men
around him. The three Space Cadets stared at him with interest. They had
heard of Kit Barnard. A former Solar Guard officer, he had resigned from
the great military organization to go into private space-freight
business. Though a newcomer, with only a small outfit, he was well liked
and respected by every man in the room. And everyone present knew that
when he spoke, he would have something important to say, or at least
advance a point that should be brought to light.

"I have no doubt," said Barnard in a slow, positive manner, "that the
decision to substitute a space race between us as a means of awarding
the contract was well considered by the Solar Council." He turned and
shot Brett a flinty look. "And under the circumstances, I, for one,
accept their decision." He sat down abruptly.

There were cries of: "Hear! Hear!" "Righto!" "Very good!"

"No!" shouted Brett, leaping to his feet. "By the craters of Luna, it
isn't right! I demand to know exactly who submitted the lowest bid!"

Walters sighed and shuffled through several papers on his desk. "You are
within your rights, Mr. Brett," he said, eying the man speculatively.
"It was you."

[Illustration]

"Then why in blue blazes didn't I get the contract?" screamed Brett.

"For several reasons," replied Walters. "Your contract offered us the
lowest bid in terms of money, but specified very slow schedules. On the
other hand, Universal Spaceways Limited planned faster schedules, but
at a higher cost. Kit Barnard outbid both of you in money and schedules,
but he has only two ships, and we were doubtful of his ability to
complete the contract should one of his ships crack up. The other
companies offered, more or less, the same conditions. So you can
understand our decision now, Mr. Brett." Walters paused and glared at
the man. "The Solar Council sat in a continuous forty-eight-hour session
and considered _everyone_. The space race was finally decided on, and
voted for by every member. Schedules were the most vital point under
consideration. But other points could not be ignored, and these could
only be determined by actual performance. Now, does that answer all your
questions, Mr. Brett?"

"No, it doesn't!" yelled Brett.

"Oh, sit down, Brett!" shouted a voice from the back of the room.

"Yes! Sit down and shut up!" called another. "We're in this too, you
know!"

Brett turned on them angrily, but finally sat down, scowling.

In the rear of the room Tom nudged Roger. "Boy! The commander sure knows
how to lay it on the line when he wants to, doesn't he?"

"I'll say!" replied Roger. "That guy Brett better watch out. Both the
commander and Captain Strong look as if they're ready to pitch him out
on his ear."

Six feet tall, and looking crisp, sure, and confident in his
black-and-gold uniform, Captain Steve Strong stood near Walters and
scowled at Brett. Unit instructor for the _Polaris_ crew and Commander
Walters' executive officer, Strong was not as adept as Walters in
masking his feelings, and his face clearly showed his annoyance at
Brett's outbursts. He had sat the full forty-eight hours with the
Council while they argued, not over costs, but in an effort to make sure
that none of the companies would be slighted in their final decision. It
made his blood boil to see someone like Brett selfishly disregard these
efforts at fairness.

"That is all the information I can give you, gentlemen," said Walters
finally. "Thank you for your kind attention"--he shot an ironic glance
at Brett--"and for your understanding of a difficult situation. Now you
must excuse me. Captain Strong, whom you all know, will fill in the
details of the race."

As Walters left the room, Strong stepped to the desk, faced the
assembly, and spoke quickly. "Gentlemen, perhaps some of you are
acquainted with the present jet car race that takes place each year? The
forerunner of that race was the Indianapolis Five-Hundred-Mile Race of
some few hundred years ago. We have adopted their rules for our own
speed tests. Time trials will be held with all interested companies
contributing as many ships that they think can qualify, and the three
ships that make the fastest time will be entered in the actual race.
This way we can eliminate the weaker contenders and reduce the chance of
accidents taking place millions of miles out in space. Also, it will
result in a faster time for the winner. Now, the details of the race
will be given to your chief pilots, crew chiefs, and power-deck officers
at a special meeting in my office here in the Tower building tomorrow.
You will receive all information and regulations governing the minimum
and maximum size of the ships entered, types of reactor units, and
amount of ballast to be carried."

"How many in the crew?" asked a man in the front.

"Two," replied Steve, "or if the ship is mostly automatic, one. Either
can be used. The Solar Guard will monitor the race, sending along one of
the heavy cruisers." Strong glanced at his notes. "That is all,
gentlemen. Are there any questions?"

There were no questions and the men began to file out of the room.
Strong was relieved to see Brett was among the first to leave. He didn't
trust himself to keep his temper with the man. As the room emptied,
Strong stood at the door and grabbed Kit Barnard by the sleeve. "Hello,
spaceman!" he cried. "Long time, no see!"

"Hello, Steve," replied Kit, with a slow, warm smile.

"Say! Is that the way to greet an old friend after four, or is it five
years?"

"Five," replied Kit.

"You look worried, fellow," said Strong.

"I am. This race business leaves me holding the bag."

"How's that?"

"Well, I made a bid on the strength of a new reactor unit I'm trying to
develop," explained Kit. "If I had gotten the contract, I could have
made a loan from the Universal Bank and completed my work easily. But
now--" Kit stopped and shook his head slowly.

"What is this reactor?" Strong asked. "Something new?"

"Yes. One quarter the size of present standard reactors and less than
half the weight." Kit's eyes began to glow with enthusiasm as he spoke.
"It would give me extra space in my ships and be economical enough on
fuel for me to be able to compete with the larger outfits and their
bigger ships. Now, all I've got is a reactor that hasn't been tested
properly, that I'm not even sure will work on a long haul and a hot
race."

"Is there any way you can soup up one of your present reactors to make
this run?" asked Strong.

"I suppose so," added Kit. "I'll give the other fellows a run for their
money all right. But it'll take every credit I have. And if I don't win
the race, I'm finished. Washed up."

"Excuse me, Captain Strong," said Tom Corbett, coming to attention.
"Major Connel ordered us to report here for special assignment."

"Oh, yes," said Strong, turning to Tom, Roger, and Astro with a smile.
"Meet Kit Barnard. Kit--Tom Corbett, Roger Manning, and Astro, the
_Polaris_ unit. My unit," he added proudly.

The boys saluted respectfully, and Barnard smiled and shook hands with
each of them.

"You've heard about the race now," said Strong to Tom.

"Yes, sir," replied the young cadet. "It sounds exciting."

"It will be, with spacemen like Kit Barnard, Charley Brett, and the
other men of the big outfits competing. You're going to work with me on
the time trials, and later the _Polaris_ will be the ship that monitors
the race. But first, you three will be inspectors."

"Of what, sir?" asked Roger.

"You'll see that all regulations are observed--that no one gets the jump
on anyone else. These men will be souping up their reactors until those
ships will be nothing but 'go,' and it's your job to see that they use
only standard equipment."

"We're going to be real popular when we tell a spaceman he can't use a
unit he's rigged up specially," commented Astro with a grin.

Tom laughed. "We'll be known as the cadets you love to hate!"

"Especially when you run up against Charley Brett," said Kit.

The cadets looked at the veteran spaceman inquiringly, but he was not
smiling, and they suddenly felt a strange chill of apprehension.

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 3


"It's about time you got here!"

Charley Brett glared angrily at his chief pilot, Quent Miles, as he
sauntered into the office and flopped into a chair.

"I had a heavy date last night. I overslept," the spaceman replied,
yawning loudly.

"We're late for Strong's meeting over at the Academy," Brett snapped.
"Get up! We've got to leave right away."

Quent Miles looked at the other man, his black eyes gleaming coldly.
"I'll get up when I'm ready," he said slowly.

The two men glared at each other for a moment, and finally Brett lowered
his eyes. Miles grinned and yawned again.

"Come on," said Brett in a less demanding tone. "Let's go. No use
getting Strong down on us before we even get started."

"Steve Strong doesn't scare me," replied Miles.

"All right! He doesn't scare you. He doesn't scare me, either," said
Brett irritably. "Now that we both know that neither of us is scared,
let's get going."

Quent smiled again and rose slowly. "You know something, Charley?" he
said in a deceptively mild voice. "One of these days you're going to get
officious with the wrong spaceman, one that isn't as tolerant as I am,
and you're going to be pounded into space dust."

Quent Miles stood in front of Brett's desk and stretched like a languid
cat. Brett noted the powerful hands and arms and the depth of the
shoulders and chest, all emphasized by the tight-fitting clothes the
spaceman affected. The man was dark and swarthy, and dressed all in
black. Brett had often imagined that if the devil ever took human form
it would look like Quent Miles. He shivered uncontrollably and waited.
Finally Miles turned to him, a mocking smile on his face.

"Well, Charley? What are we waiting for?"

A few moments later they were speeding through the broad streets of Atom
City in a jet cab on the way to the Atom City spaceport.

"What's this all about?" demanded Quent, settling back in his seat. "Why
the rush call?"

"I didn't get the contract to haul the crystal," replied Brett grimly.
"All the bids were so close the Solar Council decided to have a space
race out to Titan to pick the outfit that would get the job."

Quent turned toward him, surprised. "But I thought you had all that
sewed up tight!" he exclaimed. "I thought after you got your hands on
the--"

"Shut up!" interrupted Brett. "The details on the specifications leaked
out. Now the only way I can get the contract is to win the race."

"And I'm the guy to do it?" asked Quent with a smile.

"That's what you're here for. If we don't win this race, we're finished.
Washed up!"

"Who else is in the race?"

"Every other major space-freight outfit in the system," replied Brett
grimly. "And Kit Barnard."

"Has Barnard got that new reactor of his working yet?"

"I don't think so. But I have no way of telling."

"If he has, you're not going to win this race," said Quent, shaking his
head. "Nor is anyone else."

"You are here for one reason," said Brett pointedly.

"I know." Quent grinned. "To win a race."

"Right."

Quent laughed. "With those heaps you've fooled people into thinking are
spaceships? Don't make me laugh."

"There are going to be time trials before the race," said Brett. "The
three fastest ships are going to make the final run. I'm not worried
about the race itself. I've got a plan that will assure us of winning.
It's the time trials that's got me bothered."

"Leave that to me," said Quent.

The jet cab pulled up to the main gate of the spaceport and the two men
got out. Far across the field, a slender, needle-nosed ship stood poised
on her stabilizer fins ready for flight. She was black except for a red
band painted on the hull across the forward section and around the few
viewports. It gave her the appearance of a huge laughing insect. Quent
eyed the vessel with a practiced eye.

"I'll have to soup her up," he commented. "She wouldn't win a foot race
now."

"Don't depend too heavily on your speed," said Brett. "I would just as
soon win by default. After all," he continued, looking at Miles with
calculating eyes, "serious accidents could delay the other ships."

"Sure. I know what you mean," replied the spaceman.

"Good!" Brett turned away abruptly and headed for the ship. Quent
following him. In a little while the white-hot exhaust flare from the
rocket tubes of the sleek ship splattered the concrete launching apron
and it lifted free of the ground. Like an evil, predatory bug, the ship
blasted toward the Academy spaceport.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Well, blast my jets!" Astro gasped, stopping in his tracks and
pointing. Tom and Roger looked out over the quadrangle toward the
Academy spaceport where ship after ship, braking jets blasting, sought
the safety of the ground.

"Great galaxy," exclaimed Tom, his eyes bulging, "there must be a
hundred ships!"

"At least," commented Roger.

"But they can't all be here for the trials," said Astro.

"Why not?" asked Roger. "This is a very important race. Who knows what
ship might win? It pays the company to enter every ship they have."

[Illustration: _"Great galaxy! There must be a hundred ships!"_]

"Roger's right, Astro," said Tom. "These fellows are playing for big
stakes. Though I don't think there'll be more than thirty or forty ships
in the actual speed trials. See those big-bellied jobs? They're repair
ships."

"I hadn't thought about that," acknowledged the big Venusian cadet.
"They'll probably be jazzing up those sleek babies and that takes a lot
of repair and work."

"Come on," said Tom. "We've got to get over to the meeting. Captain
Strong said he wanted us to be there."

The three cadets turned back toward the nearest slidewalk and hopped on.
None of them noticed the black ship with the red band around its bow
which suddenly appeared over the field, rockets blasting loudly as it
began to drop expertly to the ground.

From early morning the skies over the Academy had been vibrating to the
thunderous exhausts of the incoming fleet of ships. Painted with company
colors and insignia, the ships landed in allotted space on the field,
and almost immediately, mechanics, crew chiefs, and specialists of all
kinds swarmed over the space vessels preparing them for the severest
tests they would ever undergo. The ships that actually were to make the
trial runs were stripped of every spare pound of weight, while their
reactors were taken apart and specially designed compression heads were
put on the atomic motors.

The entire corps of Space Cadets had been given a special three-day
holiday to see the trials, and the Academy buildings were decorated with
multicolored flags and pennants. A festive atmosphere surrounded the
vast Solar Guard installation.

But in his office in the Tower of Galileo, Captain Strong paced the
floor, a worried frown on his face. He stepped around his desk and
picked up a paper to re-read it for the tenth time. He shook his head
and flipped open the key of his desk intercom, connecting him with the
enlisted spaceman in the next office.

"Find Kit Barnard, spaceman!" Strong called. "And give him an oral
message. _Personal._ Tell him I said he can't use his reactor unit
unless he changes it to more standard operational design." Strong paused
and glanced at the paper again. "As it stands now, his reactor will not
be approved for the trials," he continued. "Tell him he has until
midnight tonight to submit new specifications."

As Strong closed the intercom key abruptly, the three members of the
_Polaris_ unit stepped into his office and saluted smartly. Strong
looked up. "Hello, boys. Sit down." He waved them to nearby chairs and
turned back to his desk. The drawn expression of their unit commander
did not go unnoticed.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" asked Tom tentatively.

"Nothing much," replied Strong wearily. He indicated the sheaf of papers
in front of him. "These are reactor-unit specifications submitted by the
pilots and crew chiefs of the ships to be flown in the time trials. I've
just had to reject Kit Barnard's specifications."

"What was the matter?" asked Astro.

"Not enough safety allowance. He's running too close to the danger point
in feeding reactant to the chambers, using D-18 rate of feed and D-9 is
standard."

"What about the other ships, sir?" asked Tom. "Do they all have safety
factors?"

Strong shrugged his shoulders. "They all specify standard reaction rates
without actually using figures," he said. "But I'm certain that their
feeders are being tuned up for maximum output. That's where your job is
going to come in. You've got to inspect the ships to make sure they're
safe."

"Then Kit Barnard put down his specifications, _knowing_ that there was
a chance they wouldn't pass," Tom remarked.

Strong nodded. "He's an honest man."

The door opened and several men stepped inside. They were dressed in the
mode of merchant space officers, wearing high-peaked hats, trim jackets,
and trousers of a different color. Strong stood up to greet them.

"Welcome, gentlemen. Please be seated. We will begin the meeting as soon
as all the pilots are here."

Roger nudged Astro and whispered, "What's the big deal about a D-18 rate
and a D-9 rate? Why is that so important?"

"It has to do with the pumps," replied the power-deck cadet. "They cool
the reactant fuel to keep it from getting too hot and wildcatting. At a
D-9 rate the reactant is hot enough to create power for normal flight.
Feeding at a D-18 rate is fine too, but you need pumps to cool the
motors, and pumps that could do the job would be too big."

"Kit's problem," commented Tom, "is not so much building the reactor,
but a cooling system to keep it under control."

"Will that make a big difference in who wins the race?" asked Roger.

"With that ship of Kit's," said Astro, shaking his head, "I doubt if
he'll be able to come even close to the top speeds in the trials unless
he can use the new reactor."

The room had filled up now and Strong rapped on the desk for attention.
He stared at the faces of the men before him, men who had spent their
lives in space. They were the finest pilots and crew chiefs in the solar
system. They sat quietly and attentively as Strong gave them the details
of the greatest race of spaceships in over a hundred years.

After Strong had outlined the plans for the time trials, he concluded,
"Each of you competing in the time trials will be given a blast-off time
and an orbital course. Only standard, Solar-Guard-approval equipment
will be allowed in the tests. I will monitor the trials, and Space
Cadets Corbett, Manning, and Astro will be in complete charge of all
inspections of your ships." Strong paused and looked around. "Are there
any questions?"

"When will the first ship blast off, Captain Strong?" asked a lean and
leathery-looking spaceman in the back of the room.

"First time trial takes place at 0600 hours tomorrow morning. Each ship
has a designated time. Consult your schedules for the blast-off time of
your ships."

"What if a ship isn't ready?" asked Kit Barnard, who had slipped into
the room unnoticed.

"Any ship unable to blast off at scheduled time," said Strong, finding
it difficult to look at his old friend, "will be eliminated."

There was a sudden murmur in the room and Quent Miles rose quickly.
"That's not much time to prepare our ships," he said. "I don't know
who's going to be first, but I can't even strip my ship by tomorrow
morning, let alone soup up the reactant." His voice was full of
contempt, and he glanced around the room at the other pilots. "Seems to
me we're being treated a little roughly."

There were several cries of agreement.

Strong held up his hand. "Gentlemen, I know it is difficult to prepare a
ship in twelve hours for a race as important as this one," he said. "But
I personally believe that any spaceman who really wants to make it can
make it!"

"Well, I'm not going to break my back to make a deadline," snarled
Quent. "And I don't think any of the other fellows here will either."

"If you are scheduled to blast off tomorrow at 0600 hours, Captain
Miles," Strong announced coldly, "and you are unable to raise ship, you
will be eliminated."

Stifling an angry retort, Quent Miles sat down, and while Strong
continued to answer questions, Astro, a worried frown on his face,
stared at the spaceman dressed in black. Tom noticed it. "What's wrong
with you, Astro?" he asked.

"That spaceman Miles," replied Astro. "I could swear I know him, yet I'm
sure that I don't."

"He's not a very ordinary-looking guy," observed Roger. "He's plenty big
and he's so dark that it wouldn't be easy to mistake him."

"Still," said Astro, screwing up his forehead, "I know I've seen him
before."

"If there are no further questions, gentlemen," said Strong, "we'll
close this meeting. I know you're anxious to get to your ships and begin
work. But before you go, I would like to introduce the cadet inspectors
to you. Stand up, boys."

Self-consciously, Tom, Roger, and Astro stood up while Strong addressed
the pilots.

"Cadet Manning will be in charge of all electronics inspections, Cadet
Astro in charge of the power deck, and Cadet Corbett will cover the
control deck and over-all inspection of the ship itself."

Quent Miles was on his feet again, shouting, "Do you mean to tell me
that we're going to be told what we can and can't do by those three
kids!" He turned and glared at Tom. "You come messing around my ship,
buster, and you'll be pitched out on your ear!"

"If the cadets do not pass on your ship," said Strong, with more than a
little edge to his voice, "it will not get off the ground."

The two men locked eyes across the room.

"We'll see about that!" growled Miles, and stalked from the room, his
heavy shoulders swinging from side to side in an exaggerated swagger.

"I believe that's all, gentlemen," announced Strong coldly, "and
spaceman's luck to each of you."

After the men had left, the three cadets crowded around Strong. "Do you
think we'll have any trouble with Miles, sir?" asked Tom.

"You have your orders, Tom," said Strong. "If any ship does not meet
standards established for the race, it will be disqualified!"

Astro stared at the doorway through which Quent Miles had disappeared.
He scratched his head and muttered, "If it wasn't for just one thing,
I'd swear by the stars that he's the same spaceman who--" He stopped and
shook his head.

"Who what?" asked Strong.

"Nothing, sir," said Astro. "I _must_ be mistaken. It can't be the same
man."

"I suggest that you sleep out at the spaceport tonight," said Strong.
"The first ship will have to be inspected before she blasts off, and
that means you will have to look her over before six."

"Yes, sir," replied Tom.

"And watch out for Quent Miles," warned Strong.

"Yes, sir," said the curly-haired cadet. "I know what you mean."

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 4


"The course is to Luna and return! Spaceman's luck."

Captain Strong's voice rasped out over the public address system as a
lone spaceship stood poised on the starting ramp, her ports closed, her
crew making last-minute preparations. Ringing the huge spaceport, crews
from other ships paused in their work to watch the first vessel make the
dash around the Moon in a frantic race against the astral chronometer.
In the temporary grandstands at the north end of the field, thousands of
spectators from cities all over Earth leaned forward, hushed and
expectant.

"Are you ready _Star Lady?_" Strong called, his voice echoing over the
field.

A light flashed from the viewport of the ship.

"Stand by to raise ship!" roared Strong. "Blast off, minus five, four,
three, two, one--_zero!_"

There was a sudden, ear-shattering roar and smoke and flame poured from
the exhaust of the ship, spilling over the blast-off ramp. The ship
rocked from side to side gently, rose into the air slowly, and then
gathering speed began to move spaceward. In a moment it was gone and
only the echoing blasts of thunder from its exhausts remained.

[Illustration]

"There goes number one," said Tom to his unit mates as they watched from
a vantage point near one of the service hangars.

"He got a pretty shaky start there at the ramp," commented Astro. "He
must've poured on so much power, he couldn't control the ship."

"Heads up, fellas," announced Roger suddenly. "Here comes work." Kit
Barnard was walking toward them, carrying a small metallic object in his
hand.

"'Morning, boys," said Kit with a weary smile. His eyes were bloodshot.
The cadets knew he had worked all night to revise and resubmit his
specification sheet to Strong.

[Illustration]

"'Morning, sir," said Tom.

"I'd like to have you O.K. this gear unit. I made it last night."

Astro took the gear and examined it closely.

"Looks fine to me," he said finally, handing it back. "Part of your main
pumps?"

"Why, yes," replied Kit, surprised. "Say, you seem to know your
business."

"Only the best rocket buster in space, sir," chimed in Tom. "He eats,
sleeps, and dreams about machinery on a power deck."

"Is that for your new reactor, sir?" asked Astro.

"Yes. Want to come over and take a look at it?"

"Want to!" exclaimed Roger. "You couldn't keep him away with a ray gun,
Captain Barnard."

"Fine," said Kit. "Incidentally, I'm not in the Solar Guard any more;
don't even hold a reserve commission, so you don't have to 'sir' me. I'd
prefer just plain Kit. O.K.?"

The three boys grinned. "O.K., Kit," said Tom.

Astro began to fidget and Tom nudged Roger. "Think we can spare the
Venusian for a little while?"

"Might as well let him go," grunted Roger. "He'd only sneak off later,
anyway."

Astro grinned sheepishly. "If anyone wants me to check anything, I'll be
over at Kit's. Where is your ship?" he asked the veteran spaceman.

"Hangar Fourteen. Opposite the main entrance gate."

"Fine, that's where I'll be, fellows. See you later."

With Astro bending over slightly to hear what Kit was saying, the two
men walked away. Roger shook his head. "You know, I still can't get used
to that guy. He acts like a piece of machinery was a good-looking space
doll!"

"I've seen you look the same way at your radarscope, Roger."

"Yeah, but it's different with me."

"Is it?" said Tom, turning away so that Roger would not see him
laughing. And as he did, he saw something that made him pause. In front
of the hangar, Captain Strong was talking to Quent Miles. There was no
mistaking the tall spaceman in his severe black clothes.

"Here comes more work," muttered Tom. Quent had turned away from Strong
and was walking toward them.

"Strong said I had to get you to O.K. this scope," said Quent with a
sneer. "Hurry it up! I haven't got all day."

He handed them a radarscope that was common equipment on small pleasure
yachts, and was considerably lighter in weight than the type used on
larger freight vessels.

"What's the gross weight of your ship?" asked Roger after a quick glance
at the large glass tube with a crystal surface that had been polished to
a smooth finish.

"Two thousand tons," said Quent. "Why?"

Roger shook his head. "This is too small, Mr. Miles. You will have to
use the standard operational scope."

"But it's too big."

"I'm sorry, sir--" began Roger.

"Sorry!" Quent exploded. "Give me that tube, you squirt." He snatched it
out of Roger's hand. "I'm using this scope whether you like it or not!"

"If you use that scope," said Tom coldly, "your ship will be
disqualified."

Quent glared at the two boys for a moment, his black eyes cold and hard.
"They make kids feel mighty important around here, don't they?"

"They give us jobs to do," said Roger. "Usually we can handle them fine.
Occasionally we run into a space-gassing bum and he makes things
difficult, but we manage to take care of him."

Quent stepped forward in a threatening manner, but Roger did not move.
"Listen," the spaceman snarled, "stay out of my way, you young punk, or
I'll blast you."

"Don't ever make the mistake of touching me, Mister," said Roger
calmly. "You might find that you're the one who's blasted."

Quent stared at them a moment, then spun on his heels and swaggered back
to his ship.

"You know, Roger," said Tom, watching Miles disappear into the hangar,
"I have an idea he is one spaceman who'll back up his threats."

Roger ignored Tom's statement. "Come on. We've got a lot of work to do,"
he said, turning away.

The two cadets headed for the next hangar and boarded a ship with the
picture of a chicken on its nose. While Roger examined the
communications and astrogation deck, Tom busied himself inspecting the
control deck, where the great panels of the master control board were
stripped of everything but absolute essentials. Later, they called Astro
back to make a careful inspection of the power deck on the ship. While
they waited for the Venusian cadet, Tom and Roger talked to the pilot.

Gigi Duarte was a small, dapper Frenchman who somehow, in the course of
his life, had acquired the nickname "Chicken" and it had been with him
ever since. The cadets had met him once before when they rode on a
passenger liner from Mars to Venusport and liked the small, stubby
spaceman. Now, renewing their friendship, the boys and "Gigi the
Chicken" sat on the lower step of the air lock and chatted.

"This is the greatest thing that has happened to me," said Gigi. "Ever
since I can remember, I have wanted to race in space!"

"Don't get much chance when you're hauling passengers around, I guess,"
said Tom.

Gigi shook his head. "One must always be careful. Just so fast, over a
certain route, taking all the precautionary steps for fuel! Bah! But
this flight! This time, I will show you speed! Watch the French Chicken
and you will see speed as you have never--" Suddenly he stopped and
frowned. "But you cannot see me. I will be going too fast!"

Tom and Roger laughed. After Astro joined them, they shook hands with
the Frenchman, wished him luck, and went to the next ship to inspect it.
Gigi's ship was already being towed out to the blast-off ramp, and by
the time the three boys had completed their inspection of the next ship,
the gaily colored French ship flashed the ready signal to Strong.

"Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one--_zero!_" Strong's voice
boomed out over the loud-speakers and the French Chicken poured on the
power. His ship arose from the ground easily, and in five seconds was
out of sight in the cloudless skies above.

       *       *       *       *       *

All day the spaceport rocked with the thunderous noise of stripped-down
spaceships blasting off on their trial runs around the Moon. Kit Barnard
worked like a demon to complete the cooling system in his aged ship, and
as each ship blasted off on its scheduled run to the Moon, the time for
his own flight drew nearer. Kit worked with his chief crewman, Sid
Goldberg, a serious, swarthy-faced youngster who rivaled Astro in his
love for the power-deck machinery on a spaceship. By nightfall, with
Tom, Roger, and Astro standing by to make their final inspection, Kit
wiped the oil and grime from his hands and stepped back. "Well, she's
finished. You can make your inspections now, boys," he said.

While Tom, Astro, and Roger swarmed over the vessel, examining the newly
designed and odd-looking gear, the veteran spaceman and his young helper
stretched out on the concrete ramp and in thirty seconds were asleep.

The _Polaris_ unit quickly checked out Kit's ship as qualified for the
race, and then turned, fascinated, to the tangle of pipes, cables, and
mechanical gear of the reactor unit and cooling pumps. Tom and Roger
were unable to figure out exactly what changes Kit had made, but Astro
gazed at the new machinery fondly, almost rapturously. He tried to
explain the intricate work to his unit mates, but would stop in the
middle of a sentence when a new detail of the construction would catch
his eye.

"Come on, Roger," Tom sighed. "Let's go on to the next ship. This
lovesick Venusian can catch up with us later."

They turned away and left Astro alone on the power deck, doubtful that
he had even noticed their departure.

The trials had been suspended at nightfall, and the ships that had
already blasted off left sections of the huge spaceport empty. The day
had been a grueling one for the cadets, and Tom and Roger climbed
wearily on the nearest slidewalk that would take them back to the
Academy grounds. Just as they rode through the main field gate, Roger
nudged Tom. "Look! There's Quent Miles up ahead of us," he said. "Isn't
he scheduled to blast off in the morning?"

"Yes. Why?" asked Tom.

"He hasn't called us in to inspect his ship yet."

"Maybe he isn't ready yet," said Tom. "Probably still souping it up."

"I've been watching him. He hasn't done very much."

"What do you mean?"

"He's the only one working on his ship," replied Roger. "Not one
helper."

Tom snorted. "You're beginning to suspect everything, Roger. He might be
going to get a part or grab a bite to eat."

"Where? In Atom City?" asked Roger. "That's the slidewalk to the
monorail station." He pointed to the black-suited figure as he hopped on
another moving belt that angled away from theirs.

"Oh, forget it," groaned Tom. "I'm too tired to think about it now.
Let's just report to Captain Strong and get some sack time. I'm all out
of reactant."

"I suppose Astro will spend half the night trying to figure out what it
took Kit Barnard years to build," mused Roger.

"And if I know Astro," chuckled Tom, "he'll get it figured out too!"

As the two weary cadets continued their ride into the Academy grounds,
on another slidewalk going in the opposite direction, Quent Miles
watched the darkening countryside closely. It was several miles from the
Academy to the monorail station, and the moving belt dipped and turned
through the rugged country that surrounded Space Academy. Suddenly Quent
straightened, and making certain no one was watching him, he jumped off
the slidewalk and hurried to a clump of bushes a few hundred yards away.
He disappeared into the thick foliage and then reached inside his tunic
and pulled out a paralo-ray gun.

"You in here, Charley?" Miles whispered.

There was a movement to his left and he leveled the gun. "All right!
Come out of there!"

The bushes parted and Charley Brett stepped out. "Put that thing away!"
he snarled. "What's that for?"

"After I got your message to meet you out here, I didn't know what was
up, so I brought this along just in case," Quent replied. "What's so
secret that you couldn't come to the spaceport?"

"I've got the stuff for Kit Barnard's reactor."

"What stuff?"

"This." Brett took a small lead container out of his pocket and handed
it to Quent. "This is impure reactant. Dump it into his feeders and we
can count him out of the race."

Quent took the lead container, looked at it, and then stuffed it inside
his tunic. "What'll happen?"

"Nothing. He'll just get out in space and find his pumps won't handle
the heat from his feeders, that's all. He's the only one I'm worried
about."

"Reports are coming in from Luna City. You can worry about Gigi Duarte,
too. He's burning up space."

"Ross is at the Luna spaceport," replied Brett. "He'll take care of any
ship that looks like it's going to be too fast."

"Then why not have him take care of Kit Barnard too?" demanded Quent.
"There will be less chance of getting caught. Remember, I've got those
three Space Cadets and Strong to worry about."

"You can't expect to get what we're after unless you take chances. Now
get back to the spaceport and put this stuff in Barnard's feeders. You
blast off tomorrow morning before he does and won't have much time."

"O.K.," agreed Quent. "When did Ross get to Luna City?"

"Yesterday. I had him come in from the hide-out."

"You think there'll be any cause for suspicion with him on the Moon and
me down here?" asked Quent.

"When you land at Luna City spaceport, he'll disappear. By that time we
should know how the time trials are shaping up."

"O.K. Where are you going now?"

"Back to the office. I've still got some things to check on before the
big race. We're going to use the hide-out for that."

A smile spread across Quent Miles' face. "So that's it, eh? Pretty
clever, Charley. Ross know about it?"

"Yeah. He's leaving as soon as he knows we've won the time trials. Now
get back to the spaceport and take care of Barnard's ship."

Quent slipped his hand inside his tunic and patted the lead container.
"Too bad this isn't a baby bomb," he muttered. "We could be sure Barnard
wouldn't finish."

"He's finished right now, but he doesn't know it." Brett smiled. "He's
borrowed heavily just on this race, and when he loses, the banks will
close him up. Kit Barnard is through."




CHAPTER 5


"We regret to announce that the spaceship _La Belle France_, piloted by
Gigi Duarte, has crashed!"

Captain Strong's voice was choked with emotion as he made the
announcement over the spaceport public-address system. There was an
audible groan of sympathy from the thousands of spectators in the
grandstands. In spite of every precaution for safety, death had visited
the spaceways.

Strong continued, "We have just received official confirmation from Luna
City that the Paris-Venusport Transfer Company entry exploded in space
soon after leaving Luna City. Captain Duarte had flown the first leg of
the race from Earth to the Moon in record time."

The Solar Guard officer snapped off the microphone and turned to Tom,
Roger, and Astro. "It's hard to believe that the French Chicken won't be
shuttling from Paris to Venusport any more," he murmured.

"Are there any details, sir?" asked Tom.

"You know there are never any details, Corbett," said Strong with a
little edge in his voice. Then he immediately apologized. "I'm sorry,
Tom. Gigi was an old friend."

The door behind them opened and an enlisted spaceman stepped inside,
saluting smartly. "Ready for the next blast-off, Captain Strong," he
announced.

"Who is it?" asked Strong, turning to the intercom connecting him with
the control tower that co-ordinated all the landings and departures at
the spaceport.

The spaceman referred to a clipboard. "It's the _Space Lance_, sir.
Piloted by Captain Sticoon. He's representing an independent company
from Marsopolis."

"Right, thanks." Strong turned to the intercom mike, calling, "Captain
Strong to control tower, check in."

"Say, I'd like to see this fellow blast," said Tom. "He's supposed to be
one of the hottest pilots ever to hit space."

"Yeah," agreed Roger. "He's so good I don't see how anyone else could
have a chance."

"With that hot rocket in this race," said Astro, "the others will have
to fight for second and third place."

"Control tower to Strong," a voice crackled over the intercom
loud-speaker. "Ready here, sir."

"Right. Stand by for the next flight, Mac," replied Strong. "It's
Sticoon."

Strong flipped a switch on the intercom to direct contact with the
waiting ship and gave Sticoon the oft-repeated final briefing,
concluding, "Do not go beyond the necessary limitations of fuel
consumption that are provided for in the Solar Guard space code. If you
return here with less than a quarter supply of reactant fuel, you will
be disqualified. Stand by to blast off!"

"Uh-huh!" was all the acknowledgment Strong received from the Martian.
Famed for his daring, Sticoon was also known for his taciturn
personality.

"Clear ramp! Clear ramp!" Strong boomed over the public-address system.
When he received the all-clear from the enlisted spaceman on the ramp,
Strong flipped both the public-address system and the intercom on.
"Stand by to raise ship!"

He glanced at the astral chronometer. "Blast off, minus five, four,
three, two, one--_zero!_"

Tom, Roger, and Astro crowded to the viewport in Strong's command shack
to watch the bulky Martian's ship take to space. With Sticoon at the
controls, there was no hesitation. He gave the ship full throttle from
the moment of blast-off and in three seconds was out of sight. There
wasn't much to see at such speed.

The three members of the _Polaris_ unit left the shack to return to
their task of inspection. They passed the maintenance hangar where Kit
Barnard was readying his ship for blast-off in the next half hour.

"Any last-minute hitches, Kit?" asked Astro, vitally interested in the
new reactor unit and its cooling system.

Kit smiled wearily and shook his head. "All set!"

"Good." Tom smiled. "We'll try to be back before you blast. We've got to
check Quent Miles' ship now."

As the three cadets approached the sleek black vessel with its
distinctive markings, the air lock opened and Quent Miles stepped out on
the ladder.

"It's about time you three jerks showed up," he sneered. "I have to
blast off in twenty minutes! What's the idea of messing around with that
Barnard creep? He hasn't got a chance, anyway."

"Is that so?" snapped Roger. "Listen--!"

"_Roger!_" barked Tom warningly.

Quent grinned. "That's right. Lay off, buster. Get to your inspecting
and let a spaceman blast off."

"Kit Barnard will blast off after you, and still beat you back," growled
Roger, stepping into the ship. He stopped suddenly and gasped in
amazement. "Well, blast my jets!"

Tom and Astro crowded into the air lock and looked around, openmouthed.
Before them was what appeared to be a hollow shell of a ship. There were
no decks or bulkheads, nothing but an intricate network of ladders
connecting the various operating positions of the spaceship. Everything
that could be removed had been taken out of the ship.

"Is this legal?" asked Roger incredulously.

"I'm afraid it is, Roger," said Tom. "But we're going to make sure that
everything that's supposed to be in a spaceship is in this one."

"When I blast off, I don't intend carrying any passengers," growled
Miles behind them. "If you're going to inspect, then inspect and stop
gabbing."

"Let's go," said Tom grimly.

The three boys split up and began crawling around in the network of
exposed supporting beams and struts that took the place of decks and
bulkheads. It did not take them long to determine that Quent Miles' ship
was in perfect condition for blast-off. With but a few minutes to spare,
they returned to face Miles at the air lock.

"O.K., you're cleared," Tom announced.

"But it'll take more than a light ship to win this race," said Roger,
and unable to restrain himself, he added, "You're bucking the best space
busters in the universe!"

"One of them"--Quent held up his finger--"is dead."

"Yeah," growled Astro, "but there are plenty more just as good as Gigi
Duarte."

The intercom buzzer sounded in the ship and Quent snapped, "Beat it!
I've got a race to win." He pushed the three cadets out of the air lock
and slammed the pluglike door closed. From two feet away it was
impossible to spot the seams in the metal covering on the port and the
hull.

"Clear ramp! Clear ramp!" Strong's voice echoed over the spaceport. Tom,
Roger, and Astro scurried down the ladder and broke away from the ramp
in a run. They knew Quent Miles would not hesitate to blast off whether
anyone was within range of his exhaust or not.

"Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one--_zero!_"

Again the spaceport reverberated to the sound of a ship blasting off.
All eyes watched the weirdly painted black ship shudder under the surge
of power, and then shoot spaceward as if out of a cannon.

"Well, ring me around Saturn," breathed Tom, looking up into the sky
where the black ship had disappeared from view. "Whatever Quent Miles
is, he can sure take acceleration."

"Spaceman," said Astro, taking a deep breath, "you can say that again.
Wow!"

"I hope it broke his blasted neck," said Roger.

       *       *       *       *       *

"And you saw him messing around here, Sid?" asked Kit Barnard of his
young helper.

"That's right," replied the crew chief. "I was on the control deck
checking out the panel and I happened to look down. I couldn't see too
well, but it was a big guy."

[Illustration]

"Messing around the reactor, huh?" mused Kit, almost asking the question
of himself.

"That's right. I checked it right away, but I couldn't find anything
wrong."

"Well, it's too late now, anyway. I blast in three minutes." Grimly Kit
Barnard looked up at the sky where the black ship had just vanished.

"Spaceman's luck, Kit," said Sid, offering his hand. Kit grasped it
quickly and jumped into his ship, closing the air lock behind him.

As Sid climbed down from the ramp, the three cadets rushed up
breathlessly, disappointed at being unable to give Kit their personal
good wishes.

"Well, anyway, I gave the new reactor my blessing last night," said
Astro as they walked away from the ramp.

"You were aboard the ship last night?" Sid exclaimed.

"Uh-huh," replied Astro. "Hope you don't mind."

"No, not a bit!" Sid broke into a smile. "Whew! I thought for a while it
was Quent."

"What about Quent?" asked Tom.

"I saw someone messing around on the power deck last night and thought
it might be Quent. But now that you say it was you, Astro, there isn't
anything to worry about."

Reaching a safe distance from the ramp, they stopped just as Strong
finished counting off the seconds to blast off.

"_Zero!_"

The three cadets and Sid waited for the initial shattering roar of the
jets, but it did not come. Instead, there was a loud bang, followed by
another, and then another. And only then did the ship begin to leave the
ground, gradually picking up speed and shooting spaceward.

"What was wrong?" asked Tom, looking at Sid.

"The feeders," replied the young engineer miserably. "They're not
functioning properly. They're probably jamming."

Astro looked puzzled. "But I checked those feeders myself, just before
you closed the casing," he said. "They were all right then."

"Are you sure?" asked Sid.

"Of course I'm sure," said Astro. "Checking the feeders is one of my
main jobs."

"Then it must be the reactant," said Tom. "Did Kit use standard
reactant?"

Sid nodded. "Got it right here at the spaceport. Same stuff everyone
else is using."

Gloomily the four young spacemen turned away from the ramp and headed
for the control tower to hear the latest reports from the ships already
underway. There were only a few more ships scheduled to blast off, and
the cadets had already inspected them.

"Wait a minute," said Tom, stopping suddenly. "The fuel tanks are on the
portside of the ship, and the feeders are on the starboard. Where did
you see this fellow messing around, Sid?"

Sid thought a moment and then his face clouded. "Come to think of it, I
saw him on the portside."

"I wasn't even close to the tanks!" exclaimed Astro.

"There was someone messing around them, then," said Roger.

"Yes," said Tom grimly. "But we don't know _who_--or _what_ he did."

"From the sound of those rockets," said Astro, "Kit's feeders are
clogged, or there's something in his reactant that the strainers are not
filtering out."

"Well," sighed Roger, "there isn't anything Kit can do but keep going
and hope that everything turns out for the best."

"_If_ he can keep going!" said Tom. "You know, there are some things
about this whole race that really puzzle me."

"What?" asked Roger.

"Impure reactant in Kit's ship, after fellows like Kit, Astro, and Sid
checked it a hundred times. Gigi Duarte crashing after making record
speed to the Moon. The minimum specifications being stolen from
Commander Walters...." Tom stopped and looked at his friends. "That
enough?"

Roger, Astro, and Sid considered the young cadet's words. The picture
Tom presented had many curious sides and no one had the slightest idea
of how to go beyond speculation and find proof!

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 6


"The winners are--" Captain Strong's voice rang loud and clear over the
loud-speakers--"first place, Captain Sticoon, piloting the Marsopolis
Limited entry, _Space Lance_! Second place, Captain Miles, piloting the
Charles Brett Company entry, _Space Knight_! Third place, Captain
Barnard, piloting his own ship, _Good Company_!"

There was a tremendous roar from the crowd. In front of the official
stand, Tom, Roger, and Astro pounded Sid Goldberg on the back until he
begged for mercy. On the stand, Strong and Kit shook hands and grinned
at each other. And Commander Walters stepped up to congratulate the
three winners. Walters handed each of them a personal message of good
wishes from the Solar Council, and then, over the public-address system,
made a short speech to the pilots of the losing ships thanking them for
their co-operation and good sportsmanship. He paused, and in a voice
hushed with emotion, offered a short prayer in memory of Gigi Duarte.
The entire spaceport was quiet for two minutes without prompting,
voluntarily paying homage to the brave spaceman.

After Walters left and the ceremonies were over, the three winners stood
looking at each other, sizing up one another. Each of them knew that the
winner of this race probably would go down in the history of deep space.
There was fame and fortune to be won now. Quent Miles ignored Sticoon
and swaggered over to Kit Barnard.

"You were lucky, Barnard," he sneered. "Too bad it won't last for the
race."

"We'll see, Quent," said Kit coolly.

Sticoon said nothing, just watched them quietly. Quent Miles laughed and
walked off the stand. Kit Barnard looked at Sticoon. "What's the matter
with him?" he asked.

The Martian shrugged. "Got a hot rocket in his craw," he said quietly.
"But watch your step with him, Kit. Personally, I wouldn't trust that
spaceman as far as I could throw an asteroid."

Kit grinned. "Thanks--and good luck."

"I'll need it if you get that reactor of yours working," said the
Martian.

He turned and left the stand without a word to Tom, Roger, or Astro. The
three cadets looked at each other, feeling the tension in the air
suddenly relax. Strong was busy talking to someone on the portable
intercom and had missed the byplay between the three finalists.

"That Quent sure has a talent for making himself disliked," Tom
commented to his unit mates.

"And all he's going to get for it is trouble," quipped Sid, who would
not let any argument take away the pleasure he felt over winning the
trials. "I'm going back to our ship and find out what happened to those
feeders."

"I'll come with you," volunteered Astro.

"Just a minute, Astro," interrupted Strong. "I've been talking with
Commander Walters. He's on his way back to the Tower of Galileo and
called me from the portable communicator on the main slidewalk. He wants
me to report to his office on the double. You three will have to take
care of the final details here."

"Come down when you can," said Sid to Astro, and turned to leave with
Kit.

"Something wrong, sir?" asked Tom.

"I don't know, Tom," replied Strong, a worried frown on his face.
"Commander Walters seemed excited."

"Does it have anything to do with the race?" asked Roger.

"In a way it does," replied Strong. "I'm leaving on special assignment.
I'm not sure, but I think you three will have to monitor the race by
yourselves."

       *       *       *       *       *

Major Connel sat to one side of Commander Walters' desk, a scowl on his
heavy, fleshy face. The commander paced back and forth in front of the
desk, and Captain Strong stood at the office window staring blankly down
on the dark quadrangle below. The door opened and the three officers
turned quickly to see Dr. Joan Dale enter, carrying several papers in
her hand.

"Well, Joan?" asked Walters.

"I'm afraid that the reports are true, sir," Dr. Dale said. "There are
positive signs of decreasing pressure in the artificial atmosphere
around the settlements on Titan. The pressure is dropping and yet there
is no indication that the force screen, holding back the real methane
ammonia atmosphere of Titan, is not functioning properly."

"How about leaks?" Connel growled.

"Not possible, Major," replied the pretty physicist. "The force field,
as you know, is made up of electronic impulses of pure energy. By
shooting these impulses into the air around a certain area, like the
settlement at Olympia, we can refract the methane ammonia, push it back
if you will, like a solid wall. What the impulses do, actually, is
create a force greater and thicker in content than the atmosphere of
Titan, creating a vacuum. We then introduce oxygen into the vacuum,
making it possible for humans to live without the cumbersome use of
space helmets." Dr. Dale leaned against Commander Walters' desk and
considered the three Solar Guard officers. "If we don't find out what's
happening out there," she resumed grimly, "and do something about it
soon, we'll have to abandon Titan."

"Abandon Titan!" roared Connel. "Can't be done."

"Impossible!" snapped Walters.

"It's going to happen," asserted the girl stoutly.

Connel sprang out of his chair and began pacing the floor. "We can't
abandon Titan!" he roared. "Disrupt the flow of crystal and you'll set
off major repercussions in the system's economy."

"We know that, Major," said Walters. "That's the prime reason for this
meeting."

"May I make a suggestion, sir?" asked Strong.

"Go ahead, Steve," said Walters.

"While these graphs of Joan's show us _what's_ happening, I think it
will take on-the-spot investigations to find out _why_ it's happening."

Connel flopped back in his chair, relaxed again. He looked at Walters.
"Send Steve out there and we'll find out what's going on," he said
confidently.

Walters looked at Strong. "When are the ships supposed to blast off for
the race?"

"Tomorrow at 1800, sir."

"You planned to use the _Polaris_ to monitor the race?"

"Yes, sir."

"Think we should send the _Polaris_ unit out alone?"

"I have a better suggestion, sir," said Strong.

"Well?"

"Since there are only three finalists, how about putting one cadet on
each ship? Then I can take the _Polaris_ and go on out to Titan now.
When the boys arrive, they could help me with my investigation."

Walters looked at Connel. "What do you think, Major?"

"Sounds all right to me," replied the veteran spaceman. "If you think
the companies won't object to having cadets monitor their race for
them."

"They won't have anything to say about it," replied Walters. "I'd trust
those cadets under any circumstances. And the race won't mean a thing
unless we can find the source of trouble on Titan. There won't be any
crystal to haul."

"Fine," grunted Connel. He rose, nodded, and left the room. He was not
being curt, he was being Connel. The problem had been temporarily solved
and there was nothing else he could do. There were other things that
demanded his attention.

"What about me going along too, Commander?" asked Joan.

"Better not, Joan," said Walters. "You're more valuable to us here in
the Academy laboratory."

"Very well, sir," she said. "I have some work to finish, so I'll leave
you now. Good luck, Steve." She shook hands with the young captain and
left.

Walters turned back to Strong. "Well, now that's settled, tell me, what
do you think of the race tomorrow, Steve?"

"If Kit Barnard gets that reactor of his functioning properly, he'll run
away from the other two."

"I don't know," mused Walters. "Wild Bill Sticoon is a hot spaceman. One
of the best rocket jockeys I've ever seen. Did I ever tell you what we
went through a few years back trying to get him to join the Solar
Guard?" Walters laughed. "We promised him everything but the Moon. But
he didn't want any part of us. 'Can't ride fast enough in your wagons,
Commander,' he told me. Quite a boy!"

"And with Quent Miles in there, it's going to be a very hot race,"
asserted Strong.

"Ummmmh," Walters grunted. "He's the unknown quantity. Did you see that
ship of his? Never saw anything more streamlined in my whole life."

"And the cadets said he stripped her of everything but the hull plates."

"It paid off for him," said Walters. "He and Charley Brett are certainly
working hard to get this contract."

"There's a lot of money involved, sir," said Strong. "But in any case
we're bound to get a good schedule with the speeds established so far."

"Well, advise the cadets to stand by for blast-off with the finalists
tomorrow."

"Any particular ship you want them each assigned to, sir?" asked Strong.

"No, let them decide," replied Walters. "But it would be best if you
could keep Manning away from Miles. That's like putting a rocket into a
fire and asking it not to explode."

The two men grinned at each other and then settled down to working out
the details of Strong's trip. Before the evening was over, Walters had
decided, if necessary, he would follow Strong out to Titan.

In the distance, they could hear the muffled roar of rocket motors as
the three finalists tuned up their ships, preparing for the greatest
space race in history. And it seemed to Strong that with each blast
there was a vaguely ominous echo.

       *       *       *       *       *

"I've strained that fuel four times and come up with the same answer,"
said Astro. The giant Venusian held up the oil-smeared test tube for Kit
Barnard's inspection. "Impure reactant. And so impure that it couldn't
possibly have come from the Academy supply depot. It would have been
noticed."

"Then how did it get in my feeders?" asked Kit, half to himself.

"Whoever was messing around on the power deck just before you blasted
off for the trials must have dumped it in," said Tom.

"Obviously." Kit nodded. "But who is that? Who would want to do a dirty
thing like that?"

"Who indeed?" said a voice in back of them. They all spun around to
face Quent Miles. He lounged against the stabilizer fin and grinned at
them.

"What do you want, Miles?" asked Kit.

"Just stopped by to give you the proverbial handshake of good luck
before we blast off," replied the spaceman with a mocking wink.

"Kit doesn't need your good wishes," snapped Sid.

"Well, now, that's too bad," said Quent. "I have a feeling that he's
going to need a lot more than luck."

"Listen, Miles," snapped Kit, "did you come aboard my ship and tamper
with the fuel?"

Quent's eyes clouded. "Careful of your accusations, Barnard."

"I'm not accusing you, I'm asking you."

"See you in space." Quent laughed, turning to leave, not answering the
question. "But then, again, maybe I won't see you." He disappeared into
the darkness of the night.

"The nerve of that guy," growled Tom.

"Yes," Kit agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "But I'm more concerned
about this unit than I am about Quent Miles and his threats. Let's get
back to work."

Renewing their efforts, Tom, Roger, Astro, Sid, and Kit Barnard turned
to the reactor unit and began the laborious job of putting it back
together again, at the same time replacing worn-out parts and adjusting
the delicate clearances.

It was just before dawn when Strong visited Kit's ship. Seeing the
cadets stripped to the waist and working with the veteran spaceman, he
roared his disapproval. "Of all the crazy things to do! Don't you know
that you could have Kit disqualified for helping him?"

[Illustration: _The giant Venusian held up the oil-smeared test tube_]

"But--but--" Tom tried to stammer an explanation.

"I couldn't have done it alone," explained Kit. He looked at Strong and
their eyes met. Understanding flowed between them.

"Very well," said Strong, fighting to control himself. "If no one makes
a complaint against you, we'll let it pass."

"Thanks, Steve," said Kit.

"You should have known better, Kit," said Strong. "The Solar Guard is
supposed to be neutral throughout the entire race and do nothing but
judge it."

"I know, Steve," said Kit. "But someone dumped impure reactant into
my--"

"What?" It was the first time Strong had heard of it and he listened
intently as the cadets and Sid told him the whole story.

"Why didn't you make a complaint?" demanded Strong finally. "We'd have
given you more time to get squared away."

"It's not important," said Kit. "I won a place in the finals and now the
boys and Sid have helped me clean it out."

Strong nodded. "All right. I guess one seems to balance out the other.
Forget it." He smiled. "And excuse me for jumping like that and thinking
that you would do anything--er--" He hesitated.

"That's all right, Steve." Kit spoke up quickly to save his friend
embarrassment.

Strong turned to the cadets. "I've got news for you three. You are going
to monitor the race by yourselves."

Tom, Roger, and Astro looked at each other dumfounded as Strong quickly
outlined the plan. Later, when Sid and Kit were working inside the
ship, he told them of the sudden danger on Titan.

"So I'm going to leave it up to you which ship you want to ride," he
concluded. "The commander has suggested that Roger not be sent along
with Miles on the _Space Knight_. He seems to think the two of you
wouldn't get along."

"On the contrary, skipper," said Roger, "I'd like the opportunity of
keeping an eye on him."

Strong thought a moment. "Not a bad idea, Roger," he said as he turned
to Astro. "And I suppose you want to ride with Kit and his reactor?"

Astro grinned. "Yes, sir. If I may."

"All right. Tom, I guess that means you ride with Wild Bill Sticoon."

"That's all right with me, sir," the young cadet said excitedly. "This
is something I'll be able to tell my grandchildren--riding with the
hottest spaceman in the hottest race through space."

       *       *       *       *       *

Quent Miles spun around, his paralo-ray gun leveled. He saw a figure
enter through the hatch, but when light revealed the face he relaxed.

"Oh, it's you!" he grumbled. "I thought you were setting things up back
at Atom City."

"You fumble-fisted, space-gassing jerk!" snarled Charley Brett. "Depend
on you to get things messed up! That Barnard guy is all set to roll with
his reactor!"

"Then why didn't Ross take care of him on the Moon?" asked Miles.

"He didn't land," replied Brett. "He kept going and made the whole trip
without refueling that new unit of his. It's so good that he got back
here still carrying half a tank of reactant."

"Well, you haven't any kick with me," asserted Miles. "I dumped that
stuff in his tanks."

"Then how come he made it so fast?" growled Brett. "How come he made it
at all?"

"How should I know?" snapped Quent. "Listen, Charley, lay off me. You
might be able to order Ross around, but you don't scare me. And I don't
think you have Ross fooled either."

"Never mind that now!" said Brett irritably. "We've got to line things
up for the race. Listen! Ross left Luna City this morning for the
hide-out. Here's what I want you to do. After you blast off--" Brett's
voice dropped to a whisper and Quent's eyes opened with understanding,
and then his rugged features broke out into a grin as Brett continued
talking.

Finally Brett straightened up. "I'm going on out to Titan now to see if
things are O.K. You got everything clear?"

"Everything's clear," said Quent. "And you know something, Charley? You
have a nasty way about you, but you certainly know how to figure the
angles. This is perfect. We can't miss."

"I love you too, sweetheart," said Brett sourly. He turned and hurried
out of the ship. Just before he stepped on the slidewalk that would take
him to the monorail station, he saw the three members of the _Polaris_
unit leaving Kit Barnard's installation. He grinned and made a mocking
salute to them in the darkness.

"So long suckers!" he called softly.




CHAPTER 7


"What!"

Quent Miles looked at Strong and then back at Roger. "You mean this
jerk's going to ride with me?"

Roger Manning squared his shoulders and stuck out his chin. "Let's make
the most of this, Miles," he said. "I don't like it any more than you
do. I wouldn't like to be watched, either, if I had just crawled out
from under a rock."

Strong suppressed a grin and then turned back to Quent. "That's the way
it is, Miles. Commander Walters' orders. There's nothing that can be
done now. Cadets Manning, Corbett, and Astro have been given these
assignments because they have worked so closely on the race project,
and, I might add, you couldn't ask for a better astrogator should you
get into trouble."

"The day I'll ask for help from a kid still wet behind the ears is the
day I'll stop flying," snarled Miles.

Strong shrugged. "You either consent to the regulations, or disqualify
yourself from the race."

The spaceman's face turned a dusky red under his swarthy complexion.
"All right, all right! If that's the way it is, that's the way we'll
play it. But I'm warning you, Manning, stay away from me."

Strong glanced at his wrist chronograph. "You have five minutes before
the blast-off, stand by." He shook hands with Roger. "Good luck, Roger,
and be careful. And remember, Captain Miles has already proved himself a
crackerjack spaceman. Don't interfere with him."

"Yes, sir," said Roger.

"Good luck, Miles," said Strong and offered his hand. Quent ignored it.

"Thanks for nothing," he sneered. "I know how much you want me to have."

"The best man wins," snapped Strong. He turned on his heels and left the
black ship.

Quent Miles and Roger faced each other. "All right, Manning," said Miles
after he had closed the air lock, "take your station. And remember I'm
skipper of this ship."

"So what?" said Roger. "I'm still the monitor--!" He turned and
swaggered away.

Miles watched him go, a crooked smile twisting his lips. "Make the most
of it, Manning," he muttered under his breath.

       *       *       *       *       *

"You will make two stops for refueling on your trip," Captain Strong
called over the loud-speakers, as well as into the intercom connecting
the three ships. "First fuel stop will be on Deimos of Mars and the
second will be at Ganymede. You are to chart a direct course to each of
them. Should an emergency arise, you will call for assistance on the
special teleceiver and audioceiver circuits open to you, numbers
seventeen and eighty-three. You are to circle each fueling stop three
times before making a touchdown, and make a final circle around Titan
when you arrive.

"Stand by to raise ship! And spaceman's luck!"

Strong turned and flipped on the intercom to the control tower. "All
ready up there?" he called.

"All set, sir," replied the enlisted spaceman.

"All right, give them their orbits and blast-off time."

There was a slight pause, and then the gruff voice of the tower operator
was heard over the loud-speakers and in the ships. "All ships will blast
off on orbit forty-one ... raise ship at 18:51:35 ... stand by!"

There was a tense moment of silence while the seconds on the red hand of
the astral chronometer slipped around the dial. Out on the field, the
three ships were pointed toward the darkening afternoon skies. The first
ship, nearest the tower, was Wild Bill Sticoon's ship, the _Space
Lance_, painted a gleaming white. Strong could see Tom sitting beside
the viewport, and across the distance that separated them, the Solar
Guard officer could see the curly-haired cadet wave. He returned the
greeting.

Next was the black ship with the red markings that had aroused so much
comment. Strong searched the viewports for a sight of Roger but could
not see him. Finally he looked over at Kit Barnard's red-painted _Good
Company_. He knew Astro would be on the power deck, preferring to nurse
the reactor than watch the blast-off.

And then Strong was conscious of the tower operator counting off the
seconds. He would pick it up at ten minus. He gripped the intercom mike
as Mike's voice droned in his ears.

" ... fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten...."

"Stand by to raise ships!" bawled Strong. He watched the sweep hand on
the chronometer. "Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one--_zero!_"

There was really very little to see. The three ships left Earth in a
giant upheaval of thunderous noise and blazing red exhaust flames. The
roar of the crowds was lost in the explosions of the rockets. And the
greatest race in space was underway.

Strong raced up to the control tower and stood in front of the radar
scanner to watch the course of the three vessels now blasting through
the atmosphere. They were three white blips on the green surface of the
glass scope, in perfect line, traveling at incredible speeds.

Strong turned to the enlisted spaceman. "Contact the ships and see if
everything's all right," he ordered.

"Very well, sir," replied the spaceman, turning to the audioceiver
microphone.

"Spaceport control to rocket ships _Space Lance_, _Space Knight_, and
_Good Company_. Come in, please."

There was a crackling of static over the loud-speaker and then the calm
voice of Tom filled the control tower. "This is Corbett on the _Space
Lance_. Go ahead."

Strong took the microphone. "This is Captain Strong," he called. "How
was your blast-off, Tom?"

"Smooth as silk, sir," replied the young cadet. "Wild Bill sends his
greetings and says he'll take a three-inch steak instead of flowers when
he wins."

"Tell him it's a deal." Strong laughed. "End transmission."

"See you on Titan, sir," said Tom. "End transmission."

Strong then spoke to Kit Barnard on the _Good Company_, but did not get
a chance to speak to Astro. "He's down on the power deck, Steve,"
reported Kit. "He's watching that reactor as if it were a treasure
chest."

"To him it _is_," said Strong. "Good luck, Kit."

"Incidentally," said Kit before signing off, "I heard that crack Wild
Bill made about a steak. Better put _my_ name on it!"

Strong then contacted Quent Miles' vessel. "Is Manning there, Miles?"

"Yeah, he's here. Dead asleep!" growled Miles. "I thought you said he
was going to be a help."

Strong's face grew red. "Well, wake him up," he snapped.

"You come wake him up," said Miles, and then the speaker went dead.

"Control tower to _Space Knight_!" Strong called angrily. "Come in,
Miles. Control tower to _Space Knight_!"

"Yeah. What do you want?" growled Miles over the vast distance of space
that already separated the two men and that each second took them
thousands of miles farther apart.

"I want to speak to Manning," demanded Strong. "And if you cut me off
like that again, Miles, I'll have you before a Solar Guard court for
violation of the space code, race or no race."

"I told you once," said Miles. "Manning is asleep. He sacked in right
after we left the Academy. Now leave me alone, will you! I've got a race
to win!"

"Very well, Miles," said Strong. "But for your sake, I hope Cadet
Manning _is_ asleep."

"End transmission," growled Miles, and again the speaker went dead.

"Trouble, Steve?"

Strong turned to see Commander Walters enter the control room.

"No, sir," said Strong. "I tried to contact Roger, but Quent Miles told
me he's asleep."

"Asleep!" cried Walters. "But I thought you weren't going to put Manning
with Miles."

"Astro wanted to go with Kit, sir. And Tom was anxious to go with Wild
Bill Sticoon. Roger didn't seem to mind."

"Did Miles object?"

"Yes, sir. But I think he would object to anyone going with him."

"And he told you Roger is asleep?"

Strong nodded. Walters pushed past him to the intercom and took the
microphone. "This is Commander Walters calling rocket ship _Space
Knight_. Come in, _Space Knight_."

There was a flutter of static and then Quent Miles' voice again. There
was a little more respect in his tone but his story was the same. Roger
was sleeping.

Walters slammed the microphone down. "By the craters of Luna, this is
the last time I'll take this nonsense from Manning!" He jerked around
and stood facing the viewport. "I'm sorry, Steve, but there have been
more reports from Titan. The situation is serious. I've had to start
evacuation. And then to get this smart-alecky behavior out of Manning.
Well, you know what I mean."

Strong nodded, now more concerned about the emergency on Mars. "Shall I
blast off right away, sir?" he asked.

Walters nodded grimly. "Yes. And I'm going with you. I'll leave Major
Connel in charge while I'm gone. I would prefer to have him go, but he's
been working with Dr. Dale on some new idea about reinforcing the force
field and I can't pull him off it. You and I will have to do what we
can."

Strong turned to the tower operator and ordered the rocket cruiser
_Polaris_ readied for immediate space flight, concluding, " ... and have
a full complement of Space Marines aboard. And I want Warrant Officer
Mike McKenny as squad leader."

"Have you forgotten, sir?" interjected the enlisted spaceman who was
taking Strong's orders. "Warrant Officer McKenny cannot take
acceleration."

"All right, get--" Strong hesitated. "Get me Jeff Marshall, Professor
Sykes' assistant."

Walters nodded. "Good idea. Jeff can take care of any lab tests we may
have to make and also knows how to handle men. As a matter of fact,"
Walters continued, "if Jeff does well on this assignment I might put him
up for a commission in the Solar Guard. He did well on that last trip
into deep space during that trouble on Roald."

"Yes, sir," said Strong. "And I'll gladly endorse it."

"Is that all, sir?" asked the enlisted man.

"That's it, spaceman!" said Strong. When the man didn't move right
away, Walters and Strong looked at him. "Well, what is it?"

"Excuse me, sir," said the guardsman, a bright-faced youngster who had
failed to pass the rigid requirements for cadet training and so had
entered the enlisted Solar Guard. "I heard what Captain Miles said about
Cadet Manning being asleep and--" He hesitated.

"Well, what about it?" prompted Walters.

"Well, sir, I don't know if it means anything or not," replied the boy
nervously. "But just before the ship blasted off, I saw Cadet Manning
standing inside the air lock. He looked as if he wanted to get out. But
you were counting the blast-off time, sir. And he disappeared a few
seconds before you hit zero."

Strong looked at Walters. "Are you sure?" he asked the boy.

"I'm positive, sir. I know Cadet Manning well, and he looked as though
he was scared."

Strong clenched his fists. "Asleep, huh?" he growled. "Get me the _Space
Knight_!"

The boy returned to the audioceiver and began calling Miles, but there
was no reply. After a few minutes Walters interrupted, "We can't waste
any more time here, Steve. We've got to blast off!"

"Get hold of Corbett on the _Space Lance_," said Strong to the spaceman.
"Tell him I said to get in touch with Manning on the _Space Knight_. Ask
him to find out what's going on."

"Yes, sir."

"And then tell him to contact me on the _Polaris_. We're blasting off
immediately."

"Very well, sir."

Walters turned to Captain Strong. "What do you think it means, Steve?"
he asked.

"I can't figure it, sir. Knowing Manning as I do, it could be a crazy
stunt or it could be serious."

"It had better be serious," said Walters grimly, "for Manning's sake.
One more slip, and I'm bouncing him right out of the Academy!"

The two officers left the control tower, leaving young Oliver Muffin
alone, droning his monotonous call to Tom Corbett, somewhere between
Earth and Mars--a call that was to be the young cadet's first warning of
treachery in deep space!

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 8


"All clear ahead, Bill!"

Tom Corbett stood at the radarscope and watched the thin white line
sweep around the face of the instrument. "Nothing in space but us!" he
announced.

The veteran spaceman grunted and grinned at the curly-haired cadet he
had grown to like and respect in the short time they had been together.
Not only did Tom know how to handle a ship, spelling the pilot for a few
moments to have a walk around the control deck, but he was good company
as well. More than once, Tom had surprised the Martian spaceman with his
sober judgment of the minor decisions Sticoon had to make in flight.

"Why don't you try to contact Manning again, Tom?" Sticoon suggested.
"He might be awake now."

Tom grinned, but in his heart he did not think it very funny. It was no
joke that Captain Strong had called him to contact Roger. And Tom was
worried. So far, he had not been able to reach the blond-haired cadet.
He settled himself in front of the communicator and began calling the
black ship again.

"Rocket ship _Space Lance_ to rocket ship _Space Knight_! Come in!"

He waited. Nothing but static and silence greeted him.

"_Space Knight_, come in!"

He waited again as the sleek white ship plummeted deeper into space
toward the first refueling stop on Deimos, one of the small twin moons
of Mars. Still there was no acknowledging reply from the black ship that
had streaked ahead of them after the blast-off.

"I'm going to try to contact Kit Barnard," said Tom. "Maybe he can pick
up Miles' blip on his radar."

Tom made the necessary adjustment on the audioceiver and broadcast the
call for the owner-pilot of the _Good Company_. Finally, after repeated
tries, he heard a faint signal and recognized the voice of his unit mate
Astro.

"What's the matter, Astro?" asked Tom. "I can hardly hear you."

"We're having trouble with the by-pass lines to the generators," replied
Astro. "We've cut down to standard space speed, and Sid and Kit are
making repairs now."

"Have you heard from Roger?" asked Tom across the vast abyss of space
separating them. "I've been trying to contact the _Space Knight_ for the
last six hours and can't get any acknowledgment."

"Haven't seen it," replied Astro. "Lost contact with her a long time
ago. She moved ahead at emergency space speed and we lost her on our
radar an hour after we blasted off."

"O.K., Astro. Hope Kit gets his wagon going again. We've got to make a
race of this, or the people throughout the system will be disappointed."
He turned and winked at Wild Bill.

"Listen, you curly-haired twerp!" roared Astro, and it seemed to Tom
that he could hear his friend without the loud-speaker. "We're going to
give you the hottest run of your lives when we get going!"

"O.K., Astro," said Tom. "If you can contact Roger, tell him to get in
touch with Captain Strong right away. He's probably blasted off on the
_Polaris_ by now."

"Right, Tom. End transmission."

"End transmission."

Tom turned back to the skipper of the _Space Lance_ with a feeling of
despair. "I can't figure it out, Bill," he said. "Roger's pulled some
boners before, real rocket blasters, but refusing to answer a call from
Strong--" He shook his head.

The audioceiver suddenly crackled into life. "_Space Knight_ to _Space
Lance_, check in!" Quent Miles' voice was harsh and clear.

Tom jumped back to the microphone. "_Space Lance_, Cadet Corbett here!"
he shouted eagerly. "Go ahead, _Space Knight_! Where's Manning?"

"Still asleep!" replied Miles. "Just wanted to tell you boys good-by.
I'm not stopping to refuel at Deimos! I'm going right on through to
Ganymede! End transmission!"

Only static filled the control deck of the _Space Lance_ as Tom clutched
the microphone and pleaded desperately for Quent Miles to answer him.
"Come in, Miles! This is Corbett on the _Space Lance_ to Quent Miles on
the _Space Knight_! Come in, Miles! Come in!"

Bill Sticoon shook his head. "Miles must be nuts trying to get to
Ganymede without refueling," he muttered. "Traveling at emergency space
speed, he'll eat up his fuel before he gets one third of the way to
Jupiter!"

Tom looked at Sticoon. "And Roger's with him."

Sticoon nodded grimly. "They'll wind up drifting around in space halfway
between Mars and Jupiter. Finding them will be about as easy as looking
for a pebble in the Martian desert."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Have you found the _Space Lance_ yet, Astro?" asked Kit Barnard,
glancing over his shoulder at the giant Venusian, standing at the
radarscope.

"I think I'm getting it now," said Astro. "Either that or I've picked up
an asteroid."

"Not likely," said Kit. "We're too far from the belt to have anything
that big drifting around without being charted. It must be Sticoon."

"Boy!" chuckled Astro. "This reactor really packs a load of power!"

"How are we doing on fuel, Sid?" Kit called into the intercom.

"We lost a lot trying to prime the pumps," replied the young crew chief.
"We have to touch down on Deimos and refuel."

"That's all right," replied Kit with a smile. "We're gaining on Sticoon
fast. We should make Deimos about the same time. I wonder where Quent
Miles is by now."

"Probably wishing he had stopped for fuel!" interjected Astro with a
sour look on his face.

"See if you can pick up Sticoon on the audioceiver, Astro," said Kit.
"Ask him for an estimated time of arrival on Deimos. One of us will
have to come in first."

Astro flipped the switch on the panel and began his call "_Good Company_
to _Space Lance_, come in!"

"Right here, Astro," replied Tom immediately. "Boy, you certainly are
burning up space! What have you got in your fuel tanks? Light speed?"

"Just a little thing we whipped up," said Astro with a grin. "What is
your ETA on Deimos, Tom?"

"Less than five minutes. Four minutes and thirty seconds, to be exact.
Think you can beat that?"

"If we can't beat it, we can equal it!" said Astro. "See you on the
Martian moon, buddy! End transmission!"

Steadily, the _Good Company_ rocketed through space, eating up the miles
and gaining on the _Space Lance_. Both ships now made contact with the
control tower on Deimos and received landing instructions.

"_Space Lance_ will touch down on Ramp Three, _Good Company_ on Ramp
Six," crackled the voice of the Deimos tower operator, "and don't forget
your approach orbits!"

"Have you heard from the _Space Knight_?" called Tom.

"Sorry, _Space Lance_," came the reply, "there has been no contact with
_Space Knight_."

Tom began to feel the fingers of fear creeping up and down his spine.
Quent Miles had carried out his plan of going on to Ganymede without
refueling, threatening not only his own life, but Roger's as well.

Sticoon completed the three circling passes around Deimos and shouted to
Tom over his shoulder. "Stand by, Corbett. We're ready to go in!"

Tom strapped himself into his acceleration chair and, watching the
atmospheric altimeter, a delicate instrument that recorded their height
above the surface of a heavenly body, began to call off the indicated
figures.

"Five thousand feet, four, three--dropping too fast--compensate for
lesser gravity--two thousand, one, five hundred, two hundred--" Tom
braced himself and seconds later felt the impact of the ship settling
stern first on the concrete ramp. "Touchdown," he sang out in a clear
voice.

While Sticoon secured the control deck, closing the many switches and
circuits on the master panel, Tom opened the air lock. Almost
immediately, special-trained crews swarmed into the ship to refuel her
and prepare her for the next lap of the race. Tom and Sticoon stepped
out onto the spaceport of the tiny moon of Mars and gazed up at the red
planet that loomed large over the horizon. As a transfer point for the
great passenger liners that rocketed between Venusport, Atom City, and
Marsopolis, the refueling station at Deimos was well staffed and
expertly manned.

Standing at the air lock, Tom and Sticoon heard the blasting roar of the
_Good Company_ coming down in a fast, expert touchdown, and they hurried
across the spaceport to greet their rivals.

When the air lock opened, Tom immediately began to kid Astro and Sid,
while Sticoon and Kit Barnard compared flight notes. A Universal Stereo
reporter rushed up with a small portable camera and conducted an
interview that was to be telecast back to Earth. Both spacemen were
reluctant to voice any predictions of the outcome of the race, but Tom
noticed that Kit was smiling and seemed in good spirits. Tom, with all
his worries about Roger, could not help but feel happy that the
independent spaceman was proving his reactor.

A man in the uniform of a Solar Guard major appeared. He introduced
himself as an official monitor of the race, appointed by Commander
Walters, and asked them for a report.

"Captain Sticoon has followed all regulations, sir," said Tom.

"And Captain Barnard, Cadet Astro?" asked the officer.

"Same thing, sir," replied Astro. "Captain Barnard has followed the
rules of the race exactly."

"Thank you," replied the officer and started to turn away.

"Any word from the _Space Knight_, sir?" Tom asked quickly.

"Nothing, Corbett," the officer replied. "We received the same message
that Captain Miles would attempt to go on through to Ganymede without
stopping here at Deimos for refueling."

"And you've heard nothing from him since, sir?" asked Astro.

"Nothing, why?" The officer looked at both of the boys sharply.
"Anything wrong?"

"No, sir," said Tom. "It's just that Cadet Roger Manning is monitor on
the _Space Knight_ and we haven't been able to talk to him since we
blasted off from Space Academy."

"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, Cadet Corbett," snapped the
major. "I've heard of Cadet Manning's reluctance to stick to
regulations. I suspect you will be hearing from him soon enough, when
the ship runs out of fuel and starts drifting around in the asteroid
belt. Those individualists always scream for help when they get in
trouble."

"Yes, sir," said Tom stiffly.

"I already have a squadron of ships standing by to go to their
assistance when they do send out a distress alert."

"Yes, sir," said Tom. "Will that be all, sir? Cadet Astro and I would
like to have a bite to eat before we blast off again."

"Yes, that will be all, Corbett. Don't wander off too far." The major
turned and walked toward the ships without another word.

"Wonder what's eating him?" said Tom.

"Never mind," said Astro. "Come on. Let's grab a bite while we have the
chance."

They headed for the restaurant in the control building of the spaceport,
but were recognized by the reporter of the stereo company who badgered
them into stepping before the camera and making statements about the
race. He tried to get the boys to commit themselves as to who they hoped
would win, and to offer an opinion on what had happened to the _Space
Knight_. But neither Tom nor Astro said anything but that the best man
would win. There were the usual eager spectators too, thousands from the
large cities on Mars who had taken the ferry rocket up to the spaceport
to see the ships come in for refueling. As soon as Tom and Astro could
tear away from the stereo reporter, they were mobbed by the onlookers
who clamored for autographs. Finally the two cadets had to forego their
meal and return to their respective ships to escape the wild
demonstration.

Seated in his acceleration chair on the control deck of the _Space
Lance_, waiting for Bill Sticoon to come aboard, Tom found his concern
for Roger overriding his enthusiasm for the race. When Sticoon appeared
and began to prepare the ship for blast-off, Tom went through the
motions mechanically. The _Space Lance_ was scheduled to leave first,
with Kit Barnard following at the exact time interval of their arrivals.
The Deimos tower operator's voice droned over the loud-speaker on the
control deck of the _Space Lance_ " ... minus five, four, three, two,
one"--then the breath-taking pause before the climactic--"_zero!_"

[Illustration]

The ship shot spaceward, rockets roaring loudly in the thin atmosphere
of the small satellite. The next moment, before the horrified eyes of
thousands of people, the _Space Lance_ exploded a few miles above the
ground.

Astro stood frozen at the viewport of the _Good Company_, his eyes
glazed with shock as he watched the Martian ship disintegrate far above
him. All he could do was mutter brokenly, "Tom ... Tom ..."

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 9


"Blast off!"

Without any preliminaries, Kit Barnard's order sent the _Good Company_
hurtling spaceward. Astro had just enough time to throw himself into an
acceleration chair before the ship shot away from the Deimos spaceport
toward the wreckage of the _Space Lance_.

"Braking rockets!" roared Kit. "Hit them hard, Sid."

The ship bucked under the force of the counter-acceleration, and the
veteran spaceman fought to keep her under control. He snapped out
another order. "Cut all rockets!"

The ship was suddenly quiet, hanging motionless in space in the middle
of the still-twisting wreckage. The huge bank of atomic motors, the
largest single unit on the ship, had already begun to swing around the
small moon Deimos in an orbit, while other shattered remains of the once
sleek ship began a slow circle around the motors themselves.

Astro was struggling into a space suit when Sid and Kit joined him in
the air lock. Quickly the three spacemen clamped their space helmets
closed and adjusted the oxygen nozzles. Then, after testing their suit
intercoms, they closed the inner-portal air lock, reduced the air
pressure, and opened the thick pluglike outer portal. They stared out at
the gruesome spectacle of torn hull plates, twisted spars, and broken
pieces of equipment floating gently in the velvet space, outlined
against the reddish hue of the planet Mars.

"Astro! Kit!" shouted Sid through the suit intercom. "Look, there's
Sticoon! Over there near that tube." Following Sid's pointing finger,
Astro and Kit turned toward an exhaust tube that had been ripped in half
by the explosion. The Martian spaceman's body floated next to it, limp
and broken. Astro shuddered. If Sticoon was dead, then there was little
hope for Tom. The big Venusian fought back tears.

Maneuvering themselves away from the ship with the aid of the small jet
packs strapped to their shoulders, they reached the dead spaceman. Sid
carried him back to the ship while Astro and Kit remained to search the
wreckage for Tom.

By now, three small jet boats and two rocket scouts had blasted off from
Deimos, bringing emergency rescue equipment. More than a dozen men
poured out of the ships and joined in the search. The work was carried
on in silence. No one spoke.

Astro and Kit worked side by side, pushing their way gently through the
twisting mass that was once a proud spaceship, to the heart of the
spiraling wreckage, down toward the bank of atomic motors that was
attracting all the lesser pieces. Suddenly Astro paled. He gripped the
veteran's arm and gestured toward a large section of the ship on the
other side of the motors that they had not seen before.

"By the stars," Kit gasped, "it's the air lock! All in one piece!"

"If Tom managed to get in there, or if he was in there when the ship
exploded, maybe he has a chance."

"You're right, Astro," said Kit hopefully.

[Illustration]

"But we can't open it out here," said Astro. "If Tom is inside, we have
to take it down to Deimos. If we open it here, and he doesn't have a
space suit on, he'd suffocate."

"He'd freeze solid before that," said Kit, not mentioning the
possibility that Tom might very well be frozen already, since the
ship's heating units had been torn away from the air lock.

Quickly Astro hailed the members of the emergency crews that had
rocketed up from Deimos and told them of the possibility that Tom was
inside the chamber. They all agreed, since they had failed to find the
cadet anywhere.

[Illustration]

Kit and Astro immediately took charge of getting the bulky boxlike
chamber back to Deimos where it could be opened safely. Two of the jet
boats were jockeyed into position on either side of the chamber and
several lengths of cable were stretched between them, forming a cradle
for the chamber. Since the jet boats were equipped with foldaway wings,
which, when extended, would enable them to fly at slower speed through
atmosphere, they hoped to make a glider landing at the Deimos spaceport.

Astro would not let anyone handle the boats but Kit and himself, and
only by threat of physical violence was he able to keep the regular
pilots out of the control chairs on the speedy little ships. He might
suffer for it later when the officers reported his actions, but the big
Venusian was beyond caring. If Tom was not safe inside the vacuum
chamber, he felt there wasn't much use in being a cadet any longer.
Fleetingly he thought of Roger, who didn't stand a chance of reaching
Ganymede on a single solo hop from Earth in a ship the size of the
_Space Knight_. The _Polaris_ unit seemed doomed.

With Kit Barnard in one jet boat, Astro strapped himself into the
control chair of the other, and intercoms on, they gently fed power into
their ships. Coordinating perfectly in their maneuvers, they headed back
to the spaceport with their strange cargo.

Slowly and gently, Kit and Astro circled lower and lower until the two
jet boats were directly over the Deimos spaceport. They circled wide and
shut off power together, coming down in a long, easy glide. Keeping the
cables taut between them, so the chamber wouldn't touch the concrete
strip, the two spacemen made perfect landings, coming to a stop directly
in front of the control tower. Astro was out of his ship in a flash and
almost immediately Kit was beside him. They took no notice of the stereo
reporter who was focusing his camera on their efforts to force open the
portal on the chamber. Nor did they notice the immense crowd, standing
behind police lines, watching and waiting in silence.

"A cutting torch!" bellowed Astro to the emergency crew below. "Get me a
cutting torch."

In an instant the torch was handed to him, and ripping the space gloves
off his hands, the big cadet began cutting into the tough metal side of
the chamber.

The seconds ticked into minutes. The crowds did not move, and only the
low comments of the stereo reporter talking over an interplanetary
network could be heard above the hiss of the torch as Astro bent to his
task. A half hour passed. Astro didn't move or turn away from the
blinding light of the torch as he cut into the section of the chamber
where the portal locks would be. He did not notice that the _Good
Company_ and the emergency fleet had returned to the spaceport, nor that
Sid was now beside him with Kit.

An hour passed. It seemed to the big cadet that the metal he was
cutting, alloyed to protect spacemen against the dangers of the void,
was now threatening to cost Tom's life, if indeed he still survived. No
one could live long under such conditions unless they had a fresh supply
of oxygen. Kit tried to take the torch away from Astro, but the giant
Venusian would not let him have it. Again and again, the tanks of fuel
supplying the torch were emptied and quickly replaced with fresh ones.

There was something awe-inspiring about the big cadet as he crouched
over the torch, its white-hot flame reflected in his grim features.
Everyone around him watched in silent fascination, aware that this was a
rare exhibition of devotion toward a comrade. They all were certain
that Astro would reach Tom--or die in the attempt.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Touchdown!" Captain Strong called into the ship's intercom. "Secure
stations."

The rocket cruiser _Polaris_ had just settled on the blast-stained
concrete of the Titan spaceport after a blazing flight nonstop from
Earth. A Solar Guard cruiser, the most powerful class of spaceship in
the Solar Alliance, the _Polaris_ was also equipped with hyperdrive, a
well-guarded secret method of propulsion, enabling Solar Guard ships to
travel through space faster than any other craft known. Many commercial
shipping companies, including those entered in the race to Titan, had
pleaded for the use of hyperdrive on their ships but were summarily
refused. It was one of the strongest weapons in the entire Solar
Alliance.

As Commander Walters released the straps holding him securely in his
acceleration chair and stepped up beside Strong, the Solar Guard captain
gestured toward the teleceiver screen on the bulkhead.

"We're being met by the local officials, sir," he said.

"Ummm," was the commander's laconic reply as he studied the screen.
"There's Captain Howard."

"He doesn't look any too happy, sir," commented Strong.

"How would you feel if you had just spent seven years building up the
mine operations here on Titan and then have something like this happen
to you?"

Strong shook his head. "You're right, sir. I forgot that Howard asked
for this duty."

"It's strange how a man will take to a place," mused Walters. "The
first time he returned to the Academy, after a tour of duty here on
Titan, he looked like a man who had just fallen in love." Walters
chuckled. "And in a way I guess he had. He put in for immediate
permanent duty here and went back to school to learn all about the
mining operations. He, more than anyone else in the Solar Guard, is
responsible for our success here."

"Well, are you ready to leave the ship, sir?" asked Strong.

"Yes," replied the commander, but he continued to stare at the
teleceiver screen. Strong waited respectfully and finally Walters turned
back to him, shaking his head. "The spaceport looks pretty deserted,"
was his only comment.

Strong had already noticed the desolate appearance of the ordinarily
buzzing spaceport and it troubled him more than he would show. He knew
that unless the defect in the force fields was corrected soon, the
outer-space colony would have to be abandoned to the deadly methane
ammonia atmosphere. And to Strong, who had seen the dead satellite
before the Solar Guard had discovered crystal there, it was like seeing
an old friend sick with a deadly disease. In addition, the hundreds of
thousands of colonists would have to be relocated if the force fields
could not be repaired and the effect on the economy of the whole Solar
Alliance would be disastrous.

Walters and Strong were met at the air lock by Captain Howard. "I'm
awfully glad to see you, sir," he said, coming to attention and saluting
smartly. "Hello, Steve. Welcome to Titan."

"Glad to be here, Joe," said Strong.

"We came out as soon as we received your report that you had started
evacuation," said Walters. "Have you discovered anything new?"

Howard shook his head. "Not a thing, Commander," he replied. "We've done
just about everything but take the force-field projectors apart, but so
far we haven't found a thing wrong."

"Any word on the race, Joe?" asked Strong.

Howard looked surprised. "By the stars, I almost forgot. One of the
ships is trying to make it to Ganymede without stopping at Deimos for
refueling. And another blew up."

Strong gasped. "Which one?"

"_Space Lance_," said Howard. "Exploded over Deimos right after
blast-off. _Knight_ is the one that's trying the long solo hop. Haven't
received any word from him yet."

"But what about the crew of the _Space Lance_?" demanded Strong with a
glance at Walters.

"The pilot, Sticoon, was killed, and they haven't found Cadet Corbett
yet." And then understanding flashed in Howard's eyes. "Say, that's one
of the boys in your unit, isn't it, Steve?" he asked.

"Yes," said Strong grimly. He turned to Walters. "Have I your permission
to contact Deimos for the latest details, sir?"

"Of course, Steve. Go ahead."

Strong turned quickly and climbed into a nearby jet boat. The enlisted
spaceman at the controls sent the tiny vessel skimming across the broad
expanse of the spaceport toward the control tower.

Walters and Howard watched him leave. "I hope nothing has happened to
that boy," said Walters. "Corbett is one of the finest cadets we have."

"I'm afraid it doesn't look too good, sir," Howard answered.

"Well, what about the other ship, _Space Knight_?" asked Walters. "Cadet
Manning is on that one. Any report on where they are?"

"Nothing, sir," replied Howard. "We just heard that he was by-passing
Deimos and going on right through to Ganymede, hoping to get a jump on
the other two."

"Did Cadet Manning make that report?" asked Walters.

"No, sir. It was the pilot. Quent Miles. There was no mention of Cadet
Manning, sir."

Walters shook his head. "Certainly is strange," he mused aloud. Then he
barked, in his usual brusque manner, "Well, we've got this problem here
to worry about now. All mining operations have stopped, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir. The men won't work unless they have a guarantee that their
wives and children are safe."

"Can't blame them," said Walters, surveying the quiet spaceport.

The two Solar Guard officers climbed into another waiting jet boat and
shot away from the _Polaris_ toward the tower.

Inside the shimmering crystal control tower, Steve Strong paced up and
down behind the enlisted spaceman trying to contact the Deimos spaceport
across the millions of miles of space.

"This is Titan spaceport calling Deimos spaceport! Come in, Deimos
spaceport."

There was a flood of static, and then, very faintly, the voice of the
tower operator on Deimos answered. "This is Deimos spaceport. Go ahead,
Titan."

"Transmitting request for information by Captain Steve Strong of the
Solar Guard," the Titan operator called into the microphone.
"Information concerning explosion of rocket ship _Space Lance_. Please
give details on survivors."

There was a momentary pause and the loud-speaker crackled with static.
The voice of the Deimos operator broke through. "Captain Sticoon dead.
Cadet Corbett believed trapped in air-lock chamber. They have just cut
through the chamber. It will be a few minutes before I can give you any
further information."

"Very well, Deimos. I will hold this channel open."

Walters and Howard entered the room. "Any word, Strong?" asked the
commander. Strong shook his head.

The loud-speaker over the control panel crackled into life again.
"Ganymede station to Titan spaceport! Come in, Titan!"

The three Solar Guard officers looked at each other in surprise as the
Titan operator acknowledged the call. "This is Titan. Go ahead,
Ganymede."

"We have just received word that the rocket ship _Space Knight_ is
within five minutes of a touchdown this spaceport. Will probably blast
off again immediately after refueling. Acknowledge, Titan!"

"I read you, Ganymede!" replied the Titan operator.

"What is your estimated time of arrival at Titan?"

The Ganymede operator was silent a moment, then announced a time that
made Strong and Walters blink in amazement. "It is based on his speed
from Earth to this point, Titan."

"Very well, Ganymede. End transmission," said the Titan man, closing his
key.

Captain Howard stared at Strong and Walters in amazement. "I can't
believe it." Strong shook his head. "It's fantastic!"

"I know it is, gentlemen," said a voice in back of them. "But
nevertheless the Ganymede station confirms it."

Strong, Walters, and Howard spun around to look into the smiling face of
Charley Brett.

Before anyone could say anything, the voice of the Deimos operator broke
the stunned silence. "Deimos to Titan, I have your information now. Are
you ready, Titan?"

"Go ahead, Deimos," said the Titan man.

And then, as Strong held his breath, the metallic voice from the
loud-speaker reported on the final result of the tragic explosion over
Deimos.

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 10


" ... 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]




CHAPTER 11


"Yeow!"

Astro's bull-like roar echoed through the _Good Company_. Tom and Kit
jumped around in their seats to stare dumfounded at the half-stripped
cadet climbing through the hatch into the power deck, followed by Sid.
Sweating, his body streaked with grease, the belt of rocketman's tools
swinging from his hips, Astro pounded the two spacemen on the back. "We
did it!" he roared, turning to hug Sid who was equally grimy and naked
to the waist.

"Did what?" demanded Kit.

"You know that by-pass feeder you said wouldn't hold a pressure of more
than D-18 rate?" said Astro eagerly.

When Kit nodded, Astro roared triumphantly, "Well, it'll hold more than
D-18 rate now!"

"What do you mean?" demanded Kit.

Astro's involved and detailed reply in engineering terms was almost
gibberish to Tom, but he understood enough of the unit construction to
sense that Astro had done something extraordinary.

"And he did it all himself, too," said Sid quietly. "I didn't do any
more than hold the tools."

"But I still don't understand," protested Kit. "The by-pass won't take
more than D-18."

"We built another one," said Astro proudly. "Since you were making a
small unit, you naturally built a small by-pass feeder. We made a big
one." Astro grinned. "I admit that it looks a little lopsided, with that
tank joint on the side nearly twice as big as the whole cooling unit,
but if you'll cut your motors and give me fifteen minutes to change that
line, I'll give you a reactant feed at D-30 rate."

[Illustration]

"D-D-30," stammered Kit. "You're space happy!" He glanced over at Sid.
"Is that right, Sid?" he asked, almost hesitantly.

The youth nodded. "It'll work, Kit. And believe me, I didn't have a
thing to do with it. It was his idea and I thought he was nuts too. But
he can holler louder than I can and--well, he's bigger'n I am and--" Sid
shrugged his shoulders. "He went and did it."

"I want to see that thing for myself!" exclaimed Kit, jumping out of his
seat. "Take over for a while, Tom."

Tom slid under the controls of the sleek ship, and while Astro, Sid, and
Kit went below to the power deck, he began to figure their speed at a
D-30 rate. He used a pencil at first, scribbling on a piece of paper,
but the answer he reached was so fabulous, he put the ship on automatic
gyro control and climbed to the radar deck where he checked the figures
on the electronic calculator. When the result was the same, he let out a
whoop.

When he returned to the control deck again, Astro, Kit, and Sid were
already working the master control panel, adjusting some of the controls
to take the enormous increase in speed. Kit grinned up at Tom. "Here we
go, Tom," he said. "This is going to be the fastest ride you've ever had
next to hyperdrive."

"Then it really works?" yelled the cadet.

"It not only works, but from the looks of that thing, we'll use very
little more fuel. So now it's our turn to by-pass a fuel stop! We're
going right on through to Titan!"

       *       *       *       *       *

"You're whistling into the wind, Barnard!" Quent Miles' voice was harsh
and derisive as it crackled over the audioceiver. "You could never catch
up with me in a hundred light years! This race is in the bag for yours
truly!"

Across the vast distance of space that separated the two speeding ships,
Tom, Astro, and Kit Barnard listened to Miles' bragging voice and smiled
at each other. All Kit ever wanted was a fair chance, and now, thanks to
Astro and Sid, he had better than a fair chance. With their added speed,
Tom calculated that the two ships would arrive at the Titan spaceport at
about the same time. Only scant minutes separated their estimated times
of arrival.

"How much farther do you think that wagon of yours will hold out,
Barnard?" continued Miles over the audioceiver. "You'll burn it up or
shake it apart. This race is in the bag!"

"All right, Miles," interrupted Tom. "We'll do our talking at the Titan
spaceport. Now let me talk to Roger."

"You mean, Manning?" asked Miles, after an almost imperceptible pause.

"Yes, I mean Manning!" snapped Tom.

"Can't oblige, Corbett," said Quent Miles. "Your pal took it on the lam
back at Ganymede. He ran out on me. As far as I know, he's still there.
Didn't you see him when you stopped for refueling?"

"We didn't stop," said Tom. "What do you mean, he got off at Ganymede?
He's supposed to stay with you throughout the race."

"I gotta go now, Corbett," came Miles' abrupt reply. "I'm hittin' rough
stuff here, a swarm of meteors. See you on Titan. Be down there to
welcome you in."

"Wait! What about Roger?" Tom called frantically into the audioceiver,
but Quent Miles did not answer. The young cadet slammed the microphone
down on the table. "That blasted Roger!" he cried hotly. "When I get my
hands on him, I'm going to--"

"Take it easy, Tom," said Astro, putting a hand on the cadet's shoulder.
"You know how Roger is. Wait until he has a chance to explain before you
blast him."

"I suppose you're right, Astro," replied Tom. "But why in the stars
would he leave the ship?"

"Whatever he's done, I'm sure Roger has a good explanation," replied the
big Venusian. But inwardly he couldn't help feeling that Roger, somehow,
had gotten into another scrape which would, in the end, reflect on the
whole unit. Neither Tom nor Astro cared much for their own individual
reputations, but they were concerned about the record of the unit. Roger
had managed to pull himself out of some narrow scrapes, but there was
always the first time for everything. Leaving his post as monitor in the
race was as serious as anything he had done so far.

"Heads up, Tom!" Kit called out. "Meteor storm in our course. We've got
to change our heading."

"Aye, aye, sir," replied the young cadet, pushing aside his concern over
his unit mate and concentrating on routine flight operations.

On and on, the sleek ship plummeted through the black depths of space
beyond Jupiter, heading for the planet Saturn and her magnificent rings
of different colors, and to her largest satellite with its deadly
methane ammonia gas atmosphere, the crystal-bearing moon, Titan.

       *       *       *       *       *

"They are approaching the spaceport, sir," called the Titan
control-tower operator, and Strong jumped to the radarscope to stare at
the two blips on the screen. Only a mile separated them, with Quent
Miles' _Space Knight_ ahead.

"Five minutes to touchdown," reported the operator.

"Come on, Kit," muttered Strong through clenched teeth. "Pour it on,
boy. Give her the gun!"

The two blips drew closer to the heart of the scope. First one and then
the other shooting ahead for brief seconds as they began deceleration.

"You can see them outside, now, sir," said the operator, and Strong
jumped to the door, stepping out on the observation platform that looked
out over the spaceport. He searched the skies above him, and then,
faintly, he could see the exhaust trails of the two ships as they
streaked over the field, beginning their deceleration orbits around the
satellite.

Behind him, Strong heard the voice of the tower operator ordering Ramp
Four and Ramp Five cleared for the two ships, and the mobs of people on
the spaceport surged back. Strong noted the irony of the situation. The
people of Titan were not out to greet a hero of space, but were waiting
for the next evacuation rocket ship.

The ramps were cleared and within minutes the two ships reappeared over
the horizon, nosing upward over the spaceport in an arc, their braking
rockets blasting loudly as they prepared to land.

Then, feeling that his heart would stop, Captain Strong saw Quent Miles'
black ship touch the surface of the spaceport first. Kit Barnard had
lost the race. By seconds to be sure, but he had lost the race.

A weak cheer arose from the crowds and then quickly died out. To them
the race was futile and the prize empty. How could the winning company
ship crystal, when soon, none would be mined?

Strong raced across the field and boarded the _Good Company_ to find
Kit, Tom, Astro, and Sid sitting glumly on the control deck. There was a
quick smile of greeting on the two cadets' faces when they saw their
unit commander, but their smiles died away. Abruptly Kit Barnard was on
his feet looking past Strong to someone entering the hatch behind him.

"Congratulations, Quent!" said Kit, extending his hand. "That was a
great race."

"Thanks," replied Miles. "But I never figured it would end any other
way. You put up a great fight, Barnard. Yes, sir! A great fight!" He
turned to Captain Strong and chortled. "Good race, eh, Strong?"

The Solar Guard officer shook hands with the winner and then asked,
"Where is Cadet Manning?"

"Say, I want to make a complaint about that!" exclaimed Miles. He looked
at Tom and Astro. "It was bad enough to have to be bothered with these
kids, but when they behave the way that kid Manning behaved, I've got a
right to be sore!"

"When did Manning leave the ship?" asked Strong.

"As soon as we made touchdown on Ganymede. He left the ship after
sleeping all the way out, made a couple of nasty cracks, and the last I
saw of him, he was heading over toward the deep-space section of the
spaceport."

"You're sure of that?" asked Strong.

Quent Miles sneered. "I just said that's what happened, didn't I?"

"Yes, that's what you said," Strong replied. "And I'll have to take your
word for it until Manning can answer for himself."

"How did you manage to make it from Earth to Ganymede without refueling,
Quent?" asked Kit slowly. "And what have you got in your ship to get
that kind of speed?"

Miles' lips curled in a twisted grin. "That's my secret, spaceman," he
said, turning away. "Well, I've got to report to my boss. Great race,
Kit. Too bad there couldn't be more than one winner." He laughed and
swaggered out of the ship.

"I'd like to brain that guy," growled Tom.

"All right, Corbett, Astro, pack your gear and report to the control
tower for reassignment," snapped Strong. He turned and with a nod of
sympathy to Kit left the control deck.

"Let's go, Astro," sighed Tom. "We'll see you later, Kit. You too, Sid.
And--" They looked at each other, but there was nothing more that could
be said. The race was finished.

When Tom and Astro had finished packing their gear and left the ship,
Sid turned to Kit. "I'm going to take a look at the _Space Knight_!" he
announced.

"Better not, Sid." Barnard shook his head. "Miles is a rough customer.
He might not like visitors around his 'secret' on the power deck."

Sid's face was set. "I'm going," he repeated and ducked through the
hatch.

His face showing his disappointment at having lost the race, Kit paced
the deck for a moment and then he strode purposefully toward the hatch,
calling:

"Hey! Wait, Sid. I'm coming with you."

In the control tower at the far end of the spaceport, Tom and Astro
entered the station commander's office in time to overhear the last of
Commander Walters' orders to Captain Strong.

" ... might as well give the boys a rest before we begin our
investigations, Steve." He looked up as the door opened. "Oh, here they
are now."

"Cadets Corbett and Astro reporting, sir." Tom and Astro saluted
smartly.

"Stand easy, boys," said Walters, rising to face them. "I don't know how
much you've heard of this emergency on Titan, but you can be briefed on
details later. For the moment, all you have to know is that your
assignment here is concerned with a detailed checking-out of the whole
force-screen machinery. Take a twenty-four-hour rest and then report
back here ready for the hardest work you'll ever do in your lives."

"Yes, sir," said Tom.

"Where is Manning? Didn't he think it necessary to report to me?"
Walters looked at Strong. "Well, Steve? It's your unit?"

"It seems he got off the _Space Knight_ at Ganymede, sir," replied
Strong reluctantly. "Captain Miles said the last he saw of Manning he
was walking toward the deep-space section of the spaceport."

Walters' eyes suddenly became very bright and hard. "He got off, did he?
Well," he snapped, "this is just about the end of the line for Cadet
Roger Manning!"

"I'm sure Roger has a good explanation, sir--" began Tom.

Walters glared at the cadet. "None of that, Corbett. Manning is a bad
rocket and the sooner I get rid of him the better off the Academy and
the _Polaris_ unit will be. Now take your twenty-four-hours' leave and
report back here ready to work."

"Yes, sir," replied Tom. He and Astro saluted and turned to leave the
office but were stopped by the sudden appearance of Sid and Kit. Sid's
face was aglow. Kit was scowling.

"You know what we found on the _Space Knight_?" exclaimed Sid, unable to
hold back.

"What?" asked Tom.

"Almost a full tank of reactant!" replied the young engineer. "And the
after burners showed about as much wear as if the ship had jumped from
Earth to Venus."

"What's that, young man?" snapped Walters, stepping forward quickly.
"What are you talking about?"

Kit Barnard faced the commander and began to explain.

"We were both curious about Quent Miles' ship, sir," he said. "We
wondered what kind of equipment he had to get that kind of speed, so we
went aboard and looked her over. She looks as if she just made a routine
flight. Hardly any of her baffling has been eaten away and her motors
are cooling fast, and I'd swear by the stars there isn't anything on
that ship to give her the kind of speed she made out here."

"Hm-m! There's something funny about this," mused Walters.

Strong stepped forward quickly. "Would you like me to investigate, sir?"
he asked eagerly.

"Of course not," snapped Walters. "What's the matter with you? We've got
a whole planet full of people about to lose their homes and you want to
take time off to investigate pure speculation!"

"I'm sorry, sir." Strong's face flushed at the rebuke.

"Carry on! Work with Joe Howard."

"Yes, sir."

Strong saluted and started for the door. He passed Tom, Astro, Sid, and
Kit without so much as a glance. His jaw was set like a rock.

Tom Corbett shuffled uncomfortably, embarrassed at the rebuke Strong had
just suffered from Walters. It was not like the commander to flare up so
quickly. The situation on Titan must be extremely serious. He and Astro
ducked out of the room quickly.

"Come on, Astro," muttered the young cadet. "Let's get a bite to eat.
I'm starved."

"I was," said the giant Venusian. "But I lost my appetite."

"Boy, do I wish I had Roger here now!"

"Yeah, me too!"

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 12


Olympia, the largest colony on Titan, was gripped by a wave of fear. The
broad streets were empty; the shops and stores were deserted; and the
population waited in line at the spaceport, with their most valuable
belongings, for their turn to leave the threatened settlement. Slowly
the satellite of Saturn was dying, and through the methane ammonia
atmosphere, the glittering rings of the mother planet shone down on her
death struggle.

Tom Corbett and Astro walked through the streets silently, overcome by
the desolation around them. Many parts of the city were completely
abandoned, and the few remaining citizens wore cumbersome oxygen masks
as the deadly atmosphere of gas seeped through the force field to reach
the ground surface of the satellite.

As the two cadets continued their dismal tour, they could only find one
small restaurant open, a self-service food center that required no help.
They were the only customers. During the meal they hardly talked, as
they watched the slow procession of people outside, heading for the
spaceport.

When the two cadets left the restaurant, a jet car suddenly blasted to a
stop beside them and a master sergeant, dressed in the scarlet red of
the enlisted Solar Guard, jumped out to face them.

"All persons are required to wear oxygen masks, Cadets," the sergeant
announced, handing over two masks. "And I would suggest that you leave
this section of the city as quickly as possible. The screens are leaking
badly again. We may have to close off this section too."

[Illustration]

Tom and Astro took the masks but did not put them on.

"Thanks, Sergeant," said Tom. "But we'll probably be around here for
some time. We're on special duty with Commander Walters and Captain
Strong."

At the mention of Strong's name, the sergeant started, looked at the
boys closely, and then smiled. "Say, aren't you Corbett and Astro?"

"That's right," acknowledged Tom.

"Well, don't you remember me?" asked the sergeant.

Tom looked at him closely and then smiled in sudden recognition.
"Morgan! Phil Morgan!" he cried.

"Of course," chimed in Astro.

"Sure," said the sergeant. "We went through our first test together at
the Academy and I washed out."

"And you became an enlisted man!" exclaimed Tom. "Man, you're a real
space buster!"

"I figured if I couldn't get into space one way, I'd do it another,"
said Morgan proudly. "A lot of times I wished I was still a cadet with
you, but now I don't think I'd change it for anything in the world."

"I can believe that," said Tom, smiling. "And a master sergeant at that!
McKenny told us once it took a man nearly fifteen years to get top
rating. It must really be a labor of love for you to have made it this
quickly." He stuck out his hand. "Congratulations, Morgan."

They shook hands. "Well, I've got to get rolling," said Morgan. "I sure
hope you fellows find out what's cooking here. I've got a lot of friends
here and they stand to lose everything they own if Titan is abandoned."

"With Captain Strong on the job, you can bet we'll find out the
trouble," declared Astro.

Morgan smiled. "See you around," he said, and jumped back into the jet
car. A second later it was roaring down the street to the western part
of the city.

"Boy, sure makes you feel good to know that a guy loves space so much
that he would fight his way to the top of the enlisted guard as Morgan
did!" said Tom.

Suddenly Astro jerked Tom by the sleeve and pulled him back into the
restaurant to crouch behind the door.

"Hey, what's the matter with you?" growled Tom.

"Sh-h-h!" hissed Astro and pointed across the street. "Look!"

Tom poked his head around the corner of the doorway and quickly jerked
it back again. Quent Miles was hurrying down the street.

"Wonder what he's doing around here?" whispered Astro, watching the
black-clad spaceman pass directly opposite them and continue down the
street, seemingly unaware that he was being watched.

"He must be heading for the evacuated section," said Tom.

"How do you figure that?" asked Astro, as they peered cautiously around
the edge of the doorway.

"He's wearing his oxygen mask."

"Come on!" said Astro. "Let's find out what that heel is up to."

Hugging the buildings, the two cadets walked down the street, following
Miles. There was a puzzled frown on Astro's face as he stared at the
spaceman, a hundred feet away. "I swear, Tom," he complained, "I'm about
to bust a rocket. Every time I see that guy, I think I know him, but
when I try to pin it down, it slips away from me."

"Watch it!" cried Tom. "He's stopping."

The boys ducked behind a deserted jet car as Quent Miles suddenly spun
around to stare suspiciously back down the street.

"I don't know if he saw us or not," whispered Tom.

"With that oxygen mask," replied the big cadet, "maybe he can't see very
well."

"He's going on," replied Tom. "Come on. We've got to find out what he's
up to. He wouldn't be concerned about someone following him if he
weren't trying to hide something."

They slipped around the jet car and stepped back on the sidewalk. Ahead
of them, Quent Miles was walking quickly, reading all the street signs.
Suddenly he turned down a side street, and the two cadets raced after
him.

They were in the outskirts of the city now. Great areas were covered
with rolling grass fields where the citizens of Titan spent their
leisure hours playing ball and picnicking, and it was easy for the
cadets to follow the black-suited spaceman. They had to put on their
oxygen masks as the deadly fumes of the methane ammonia atmosphere began
to swirl around them. They were near the outer limits of the atmosphere
screen's effectiveness.

"I think he's going into that building up ahead, Astro," said Tom, his
voice distorted to a low metallic hiss by the miniature amplifier in the
face of the mask.

Astro nodded and they ducked into a gully as Quent Miles turned once
again and glanced down the street.

"Wonder what's in that building?" mused Tom.

"One way to find out," said Astro. "Come on. He's moving again."

The gas began to thicken now, and the two cadets found it difficult to
see more than a few feet ahead as they moved cautiously through the
swirling death around them. After what seemed like an hour, but was
actually hardly more than a few minutes, they found the building Miles
had entered.

"I'd give two weeks' leave for a ray gun now," said Tom.

"Want me to try the door?" asked Astro.

"Go ahead. We can't learn anything standing out here."

Astro put his hand on the circular latch and twisted it slowly. The door
slid back on rollers, exposing a dark interior. The two boys slipped
inside.

"Better close the door, Astro," said Tom. "The ammonia doesn't seem to
be so thick in here."

Astro twisted the latch on the inner side and the heavy door rolled back
into place. They turned slowly and saw a room that was dark except for a
single light gleaming weakly through the haze of the gas. When their
eyes became adjusted to the semidarkness, they moved, searching for
another door in the huge room.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" asked Astro.

"I can't be positive," said Tom. "The stuff outside was too thick--" He
stopped, touched Astro on the arm, and pointed to his left. There was
the sound of a door sliding back and light filtered into the murky room.
Quent Miles stood framed in the doorway, the unmistakable outline of a
paralo-ray gun in his right hand.

"Drop to the floor," hissed Tom.

The two cadets dropped lightly to the floor and lay face down, while
Quent Miles walked toward them fanning the gun around menacingly. Then,
as he was about to step on Astro's hand, he turned and walked quickly
back to the door. "You must be nuts, Charley," the two cadets heard him
say. "There's nobody here."

The door rolled closed and the light was cut off. Tom and Astro rose and
quietly made their way toward the door. They stopped, leaned against the
door, and tried to hear what was going on inside, but were unable to
distinguish more than a vague mumble of voices, because of their masks
and the thickness of the door. Suddenly, however, they were conscious of
footsteps approaching from the other side.

There was no time to hide. Each boy flattened himself against the wall
on opposite sides of the door and held his breath as the door opened
slowly.

       *       *       *       *       *

"There can be no doubt about it, Steve," said Commander Walters to the
young captain. "What we need are more powerful pumping stations for
oxygen _and_ additional generators for supplying power to the force
field."

"How do you figure that, sir?" asked Strong.

"It's simply this," replied Walters. "The population here has nearly
tripled in the past two years. The force-field screens were set up
originally to accommodate only a minimum number of miners and their
families. With the heavy demand for crystal, and therefore, more
civilians to dig it out, the force field has been overloaded."

"But I still don't see how, sir," Strong protested.

"The more people, the more oxygen needed to keep them alive, right?"

Strong nodded.

"The force screens hold back the methane ammonia gas and create a vacuum
into which we pump oxygen, right?"

Again Strong nodded.

"Now we have a demand for more and more oxygen, and we pump it into the
vacuum, but eventually we arrive at the point where the pressure of the
oxygen inside is greater than the pressure outside. Therefore, the
screening force field is broken in its weaker points and the oxygen
escapes. When the balance is restored, the rupture isn't sealed and gas
seeps in."

Strong glanced questioningly at Captain Howard and at Kit Barnard, who
had been asked to remain on Titan and lend his assistance to the problem
of the screens.

"Well, gentlemen?" asked Walters, noticing Strong's glance. "That is my
theory. Do any of you have a better one? Or a more reasonable
explanation?"

Strong, Barnard, and Howard shook their heads. A complete check of every
possible source of trouble had been made by the four men and they had
found nothing.

"We still have to wait for a report from the electronics sections, sir,"
said Howard, rubbing his eyes. He started to get up and then suddenly
slumped to the floor.

"By the craters of Luna!" cried Walters, jumping to the young officer's
side. Howard was picked up and placed on a nearby couch. While Strong
and Kit loosened his clothing, Walters grabbed the nearest oxygen mask
and slipped it over the spaceman's face.

"Funny that he should pass out like that," commented Strong, sniffing
the air. "I _still_ don't smell anything."

Kit looked up at Strong and grinned. "He's not gassed. He's asleep."

"Asleep!" exclaimed Walters.

The enlisted spaceman standing on guard at the door stepped forward and
saluted smartly. "Captain Howard hasn't slept for the last five days,"
he said. "He's been working night and day."

Walters smiled. "All right, Sergeant, take him to his quarters." Then he
held up his hand. "No, let him stay where he is." He turned to Steve.
"Come on, Steve. You too, Kit. Let's see if we can't get a report from
the electronics section before we speculate any further."

The three men left the control-tower office under the watchful eyes of a
squad of Space Marines. Trouble had already started at the spaceport
when a crowd of excited miners had charged a detachment of enlisted men
guarding Solar Guard cruisers. The crowds were growing panicky as the
deadly gas filled the city, unchecked.

Strong, Walters, and Kit Barnard climbed into a waiting jet car, amid
the hoots and catcalls from the waiting miners, and hurtled away to the
giant building housing the electronic "brain" that controlled the
force-field screens.

Walters' face was grim. Beside him, Strong and Kit were silent as they
raced through the empty streets. If there was no positive discovery by
the electronics section of the huge screening operations, then it would
have to be assumed that Commander Walters was right in his theory of
overpopulation. To remedy that situation would require complete
reconstruction of the satellite settlement and temporary abandonment of
Titan. Millions of dollars would be lost and thousands of people thrown
out of work. It would be a severe blow to the Solar Alliance.

The jet car slowed to a stop. They were in front of the electronics
building and the three men climbed out wearily. They would know in a few
minutes now.




CHAPTER 13


"You're afraid of your own shadow!" Miles snarled over his shoulder to
Charley Brett who followed him out of the room. Brett was adjusting his
oxygen mask with one hand and gripping a paralo-ray gun tightly with the
other.

"Never mind the cracks," snapped Brett, his voice muffled by the mask.
"I tell you I heard someone moving around in here."

Miles laughed again and walked straight to the middle of the room. With
their backs pressed to the wall beside the door, Tom and Astro saw Miles
bend over and lift a trap door in the middle of the floor.

The two men flashed a light down into the opening and climbed down,
pulling the trap door closed after them.

No sooner was it shut than Tom and Astro jumped forward to examine it
cautiously. Astro started to pull it open but Tom held out a warning
hand. He turned and pointed toward the room that Miles and Brett had
left. Astro nodded and they walked quickly back to the door. Sliding it
open, they stepped inside.

"By the rings of Saturn!" cried Astro.

"Well, blast my jets!" Tom exclaimed.

The air in the room was clear, completely free of the misty whirling
methane ammonia of death that swirled around them outside. Recovering
from his surprise quickly, Astro closed the door and walked to the
center of the room, looking around curiously. Tom had already slipped
off his mask and was examining the equipment lying on the floor. Astro
bent over an oddly shaped machine that looked somewhat like an ancient
compressed-air drill, with a long bar protruding from one end. He
examined the bar closely and then turned slowly to Tom.

"Do you know what this machine is?" he asked in almost a whisper.

Tom looked at it and then shook his head.

"I haven't seen one of these since I left Venus, and then only when I
was a kid hanging around the spaceports where the space rats used to
blast off for the asteroids looking for uranium."

"You mean you hunt uranium with that thing?" asked Tom.

"No, you dig it out with this."

Tom gazed at the machine thoughtfully. "Why would it be here?" he mused.
"It's already been used," said Astro, standing up. "Look, the drill head
is dull."

"That trap door!" Tom exclaimed. "It leads to a mine. Miles and Brett
have discovered high-grade uranium right here on Titan where everyone
thought there was nothing but _crystal_!"

Astro nodded grimly. "And that isn't all. This room is free of ammonia
gas."

"But how in the star-blazing dickens can they keep it out of here when
everything else outside is flooded with it?" asked Tom.

Astro spun around and began to examine the walls. "Just as I thought!"
he exclaimed. "This room is airtight! Sealed! Oxygen is being pumped in
here."

"From where?"

"Might be from somewhere below," replied the big Venusian. "Down that
trap where Miles and Brett went."

Tom put his mask back on and headed for the door. Astro followed him.
They opened it a little and peered into the swirling mist.

"Then it's being pumped in directly," Tom asserted. "Through a duct
leading directly up into this room from somewhere below."

Astro nodded. "Then there's only one thing left to do. Go down through
that trap door and see what we can find." He stepped forward.

"Wait a minute, Astro," said Tom, stopping him. "Let me check our
oxygen. There might not be any down there. Remember, Miles and Brett
wore _their_ masks."

Making a quick check of their oxygen supply, Tom patted Astro on the
back and started forward. "It's O.K. We've got another four hours left.
Come on!"

They moved toward the trap door slowly.

"I still wish I had a ray gun," whispered Tom.

"As long as I can use these"--Astro balled his hamlike hands into
fists--"we're O.K."

When they reached the trap door, Tom got down on his knees and felt
around for the opening. He found a small ring bolt, motioned to Astro to
step back, and pulled. The trap door swung back easily and a shaft of
white light gleamed in his face. The young cadet leaned down and looked
through the opening. What he saw made him gasp.

"What is it?" demanded Astro.

[Illustration: _Tom got down on his knees and felt around for an
opening_]

Tom motioned for him to get down and look. The big cadet dropped lightly
to his knees to peer through the opening. "By the moons of Jupiter," he
exclaimed, "it's a--a mining shaft!"

"Just what we thought it was," whispered Tom. "Come on. Let's go down
and find out where it leads."

"Maybe we'd better go back and tell Captain Strong about this first,"
Astro said speculatively.

"There's no telling what Brett and Miles are liable to do while we're
gone," said Tom. "You find Captain Strong and I'll go down into the
shaft and look around."

"Not on your life," protested Astro. "You don't think I'd let you go
down there alone, do you? _You_ go back to Captain Strong and _I'll_ see
what those two are doing down there."

Tom grinned. "O.K., we'll both go down," he said.

Opening the trap door all the way, Tom eased himself down into the
opening. Astro followed. Immediately below the trap, they found a
ladder, fixed to the wall of the shaft, which led directly down to a
point about thirty feet below the surface of Titan. At the bottom the
two cadets paused. A long tunnel stretched before them.

"Listen to that!" exclaimed Astro.

Tom ripped off the mask and listened. He heard a strange noise which
sounded more like the roar of escaping gas than a motor.

"What is it?" asked Tom.

"That's what I'd like to know!"

"And that light," continued Tom, pointing down the length of the tunnel.
"Do you suppose it's Miles and Brett?"

"It isn't moving," commented Astro.

"Well, since we're here we might as well find out as much as we can,"
Tom decided. "Let's go."

The two cadets flattened themselves against the side of the shaft and
inched forward. The hissing noise was slowly building up to a roar now,
and as they made their way along the shaft, they passed other smaller
tunnels that branched off to the left and right. There was evidence of
recent work. Tools were scattered along the tunnel floors, as if the
workers had dropped them in sudden flight.

The light ahead of them grew brighter, and as they rounded a corner,
they saw a bare, unshaded lamp suspended from the roof of the tunnel.

Tom suddenly stopped and jerked Astro back. "Look!" he exclaimed,
pointing to the floor, not two paces away. A thin wire, hardly
noticeable, was stretched across the floor at ankle height.

"That bright light is to attract your attention while you trip over that
thing and probably blow yourself to bits," he said grimly, pointing to
the wall where the wire was connected to a small charge of explosives.
"Nothing to bring the roof down," he continued, "but enough to blast
whoever tripped over this wire."

Stepping over the wire carefully, they started down the shaft again, but
Tom paused thoughtfully.

"What's the matter?" asked Astro.

"That booby trap," said Tom. "We'd better not take any chances of
tripping over it on the way back. We might be in a hurry."

"I know what you mean," grunted the big Venusian. He knelt down beside
the menacing box of explosives and quickly disconnected the trip wire,
throwing the box to one side.

Straightening up, Astro announced, "It's harmless now."

Cautiously the two cadets continued down the tunnel, the roaring sound
growing louder and louder. After twenty minutes, Astro paused, his
homely features wrinkled in a frown of worry.

"Think maybe Miles and Brett went off into one of the other side
tunnels?" he asked.

Tom thought a moment. "No, I don't, Astro. We haven't hit another side
tunnel since we passed that booby trap back there. What would be the use
of setting that thing up if they went in another direction?"

"There must be another way out of here, then," Astro remarked.

"Why?"

"That part of the tunnel back there by the bomb was loose dirt. If the
bomb had exploded, the whole tunnel would have been blocked off and how
could they get out?"

Tom didn't answer. He was thinking about what he was going to do if
there should be another booby trap in the tunnel. It was so dark now
that they could hardly see more than a few feet ahead. The bright light
was merely a pinpoint in the distance behind them.

And then Tom became aware that the roar that had been with them
constantly since they had entered the shaft had now lessened in volume.
But they had not passed a single branch-off tunnel where the sound could
have originated. Tom made up his mind quickly.

"Come on, Astro," he said. "We're going back."

"Why?"

"I haven't time to explain now, but you walk close to one side of the
shaft and I'll take the other. Feel along with your hands for anything
like a door or an opening. I think we've passed them."

Without another word, Astro turned around and headed back, feeling along
the tunnel wall.

It did not take the two cadets long to discover what they were looking
for. A heavy wooden door was set flush with the side of the tunnel. And
when Tom pressed his ear to it, he could hear the roaring sound
throbbing heavily inside.

"See if you can open it, Astro," said Tom. "But take it easy."

Astro felt along the side of the door until he found a wooden latch and
he lifted it gently. The door swung back, as if pushed, as a powerful
draft caught it from the other side. The roar was now deafening.

Tom stepped inside cautiously, followed by Astro. They found themselves
on a small balcony overlooking a huge subterranean room. In the room
they saw Quent Miles and Charles Brett bending over a table on which
were several delicate electronic instruments. Tom and Astro recognized
them immediately as testing machinery for radioactivity, much more
advanced and sensitive than the ordinary Geiger counter. Around the two
men was ample evidence of Astro's original assumption that they were
digging into a hot vein of uranium pitchblende. To one side of the room,
lead sheets lined a rough boxlike structure that Astro and Tom guessed
was covering for the radioactive vein. Against the wall lay the
lead-lined suits used by the miners. Further to one side, Tom saw a
huge open pipe. He nudged Astro.

"Look, over there," Tom whispered. "That's where the oxygen is coming
from!"

Below them, Miles suddenly walked to the pipe and pulled a large lever
on its side. The roaring sound stopped immediately and the boys felt the
air pressure in the room lessen slightly.

"That blasted noise is driving me crazy," explained Miles, walking back
to the table, his voice echoing in the rock-walled cavern.

Brett, leaning over the table, was stabbing around futilely in one of
the sets of tubes in a complicated testing device. "Wish we had that
squirt Manning here," he mumbled. "He could fix these things up in no
time at all."

"I could always go back to the hide-out and get him," suggested Miles.

On the balcony Tom gripped Astro's arm tightly.

"Astro! Did you hear that?" he exclaimed.

The big cadet nodded and started to rise from their place of
concealment. Tom pulled him down. "Wait," he whispered sharply. "No use
barging in on them yet. Maybe we can find out where Roger is first."

Astro reluctantly crouched down again, his hamlike hands balled into
fists.

The two cadets watched Quent Miles and Brett work on the instruments
awhile longer. Finally Miles slammed down a pair of wire cutters on the
table and growled at Brett. "No use messing with this thing any longer.
I don't know what makes it tick, so I can't find the trouble. We need
new equipment."

"It'll take at least two weeks to get new equipment the way things are
going here at Titan," replied Brett.

"Well, there's no use hanging around here if we can't dig any more of
the stuff out, and I ain't going behind that lead shield unless I got a
machine that tells me it's safe."

"I've been thinking about Manning," said Brett.

"What about him?"

"Suppose we move the stuff we've already mined to the hide-out, and take
this equipment along too. He can repair it out there. We can turn off
the oxygen that we're sucking off from the Solar Guard pumps, and by the
time we get back here, the old satellite will be back to normal. Then,
with the equipment repaired and Olympia back to normal, we can really
begin operations."

Quent nodded quickly. "Good idea. Come on. Let's get this stuff aboard
the ship."

On the balcony Tom and Astro looked at each other.

"They're responsible for what's happened here on Titan!" whispered Tom.
"They have been sucking off oxygen from the main pumps supporting the
force field."

"Come on, Tom," growled Astro. "My fist is just itching to make contact
with a couple of no-good chins."

"Not so fast! We still don't know where they've got Roger."

"You want to keep on following them?" asked Astro.

"At least to their ship," Tom replied. "Then we can notify Captain
Strong and he can track them in the _Polaris_. If we barge in on them
now, we'll just get the satisfaction of knocking their heads together
with no guarantee of any information." The young cadet turned to the
door. "We'll sneak up the tunnel a way and then follow them out."

"Hurry!" said Astro. "Here they come." Quent, carrying one of the
instruments, had started up the steps to the balcony.

Tom grabbed the latch and pushed up but the door would not open. "Give
me a hand, Astro, quick!" he called.

Astro grabbed the latch and heaved his bulk against the door. Suddenly
he stepped back dumfounded, holding the latch in his hand. It had
snapped off.

Just at that moment Brett looked up and saw them. He shouted a warning
to Miles, who dropped the instrument he was carrying and pulled out his
ray gun.

"Just stand where you are!" he snarled, leveling the gun at them.

Tom and Astro stood quietly, hands in the air.

"How in blazes did they get here?" Brett cried.

"They must have followed me," said Miles. "They certainly couldn't have
known about this place."

"But how did they get past the trap?" Brett persisted, still amazed and
shaken by the unexpected appearance of the cadets.

Astro snorted his contempt. "You must think we're a couple of prize
space jerks," he growled. "You can't even kill a mouse with that thing
now."

"Let's cut the talk," said Miles. "What do we do with them?"

"Freeze them!" snapped Brett. "No telling how long they've been here and
how much they know."

"We know enough to put you on a prison asteroid," challenged Tom.

"Freeze 'em, it is," said Quent. "We'll get the ship loaded and decide
what to do with them later."

He pressed the trigger on his ray gun. There was a harsh crackling sound
and Tom and Astro stiffened into immobility, every nerve and muscle
deadened. With the exception of their hearts, and sense of seeing and
hearing, they might have been dead men.

Laughing to themselves, Quent Miles and Charles Brett picked up their
instruments, walked past them, and disappeared through the door.

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 14


Charles Brett swaggered into the control room of the electronics
building. Commander Walters, Captain Strong, and Kit Barnard looked up
from their study of the reports the chief engineer had handed them.

"What are you doing here, Brett?" demanded Walters. "I thought you had
blasted out of here long ago."

"I'm leaving as soon as we sign the contracts for hauling the crystal,
Commander," said Brett.

"Contracts!" exploded Strong. "Why, man, do you realize that this
satellite is about to die? If we don't find out what's wrong with the
screens, there won't be any crystal mined here for the next ten years."

Brett shook his head and smiled. "That's all right with me too," he
said. "The contracts call for either party to satisfy the other should
either party fail to fulfill the contractual agreements. In other words,
Strong, I get paid for making the trip out to Titan, whether you have
crystal to haul or not."

"Why, you dirty--" snarled Strong.

"Just a moment, Steve," Walters interrupted sharply. "Brett's right. We
had no way of knowing that this situation would arise, or grow worse
than it was in the beginning. Brett went to a great deal of expense to
enter the race and win it. If he insists that the Solar Guard abide by
the contract, there's nothing we can do but pay."

"It won't be too bad, Commander Walters," said Brett. "I have my ship
loaded with crystal now, and if you'll just sign the contracts, I can
deliver one cargo of crystal to Atom City before Titan is abandoned."

"Wait a minute," cried Strong. "Who gave you the right to load crystal
before signing the contract?"

"I assumed the right, Captain Strong," replied Brett smoothly. "My ship
won the race, didn't it? Why shouldn't I start work right away?"

"Well, that's beside the point now, anyway," Walters said. "We may need
your ship to take miners and their families to Ganymede or Mars, Brett.
Never mind the crystal. One load won't mean very much, anyway."

"No, thank you," growled Brett. "I don't haul any miners in my ship. The
contracts call for crystal and that's all."

"I'm ordering you to take those people, Brett," said Walters coldly.
"This is an emergency."

"Order all you want," snapped Brett. "Look at your space code book,
section four, paragraph six. My rights are fully protected from
high-handed orders issued by men like you who think they're bigger than
the rest of the people."

Walters flushed angrily. "Get out!" he roared.

"Not till you sign that contract," Brett persisted. "And if I don't
leave with a signed contract in my pocket, I'll have you up before the
Solar Alliance Council on charges of fraud. You haven't got a leg to
stand on and you know it. Now sign that contract."

Abruptly, Walters turned to an enlisted spaceman and instructed him to
get his brief case from the _Polaris_, then deliberately turning his
back on Brett, continued his study of the report. Strong and Kit Barnard
watched Brett with narrowed eyes as the arrogant company owner crossed
to the other side of the room and sat down.

"You know something, Steve," said Kit quietly. "Back at the Academy, I
failed to register a protest about someone dumping impure reactant into
my feeders."

"What about it?" asked Strong.

"I'd like to register that protest now."

"Now?" Steve looked at him, a frown on his face. "Why now?"

"For one thing, Brett couldn't blast off until there was an
investigation."

"You might have something there, Kit," replied Strong with a smile.
"_And_ since Brett won the race under such--er--mysterious
circumstances, I'd suggest an investigation of the black ship as well,
eh?"

Kit grinned. "Shall I make that a formal request?"

"Right now, if you like."

Kit turned to face Commander Walters. "Commander," he announced, "I
would like to register a formal protest with regard to the race."

Walters glanced up. "Race?" he growled. "What the devil are you talking
about, Kit?"

"Captain Barnard seems to think that Mr. Brett's ship might have used
equipment that was not standard, sir," Strong explained. "In addition,
his own ship was sabotaged during the time trials."

Walters looked at Strong and then at Kit Barnard, unable to understand.
"What's happened to you two? Bringing up a thing like that at this time.
Have you lost your senses?"

"No, sir," replied Kit. "But I believe that if a formal investigation
was started, the Solar Guard would be within its legal rights to delay
signing the contracts until such investigation was completed."

Walters grinned broadly. "Of course! Of course!"

Brett jumped up and stormed across the room. "You can't get away with
this, Walters!" he shouted. "I won this race fairly and squarely. You
have to sign that contract."

"Mr. Brett," said Walters coldly, "under the circumstances, I don't have
to do a space-blasted thing." He turned to Kit. "Is this a formal
request for an investigation, Kit?" He was smiling.

"It is, sir."

"Very well," said Walters, turning to Brett. "Mr. Brett, in the presence
of two witnesses, I refuse to sign the contracts as a result of serious
charges brought against you by one of the participating entrants. You
will be notified of the time and place of the hearing on these charges."

Brett's face turned livid. "You can't do this to me!"

Walters turned to one of the enlisted guardsmen. "Escort Mr. Brett from
the room," he ordered.

A tall, husky spaceman unlimbered his paralo-ray rifle and nudged Brett
from the room. "I'll get even with you, Walters, if it's the last thing
I do," he screamed.

"You make another threat like that to a Solar Guard officer," growled
the enlisted spaceman, "and it'll be the _last_ thing you do."

As the door closed, Walters, Strong, and Kit laughed out loud. A few
seconds later, as the three men returned to their study of the report,
there was a distant rumble, followed quickly by the shock wave of a
tremendous explosion. Walters, Strong, and Kit and everyone in the room
were thrown to the floor violently.

"By the craters of Luna," yelled Strong, "what was that?"

"One of the smaller screens has given way, sir!" yelled the chief
electronic engineer after a quick glance at the giant control board.
"Number seven."

Walters struggled to his feet. "Where is it?" he demanded.

Strong and Kit got to their feet and crowded around the commander as the
engineer pointed out the section on the huge map hanging on the wall.

"Here it is, sir," he said. "Sector twelve."

"Has that area been evacuated yet?" asked Strong.

"I don't know, sir," replied the engineer. "Captain Howard was in charge
of all evacuation operations."

Walters spun around. "Get Howard, Steve. Find out if that part of the
city has been cleared," he ordered and then turned to Kit. "You, Kit,
take the Space Marines and round up every spare oxygen mask you can find
and get it over to that section right away. I'll meet you here"--he
placed his finger on the map--"with every jet car I can find. No telling
how many people are still there and we have to get them out."

Almost immediately the wailing of emergency sirens could be heard
spreading the alarm over the city. At the spaceport, where the citizens
were waiting to be taken off the satellite, small groups began to charge
toward the loading ships in a frenzy of fear. Since Titan had been
colonized, there had never been a single occasion where the sirens had
warned of the failure of the screens. There had been many tests,
especially for the school-age children and the miners working far below
the surface of the satellite, but this was the first time the sirens
howled a real warning of danger and death.

Strong raced back to the control tower of the spaceport in a jet car and
burst into the room where the captain was still asleep on the couch.
Strong shook him violently.

"Wake up, Joe!" he cried. "Come on. Wake up."

"Uh--ahhh? What's the--?" Howard sat up and blinked his eyes. "Steve,
what's going on?"

"The screen at sector twelve has collapsed. How many people are still in
there?"

"Collapsed! Sector twelve?" Howard, still groggy with sleep, dumbly
repeated what Strong had said.

Strong drew back his hand and slapped him across the face. "Come out of
it, Joe!" he barked.

Howard reeled back and then sat up, fully awake.

"What--what did you say?" he stammered.

"Sector twelve has gone," Strong repeated. "How many people are left
there?"

"We haven't even begun operations there yet," Howard replied grimly.
"How long have I been asleep?"

"A couple of hours."

"Then there's still time."

"What do you mean?"

"Just before I folded, I ordered the evacuation crews to start working
on sector eleven. They should be finished now and just about starting on
twelve. If they have, we have a good chance of saving everyone."

"Let's go."

The two men raced out of the control tower to the jet car and roared
through the desolate streets of the city. All around them commandeered
jet cars raced toward the critical area. Commander Walters stood in the
middle of an intersection on the main road to sector twelve, waving his
arms and shouting orders to the enlisted guardsmen and volunteer miners
that had raced back into the city to help. On the sidewalk, enlisted
guardsmen handed out extra oxygen masks to the men who would search the
area for anyone who might not have gotten out before the screen
exploded. The main evacuation force that had been under Howard's
supervision had already moved in but there was still a large area to
cover.

"We'll split up into six sections!" roared Walters, standing on top of a
jet car. "Go down every street and alley, and make a house-to-house
search. Cover every square inch of the sector. If we lose one life, we
will have failed. Move out!"

With Strong, Kit, Howard, Walters, and other officers of the Solar Guard
in the lead, the grim lines of men separated into smaller groups and
started their march through the deserted city. The swirling gas already
was down to within a hundred feet of the street level. When it dropped
to the surface, each man knew there would be little hope for anyone
remaining alive without oxygen masks.

Every room of every house and building was searched, as over all, the
deadly swirling gas dropped lower and lower and the pressure of the
oxygen was dissipated.

Once, Strong broke open the door to a cheap rooming house and raced
through it searching each room. He found no one, but something made him
go back through the first-floor rooms again. Under a bed in a room at
the end of the hall he found a young boy huddled with his dog, wide-eyed
with fear. Such incidents were repeated over and over as the searchers
came upon sleeping miners, sick mothers and children, elderly couples
that were unable to move. Each time they were taken outside to a jet car
where masks were strapped over their faces, and then driven to the
spaceport. And, all the while, the deadly methane ammonia gas dropped
lower and lower until it was within ten feet of the ground.

There were only a few buildings left to search now. The lines of the men
had reached the open grassy areas surrounding the city proper, and as
they collected in groups and exchanged information, Walters gathered
them together.

"You've done a fine job, all of you," he said. "I don't think there's a
living thing left in this entire sector. All volunteers and the first
four squads of enlisted guardsmen and second detachment of Space Marines
return to the spaceport and prepare to abandon Titan. Give all the aid
to the officer in charge that you can. Again, I want to thank you for
your help."

As the group of men broke up and began drifting away, Walters hurried
over to Strong and Kit Barnard. "Steve," he said, "I want you to
supervise the evacuation at the spaceport. Since this screen has blown
up, those poor people are frightened out of their wits. And they have a
right to be. If a major screen blew instead of a small one, we really
would be in trouble."

"Very well, sir," replied Strong. "Come on, Kit, you might as well blast
off with a load of children."

"Sure thing."

"Just a minute," Walters interrupted. "I would consider it a service,
Kit, if you would send your young assistant back with your ship and you
stick around until we get all the people safely off."

"Anything I can do to help, sir," replied Kit.

At that moment a tall enlisted spaceman walked up to Walters and saluted
sharply. Walters noticed the stripes on his sleeve and his young-looking
face. He couldn't remember ever seeing such a young master sergeant.

"Captain Howard asked me to make my report to you, sir," said the
guardsman.

"Very well, sergeant," said Walters.

The young spaceman made a detailed report of his search through sectors
eleven and twelve. While he spoke, Strong kept looking at him, puzzled.
When the guardsman had finished, Strong asked, "Don't I know you from
somewhere, Sergeant?"

The guardsman smiled. "You sure do, Captain Strong. My name's Morgan,
sir. I was a cadet with Tom Corbett and Astro, sir, but I washed out. So
I joined the enlisted guard."

"Congratulations, Sergeant," said Walters. "You're the youngest top kick
I've ever seen." He turned to Strong. "Apparently we slipped up, Steve,
letting this chap get out of the Academy so he could make a name for
himself in the enlisted ranks."

"Thank you, sir," replied Morgan, blushing with pride.

"Have you seen the cadets, by any chance, Sergeant?" asked Strong.
"They're both here on Titan with me."

"Oh, yes, sir," said Morgan. "I saw them some time ago."

"Where?"

"A few blocks closer to the heart of town," said Morgan, pointing back
down the avenue. "We were just starting in on sector eleven and I saw
them coming out of a restaurant."

"Funny they haven't returned," commented Walters. "And what would they
be doing down there?"

Strong's forehead creased into a frown of worry. "Sir, I wonder if you'd
allow me a half hour or so to look for them?" he asked. "If they were
anywhere near this section when the screen collapsed, they could have
been injured by the sudden release of pressure."

"They had masks, sir," said Morgan. "I gave them a couple myself."

Walters thought a moment. "It's just possible they might have been
injured in some way," he mused. "Go ahead, Steve. If you don't find
them, and they don't show up at the spaceport, we'll organize a full
search."

"Thank you, sir," said Strong. "You come along with me, Sergeant."

Adjusting their oxygen masks, Captain Strong and Sergeant Morgan strode
down the street through the swirling mist of deadly methane ammonia to
begin their search for Tom and Astro.




CHAPTER 15


"Listen!"

Captain Strong grabbed the young master sergeant by the arm and stood
stock-still in the swirling methane ammonia gas, his eyes searching the
misty sky.

"What is it, sir?" asked Morgan.

"A spaceship decelerating," said Strong, "coming in for a touchdown!"

"I think I hear it now, sir!" said Morgan.

"Can you figure out where it is? I can't see a blasted thing."

"Sounds to me as though it's to the left, sir."

"O.K., let's go and investigate," said Strong. "There isn't any good
reason for a ship coming down in this deadly soup--or in this area."

Walking slowly and cautiously, the two spacemen angled to the left,
peering through the clouds of gas that seemed to get thicker as they
moved along. The roaring blast of the ship became louder.

Strong put his hand out to stop Morgan. "Let's hold up a minute,
Sergeant," he said. "I don't want to get too close until I know what
we're facing."

They stood absolutely still, the gas swirling around them in undulating
clouds that grew thicker one minute and then thinned out again. As the
gas thinned for a few seconds, Strong gasped and pointed.

"Look!" he cried. "By the craters of Luna, it's Brett's ship!"

"Brett?" asked Morgan.

"Charles Brett. He owns that ship. It's the one that won the space race
from Earth. Now, what would he be doing landing out here?"

"I think he came down beside that warehouse up ahead, sir," said Morgan,
as the gas cloud closed in again, cutting off their view of the actual
landing. "It used to be a storehouse for mining gear a couple of years
ago, but it's been empty for some time."

"I think we'd better check this, Sergeant," said Strong firmly. "Come
on."

Strong started forward, then stopped, as a particularly heavy cloud of
the deadly gas swirled around them. The two spacemen clung together
blinded by the dense methane ammonia that would kill them in thirty
seconds should their oxygen masks fail. In a moment the foggy death
thinned out again and they continued toward the warehouse and the sleek
black ship behind it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Tom Corbett and Astro heard the roaring blast of the ship's exhaust.
They saw Brett and Miles haul the instruments out of the cavern. They
saw; they could hear; but they could not move. For nearly three hours
they had remained alone in the cavern, frozen in the exact position they
were in when Quent Miles had blasted them with his paralo-ray gun. And
then Brett and Miles were standing before them again, Miles covering
them with his paralo-ray gun.

"Why should we break our backs loading the ship?" sneered Miles. "Let
them carry it out for us."

[Illustration: _"Look!" Strong cried. "It's Brett's ship!"_]

"All right, release them," agreed Brett. "But get that stuff loaded in
a hurry. Walters is either getting suspicious or he's pulling a bluff.
We can't take any more chances."

Miles flipped on the neutralizer switch of the paralo ray and leveled it
at Tom. "We'll take the little fella first," he said. "If he acts up,
we'll just leave the other fella the way he is."

He fired at Tom, and the young cadet began to shudder violently. His
teeth chattered and he found it difficult to focus his eyes as his
nervous system tried to shake off the effects of the ray. He crumpled to
a heap on the balcony floor and gasped for breath.

"He won't be much use to you for a while." Brett laughed. "Look at him
flopping around like a fish out of water."

"Get up!" snarled Miles at Tom, quickly flipping the ray gun back to
positive charge. "Come on. You're not that bad off. Get up." He leaned
over and prodded the cadet with the gun. "If you don't get up, I'll
freeze you again," he threatened.

Tom struggled to his feet. "I'll get you for this, Miles," he gasped
weakly, his teeth still chattering.

"Never mind the hot air!" snarled Brett. "Go down there and start
hauling up those boxes."

Tom turned helplessly and stumbled down the stairs to the floor of the
cavern.

"Now for the big fellow," said Miles. He fired the neutralizer charge
and Astro started to quiver at the shock of the release. But he clamped
his teeth together and made a quick lunge for Miles, reaching for the
spaceman's throat. Expecting the attack, Miles stepped aside quickly and
brought the gun down sharply on the big cadet's head. Astro dropped to
the floor, half-stunned. The black-clad spaceman leveled the ray gun and
sneered, "Try that again, you overgrown punk, and I'll drop you on your
head."

Astro shook his head and stumbled to his feet. He glared at Miles, spun
away, and walked down the stairs shakily.

Miles and Brett stood on the balcony and watched the two cadets working
on the cavern floor. "Hurry it up there!" shouted Miles. "We haven't got
all day."

Brett took his ray gun from his belt and stepped forward. "I'll handle
Corbett," he said. "You take care of the big one."

"Right," replied Miles. "But stay well in back of them and keep your gun
on them all the time."

"How long do you think it'll take to get the ship loaded?" asked Brett.

"Couple of hours. But what are you going to do about Walters if he's
wise?" Miles shrugged his shoulders.

"Simple," said Brett. "We take the stuff we've got, haul it to the
hide-out, dump it, and return to Atom City. Then we just sit tight and
wait until the situation clears up here on Titan."

"What about that investigation?" asked Miles, keeping his eyes on the
cadets, who were now staggering back to the stairs, each carrying a
heavy lead box containing the precious uranium pitchblende.

"What can an investigation prove?" snorted Brett.

"I don't know. Walters and Strong are pretty smart cookies."

"Unless they have witnesses that you were messing around Kit Barnard's
ship, which they don't, and unless they find out about Ross, which they
won't, there isn't anything they can do."

Miles looked down at the shorter man beside him. "Ross, eh?" He laughed.

Brett stared at him and then shrugged. "I always get mixed up," he said.
"But you know what I mean."

"Sure, I know." Miles turned to watch Astro and Tom start up the stairs
to the balcony, the lead boxes on their shoulders. "What are you going
to do with them?" he said.

"Take them to the hide-out and decide later. Besides, they'll be handy
for unloading the ship."

"Good idea," nodded Miles. He took a deep breath and smiled. "I sure
wish I could see Walters' face when he learns about the new load of
uranium that'll flood the market."

Brett laughed. "Yeah, and with the customs clearance we'll get to haul
in the crystal, there'll be no way they can figure out how it's getting
in."

Miles turned and shouted at the two cadets struggling up the stairs.
"Come on, you two. Get a move on."

"We're making it as fast as we can, Miles," Astro protested.

"It ain't fast enough," sneered the spaceman. He reached out with his
free hand and slapped Astro across the mouth. "That's just to remind you
to watch your tongue, or you might wind up an icicle again."

Astro dropped the box and crouched, his big frame ready to be released
like a coiled spring. Miles backed up and fingered the trigger on the
ray gun. "Come on, stupid," he snarled. "Come on, I'll give it to you
again, only this time--" He smiled.

"No, Astro," called Tom. "There's nothing we can do now. No use getting
frozen again."

"That's using your head, Corbett." Miles laughed. "Pick up that box and
get going."

Astro picked up the lead box again and staggered after Tom toward the
door. Miles and Brett stepped back, guns ready, and watched the two
cadets walk slowly ahead of them into the tunnel.

       *       *       *       *       *

Captain Strong and Sergeant Morgan crept to the side of the warehouse
and flattened themselves against the wall. With the gas swirling around
them thicker than ever, they found it more difficult than ever to see
where they were going.

"I think I see a door ahead," said Strong.

"Want me to see if it'll open, sir?" asked Morgan.

"No. I'll look around in the warehouse," replied the Solar Guard
captain. "You investigate the ship. If anyone's aboard, keep him there
until I contact you. If not, come back here and wait for me."

"Very well, sir," said Morgan, and turned toward the black ship. In a
moment he was lost in the deadly mist.

Strong made his way to the door and twisted the latch. The door slid
open easily, and he stepped inside, closing it behind him and waiting
for some signs of life or movement. The gas was like a thick fog in the
room and he inched his way forward, hands outstretched like a blind
person. Gradually he began to see the vague form of a door on the
opposite wall and he made his way toward it, completely unaware that he
came within inches of falling through the open trap door in the floor.

He opened the door in the wall slowly, peering inside cautiously. He was
startled to feel the faint rush of air on his hands and to see the room
clear of the dangerous methane ammonia gas. He moved quickly inside and
made a hurried inspection of the gear, not bothering to look to examine
it closely. He shrugged his shoulders. It was just as Morgan had said.
An abandoned warehouse with old mining gear and nothing else.

Suddenly he stopped. There was something strange about the room and he
looked around again. The gas! There were no ammonia vapors in the room.
He quickly searched along the walls for some outlet of oxygen,
remembering now the rush of air he had felt as he opened the door. Close
to a corner near the door, he found a small opening. Air poured out of
it in a steady rush. He straightened up, his face grim. "So that's it,"
he said to himself. "Somebody has been sucking off oxygen from the main
pumps!"

Strong headed for the door. "But why?" he asked himself. "Why in this
particular building?"

He strode out of the room and inched his way across the outer room
toward the front door, again narrowly missing the open trap door.

Once outside, he made his way along the side of the building in the
direction that Morgan had taken. When he reached the corner, he could
see the black bulk of the _Space Knight_ a hundred yards away. He ran
toward the base of the ship and met Morgan coming toward him.

"Find anything, Sergeant?" he called.

"Nothing, sir," replied Morgan. "The ship is ready to blast off and her
cargo holds are full. But that's all."

"Full of what?"

"I couldn't see, sir. The main hatch was locked and I could only see
through the viewport. But it just looked like general cargo to me."

"Couldn't have been crystal?"

"It might have been, sir. It was pretty dark in the hold but it looked
like a lot of boxes to me."

"You don't put crystal blocks in boxes," said Strong.

"Sometimes they do, sir. The more expensive grades are crated, so that
the surfaces won't get scratched. Pieces that are going to be used for
outer facings on a building, for instance."

"All right, Sergeant. But I found something back in that building that
is going to prove very interesting."

"The cadets, sir?"

"No. An illegal use of oxygen!"

Quickly Strong explained his discovery, concluding, "Come on. We're
going back in there for a closer inspection!"

"But we can't, sir," said Morgan.

"Why not?"

"We only have enough oxygen left in our tanks to get us back to the
cleared area."

"Blast it!" growled Strong. "Aren't there any masks aboard the ship?"

"No, sir," replied Morgan.

"Very well, then. The only thing we can do is go back and bring out a
searching party in force." Strong turned and walked rapidly away. "Come
on, Sergeant, I think we're on the way to answering a lot of questions
about the failure of the screens."

Almost running, the two spacemen disappeared into the swirling mist of
deadly gases.

No sooner were they out of sight than Tom Corbett and Astro, faces
covered with oxygen masks, emerged from the warehouse and headed toward
the ship, Miles and Brett close behind them with paralo-ray guns leveled
at their backs.

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 16


Roger Manning opened his eyes, then closed them. He lay perfectly still
and listened. The sound he heard was the unmistakable blasting roar of a
spaceship. But there was another sound, much closer. In fact, it was in
the room with him.

He opened one eye to see Quent Miles moving about in the one-room,
airtight space hut which had been his jail for the last week. Miles was
throwing clothes into a space bag, keeping a wary eye on Roger, sprawled
on the bunk. Hoisting the bag to his shoulder, Miles closed the face
plate of his space helmet, turned to the air lock, and stepped inside,
slamming the portal behind him. From the bunk, Roger could hear the
hissing of the change of pressure inside the lock from normal to the
vacuum of space outside.

The entire week had been a time of waiting and wondering. He couldn't
understand Miles' actions in taking him prisoner the moment before
blast-off from Earth, and then keeping him at the asteroid, seemingly
giving up all chances of winning the race.

Roger waited until he was sure that the black-clad spaceman had gone,
then he sat up and worked desperately on the thin metal chain binding
his wrists. He had been working on one of the links ever since his
arrival at Miles' strange asteroid base, scraping it against the rough
metal edge of one of the legs of his bunk. Two days before, he had
succeeded in wearing it down to a point where he could snap it easily
when the opportunity came for him to make a break. But so far the chance
had not presented itself. He had been kept prisoner in the space hut,
and Miles had pushed his food in through a vent in the air lock. Now,
however, with the sound of the spaceship outside, the cadet decided it
was time for action.

Working quickly, Roger snapped the link and tore off the chain, freeing
his hands. He allowed himself the longed-for luxury of stretching just
once, and then crossed to the small locker beside the air-lock door to
take out a space suit. He climbed into it hurriedly, secured the helmet,
and began searching the small room for a weapon. In the bottom of a
chest he found a rocketman's wrench. Grasping it tightly, he stepped
into the air lock. Just before he turned on the oxygen in his space
suit, he listened again for the noise of the blasting ship. Then he
grinned as he realized that it wasn't the noise of the ship he heard,
but the vibration it created on the surface of the asteroid. Sound
wouldn't travel through the vacuum of space outside. Suddenly it stopped
and Roger realized the tubes were being blasted in preparation for
take-off. The young cadet closed the inner portal of the lock, adjusted
the pressure, turned on the oxygen of his suit, and waited. In a moment
the indicator showed the pressure to be equal to that outside in space,
and he opened the outer portal cautiously.

A section of the asteroid belt swam above him. Hundreds of small
planetoids and various-sized pieces of space junk drifted in the cold
vacuum of space overhead. Roger looked around. The asteroid he was on
was so small and the horizon such a short distance away that the base of
Miles' giant black ship was half-covered by the curvature of the
planetoid.

Holding the wrench tightly in his hand, the blond-haired cadet circled
around the space hut cautiously, looking for Quent Miles, but the
spaceman was nowhere in sight. He had walked all the way around the hut
and back to the air lock when he saw a movement out of the corner of his
eye. It was Miles, returning to the space hut. Moving quickly, Roger
ducked behind a huge boulder and waited for Miles to come closer. It
would be impossible to hit Miles with the heavy wrench. The space helmet
would ward off the blow. His only chance was to get aboard the ship
while Miles was inside the hut. And he would have to move fast. When
Miles discovered the hut was empty, he would come looking for the young
cadet.

But to the cadet's great relief, Miles went past the hut and disappeared
over the horizon of the asteroid in the opposite direction.

Slipping out from behind the boulder and utilizing the near lack of
gravity, Roger ran in giant leaps toward the black spaceship. His last
jump brought him to the base of the ship where he quickly clambered up
the ladder, opened the portal, and slipped into the air lock. In a
matter of seconds he had built up the pressure in the lock to equal the
pressure inside the ship. He opened the inner portal and raced up the
ladder to the control deck. Throwing himself into the pilot's chair, he
prepared to raise ship. Then he slumped in despair. The master switch
had been removed. It was impossible for him to blast off!

He leaped out of the chair and scrambled up the ladder to the radar
deck. He flipped on the audioceiver and nervously waited for the tubes
to warm up. Nothing happened. Only then he remembered that the
communications would not work without power from the generators and they
could not be started without the master switch.

"Boy! He sure wasn't taking any chances of me getting away and leaving
him here," Roger muttered to himself, as he turned back to the ladder
and climbed down to the air lock. He stepped inside, and crossing to the
small viewport, looked out over the dead landscape of the tiny world for
a sign of Quent Miles. He saw the black-clad spaceman returning toward
the hut. Roger held his breath. If Miles went into the hut this time and
found him missing, he would know that the cadet was aboard the ship.
"Manning," Roger said to himself, "if you ever needed luck, you need it
now!"

Miles walked slowly, as if in no hurry, still heading for the space hut.
But as Roger held his breath in fear, he passed it again, without so
much as pausing to look at it.

Roger grinned. "Spaceman, you are going to say your prayers every night
after this," he murmured.

The cadet turned, and racing as fast as the cumbersome space suit would
allow him, headed toward the power deck. Passing the galley, he snatched
up several plastic packages of food.

Down on the power deck, Roger went directly to the lead baffling shields
around the reactant chambers and carefully squeezed between them and the
outer hull. It was going to be a rough ride on the power deck, jammed in
behind the firing chambers, but at least he was hidden--and more
important, _free_.

He listened for the clank of metal shoes on the ladder above him. When
he heard them, followed closely by the slam of the air-lock portal, he
grinned in satisfaction. Opening one of the plastic bags, he began to
eat.

In a moment the ship came to life and the power deck became a raging
torrent of noise and vibration. As Roger braced himself, he felt the
ship quiver and then shake, as under heavy acceleration, it blasted off
into space.

       *       *       *       *       *

Captain Strong and young Sergeant Morgan hailed a passing jet truck
loaded with Space Marines. "Get me to Commander Walters right away,
Lieutenant!" said Strong to the young officer in charge. "This is an
emergency."

"Yes, sir," acknowledged the young officer, and sent the truck roaring
down the empty avenue toward the electronics building where Walters was
still checking the reports on the screens.

"Is there anything new, sir?" asked the young officer. "Have the
technicians been able to find out what's making the screens fail?"

"We're on the right track, Lieutenant," said Strong shortly. "Can't you
get any more speed out of this thing?"

[Illustration: _It would be a rough ride, but at least he was hidden_]

"Yes, sir," replied the officer. He rammed the accelerator to the floor
and the small truck blasted through the streets as though shot out of
cannon.

In a few minutes the truck screamed to a halt in front of the building
and Strong leaped toward the door, followed closely by Sergeant Morgan
and the Space Marine lieutenant.

Strong found Walters before the telemetering board waiting impatiently
for some figures Dr. Joan Dale had sent him to be analyzed and
evaluated. He spun around when Strong entered the room at a dead run.

"Steve!" he exclaimed. "What's the matter? Anything happen to the
cadets?"

"We didn't find them, sir, but we did find something else. We--" Before
Strong could finish, the calculator began pouring out its answers.

"Excuse me, Steve! These figures could tell us why the screens are
failing."

"But I know why they're failing, sir!" shouted Strong.

"You know what?" exclaimed Walters.

As all the men in the room stared at him, Strong hurriedly told the
commanding officer what he had found, concluding, "I think the room I
stumbled into was used as a repair shop. But it was gas-free and pure
oxygen was coming out of the pipe I described."

"I see," said Walters grimly. "Let me check that against these figures."
He turned to the calculator and with the assistance of Joe Howard, Kit
Barnard, and the chief electronics engineer began studying the figures.

Strong paced up and down nervously. The faces of the technicians in the
room clearly showed the strain they had been under the past few days.
And when they heard the startling news Strong had delivered, there
wasn't one who didn't feel his fingers tighten into fists at Brett and
Miles' selfishness.

Walters straightened up and glanced at the faces of the men around him.
"Well, gentlemen," he said. "I think the figures speak for themselves."

There was a murmur of agreement. Walters turned back to Strong. "Those
figures prove conclusively that what you say is true. It is impossible
for the screens to collapse except from a vital leak--exactly such a
leak as you have described."

Walters turned and began to snap orders to the men around him. "I want
every available man sent out on the double. I want every inch of that
area searched for an opening to a mine shaft or anything that leads
underground. Take half the men off the spaceport detail."

"Shall we continue evacuation operations for the miners and their
families?" asked the young Space Marine lieutenant. "There is quite a
force of men out there that could be used in the search."

"What do you think, Steve? Should we take off the guardsmen and suspend
evacuation in the hope that we can find that leak?"

"I would say yes, Commander," said Strong. "Your figures and those Dr.
Dale sent you point to a leak of this nature."

"Very well, Lieutenant," said Walters. "Order every man to the area and
begin search operations immediately. I want that leak found--and found
fast! And I want Charles Brett and Quent Miles arrested at once!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Tom and Astro bent over the lead boxes again and heaved them to their
shoulders. A quick glance showed them that Miles had not followed them
to the floor of the cavern as he had done before, but had remained on
guard on the balcony.

As they struggled to lift the boxes to their shoulders, Tom whispered
out of the side of his mouth, "I know how we can get out of here,
Astro."

"How?"

"Since Brett is staying on the ship for this trip, Miles is going to
have trouble watching both of us."

"Yeah, I know," muttered Astro. "Want me to jump him?"

"No," Tom growled. "Miles has been trailing us through the tunnel by
twenty to thirty feet each trip. When we pass that spot where the light
is, you drop your box. He'll be watching you then and that will give me
a chance to grab that booby trap you took apart, remember?"

"Yeah!"

"O.K. Now remember, when I give you the word, you drop your box on the
right-hand side of the tunnel."

"Hurry up down there!" yelled Miles from the balcony. "We haven't got
all night."

"Keep your shirt on, buster," growled Astro. "We're tired."

The two cadets balanced the heavy lead boxes on their shoulders, and,
with Tom leading the way, climbed up the stairs past Miles and started
up the tunnel in front of the black-suited spaceman.

They walked slowly, side by side, and as before, Miles stayed a good
twenty paces behind them. As they neared the light where they knew the
explosive charge would be, Tom began slowing his pace.

"Come on, get going, Corbett!" Miles yelled.

"He's tired," said Astro. "Leave him alone."

"What are you, his protector?" snarled Miles. "Get going, I said."

"O.K.," said Tom, struggling forward.

They came closer and closer to the light. Tom glanced at Astro and
winked. Astro winked back and braced himself to fake the accident.

As closely as Tom could remember, Astro had tossed the charge to one
side about ten feet beyond the light. If he knew exactly where it was,
he could fall forward on top of it and stuff it in his tunic. He tried
to recreate the scene as it happened. They passed under the light. One
step ... two steps ... three steps.... "Now, Astro," Tom whispered.

The big cadet lunged to one side, dropping the heavy box to the floor.
At the same time, Tom dropped his box and lunged forward, arms
outstretched, feeling along the floor for the precious explosives.

Miles ran up quickly, ray gun cocked and ready.

"Get up!" he shouted. "Get up or I'll freeze you both and leave you
here!"

Tom and Astro struggled to their feet. They lifted the heavy boxes to
their shoulders and started down the tunnel again.

When Astro dared a glance at Tom, he saw his unit mate grin and wink at
him. Astro winked back. Suddenly it seemed that the heavy lead box was
as light as air!




CHAPTER 17


The streets of Olympia echoed to the thunderous roar of jet trucks and
jet cars racing to sector twelve. Miners, Solar Guardsmen, and Space
Marines jammed the vehicles, their faces grim with determination as they
prepared for an all-out attempt to prevent the death of the colony.

Walters, Strong, and Kit Barnard sat behind Blake, the Space Marine
lieutenant, and Sergeant Morgan as they rocketed through the streets.
There was little conversation, each man thinking bitterly of Charles
Brett and Quent Miles. Walters had already foreseen the possibility of
trouble with emotional miners and had ordered Blake to be personally
responsible for the safety of Miles and Brett when they were arrested.

"They get a fair trial like anyone else," declared Walters. "And they
are innocent until proven guilty by a jury."

Now, as he sat beside Strong, Walters wondered if they would be able to
save the city from the ammonia gas. He had taken a calculated risk in
ordering guardsmen at the spaceport to aid in this search. If they
should fail to find the leak, and the gas death spread farther across
the city, the miners and their families would be helpless before it. The
thought of the riots that would ensue if the people tried to get aboard
the spaceships without order made the hardened commander shudder.

The jet car slowed and finally stopped. "What's the matter?" growled
Walters.

"This is as far as we can go in the car, sir," replied Blake. "The gas
is so thick I can't see where I'm driving."

"Very well. Put on your masks," Walters announced. "Keep in contact with
the spaceport control tower. They'll relay messages to me and my orders
back to you. Let's go. Spaceman's luck."

The men opened the doors of the small jet car and stepped out into the
swirling mists. Though there were more than a thousand men searching the
area, they could not rid themselves of a strange feeling of loneliness
as they each walked forward into the mists of death.

Strong and Walters inched their way down the street like blind men,
feeling for each step with hesitant feet.

"Are you sure we're heading in the right direction, Steve?" asked
Walters.

"Yes, Commander," replied Strong. "The warehouse is located about a half
mile down this street."

"Of all the blasted messes," grumbled Walters. "We've got the finest
radar system in the universe and we have to walk along here feeling our
way like blind men."

"There's no other way, I'm afraid," said Strong grimly.

"Are you still with us, Kit?" called Walters.

"Right here, sir," came Barnard's voice, immediately behind them.

The spacemen continued their slow march through the mist in silence.
Once, when Walters stumbled and nearly fell, he roared angrily.

"By the craters of Luna, when I get my hands on those two space
crawlers, there won't be enough of them left for a trial!"

"Yes, sir," said Steve. "But if anything has happened to those cadets,
you'll have to excuse ranks, sir, and wait your turn."

"Of course!" Walters exclaimed a moment later. "That's what happened to
Manning! He didn't run away. He must have gotten on to them during the
trip out here and they shut him up."

"Exactly what I was thinking, sir," said Strong, and then suddenly
stopped. "I just bumped into a wall. We're here."

       *       *       *       *       *

Tom and Astro climbed wearily through the trap door into the room above
the main shaft while Quent Miles watched them closely, keeping his
paralo-ray gun leveled. The two boys hitched the heavy lead boxes into a
more comfortable position on their shoulders and started toward the door
leading outside. But neither boy thought of his discomfort or weariness
now. With the explosive charge safely hidden under Tom's blouse, they
had a chance to fight back. It was a small chance, perhaps, but at least
a chance.

Outside, they walked slowly through the swirling methane ammonia and Tom
edged closer to his unit mate.

"Can you hear me, Astro?" he whispered through the mask amplifier. The
big cadet simply nodded, keeping his eyes forward.

"We'll have to bluff our way now," continued Tom in a low whisper. "This
stuff has to be set off with a charge of electricity."

"Where do we get it?" mumbled Astro.

"The paralo-ray gun."

"You're space happy. It won't work."

"I know that," hissed Tom. "But maybe Miles doesn't. I'll challenge
Miles, hold the stuff right in front of me, and warn him that if he
fires he'll set off the explosive and blow the four of us up."

"Oh, brother. That's a bluff to end all bluffs! Suppose he doesn't
bite?"

"Then get set to take another paralo-ray charge."

"O.K.," sighed Astro. "When do you want to try it?"

"I'll give you the word," replied Tom. "Just be ready." The cadet turned
away quickly. "Watch it," he hissed. "He's suspicious."

The two boys plodded along across the field as Miles moved up closer. He
stared at them for a long moment and then continued to walk along
directly behind them.

When they reached the ship, Miles allowed them to rest and catch their
breath before making the long climb up the ladder to the air-lock
portal. Brett suddenly appeared in the open portal above them.

"Hey, Miles," he called, "is that the last of it?"

"Yes," Miles called back. "You get in touch with our pal?"

"Uh-huh. He's going to meet us out in space."

"In space?" Miles stared up at Brett with a strange gleam in his eye.
"Why not the hide-out?"

"I don't know," Brett replied from above. "Let's not waste time talking
now. Get those other two cases up here. I want to blast off."

Miles turned to the two cadets and waved his paralo-ray gun menacingly.
"All right, you two. Get going!"

"Give us a few more minutes, Miles," said Tom. "We're so tired we can
hardly move."

"Get up, I said," snarled the black-suited spaceman.

"I can't," whined Tom. "You'll have to give me a hand."

Miles pointed his gun straight at the young cadet. "All right. That
means the big fella makes two trips and I freeze you right now."

"No, no!" cried Tom, jumping to his feet. "I can make it. Please don't
freeze me again." Astro turned away to hide his smile.

Sneering his disgust at Tom's apparent fear, Miles prodded the cadets up
the ladder. Tom went first, the heavy box digging into his shoulder.
Astro followed, cursing the fog that prevented him from seeing where
Miles stood below him so he could drop the heavy box on him.

Above them, Charles Brett watched them emerge out of the ammonia mist,
ray gun held tightly in his hand. Tom climbed into the air lock safely
and dropped the box on the edge of the platform, slumping to the deck
beside it. Astro followed seconds later, and then Miles.

"Don't stop now," barked Miles. "Put those boxes below with the rest of
them."

Tom got up slowly, leaning heavily on the outer edge of the
precariously placed box. The box suddenly tilted and then slipped out of
the air lock to disappear in the mist.

"Why, you clumsy--" Brett roared, raising his gun menacingly.

Astro stepped in front of Tom. "I'll get it," he cried. "Don't shoot!"

"Go on then," snarled Brett. "Go down with him, Miles. I'll stay here
with Corbett."

"You go down with him," sneered Miles. "I've been up and down that
ladder fifty times while you sat up here doing nothing."

"Is that so?" cried Brett angrily, turning to face the black-clad
spaceman. This gave Tom the opportunity he was waiting for. He pulled
the small charge of explosives from his tunic and held it in front of
him.

"All right, you two!" he shouted. "Drop those paralo-ray guns. This is
the booby trap you planted in the tunnel. You fire those ray guns and we
all go up together."

Brett jumped back. Miles took a half step forward and stopped. "You
haven't got the nerve," he sneered.

"Shoot and you'll find out," said Tom. "Go ahead! Shoot, if you've got
the guts. Get down the ladder, Astro," he said. "They won't fire as long
as I've got this in my hand."

Brett had begun to shake with fear but Miles brought his ray gun up
slowly. He aimed it at Astro who was starting down the ladder, his head
and shoulders still showing in the open air-lock portal. Tom saw what
Miles was going to do. "Jump, Astro!" he shouted.

Astro jumped at the exact instant Miles fired. "Rush him," cried Miles.
Brett made a headlong dash for Tom, but the cadet side-stepped at the
last moment and Brett fell headlong out of the ship, wailing in sudden
terror as he fell to the ground.

Miles turned to Tom. He ripped off his mask and with his free hand
closed the air-lock portal.

"You fooled Brett, but you didn't fool me, Corbett." He laughed. "It
takes a direct electric charge to set that stuff off. You just helped me
get rid of a very obnoxious partner." He leveled his paralo-ray gun.

"I hate to do this," he said, "but it's you or me."

He fired. Tom was again frozen into that immobile state more dead than
alive. Miles laughed and hurried to the control deck.

       *       *       *       *       *

Astro got up on his knees slowly. Though the fall had been a hard one,
he had rolled quickly with the first impact, thus preventing any
injuries. He shook his head, regained his sense of direction, and then
rose to his feet, starting back to the ship in hope of helping Tom. He
tripped over something and fell to the ground. Groping around in the
thickening ammonia gas he felt the still form of a body. For a moment,
thinking it was Tom, his heart nearly stopped, and then he breathed a
silent prayer of thankfulness when he recognized Charley Brett. He felt
the man's heart. There was a faint beat.

Astro opened the valve on Brett's oxygen mask wide and waited until the
man was breathing normally. Then he began feeling his way back to the
ladder. Suddenly he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. It was
the unmistakable whine of the cooling pumps building for blast-off. And
he was directly underneath the exhaust tubes.

He scrambled away, heading back to the spot where Brett lay. The whining
of the pumps built to an agonizing scream. There were scant seconds left
to save himself. He could not wait to find Brett. He began running
wildly away from the ship, stumbling, failing, rising to his feet again
to plunge on, away from the deadly white-hot exhaust blast of the _Space
Knight_.

[Illustration]

There was a terrific explosion, and then Astro was lifted off his feet
and hurled through the mist, head over heels. He screamed and then
blacked out.

       *       *       *       *       *

"We found him about a thousand yards away from the warehouse,
Commander," said the guardsman. "He looks pretty beat and his clothes
are burned a little. I think he must have been caught in the blast of
that ship we heard take off."

Walters looked down at Astro's big frame, sprawled on the ground, and
then at the medical corpsman who was giving him a quick examination. The
corpsman straightened up and turned to Walters and Captain Strong.
"He'll be all right as soon as he wakes up."

"Shock?" asked Strong.

"Yes. And complete fatigue. Look at his hands and knees. He's been doing
some pretty rough work." The corpsman indicated the big cadet's hands,
skinned and swollen from his labor in the mines.

"Wake him up!" growled Walters.

"Wake him up!" exclaimed the corpsman. "Why, sir, I couldn't allow--"

"Wake him up. And that's an order!" insisted Walters.

"Very well, sir. But this will have to go into my report to the senior
medical officer."

"And I'll commend you for insisting on proper care for your patients,"
Walters stated. "But in the meantime we've got to find out what
happened. And Cadet Astro is the only one who can tell us."

The corpsman turned to his emergency kit. He took out a large hypodermic
needle, filled with a clear fluid, and injected it into the big cadet's
arm.

In less than a minute Astro was sitting up and telling Walters
everything that had happened. When he told of the pipe that was sucking
off the oxygen from the main pumps, Walters dispatched an emergency crew
to the mine immediately to plug the leak. Then, when Astro revealed the
secret of the mine, the presence of the uranium pitchblende, Walters
shook his head slowly.

"Amazing!" he exclaimed. "Greed can ruin a man. He could have declared
such a discovery and still had more money than he could have spent in a
lifetime."

Walters spun around. "Steve, I want the _Polaris_ ready to blast off
within an hour. We're going after one of the dirtiest space rats that
ever hit the deep!"

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 18


Roger peered around the edge of the baffling shields. The power deck was
empty. He edged out and stood upright, eyes moving constantly for signs
of Miles.

No longer needing the cumbersome space suit, he stripped it off and
walked across the deck to the ladder. He stopped to listen again but
there was only the sound of the rockets under emergency space drive. A
quick glance at the control panel told him that the ship was hurtling
through space at a fantastic speed. Satisfied that Miles was nowhere
near, Roger gripped the rocketman's wrench tightly and began climbing
slowly and cautiously.

When he reached the next deck, he raised his head through the hatch
slowly. Then, in one quick movement, he pulled himself up on the deck
and ran for cover behind a small locker to his right. Above him, through
the open network of frames and girders, he could see the control deck,
but Miles was nowhere in sight.

Something on the opposite side of the ship caught his eye. Miles' space
suit hung on its rack, the heavy fish-bowllike space helmet beside it in
its open locker. Roger's heart skipped a beat as he noticed the holster
for a paralo-ray gun nearby. But the large flap was closed and he could
not see if it held a gun.

[Illustration: _Slowly and cautiously he began climbing_]

The young cadet moved away from the protection of the locker and started
toward the space suit. He moved slowly, watching the upper deck where he
figured Miles would be at the control board, operating the ship.

Suddenly Miles appeared above him, walking across the open control deck
with a clip board in his hand, making a standard check of the many
instruments. Before Roger could find a hiding place, Miles saw the
cadet. He drew his paralo-ray gun quickly, firing with the speed of a
practiced hand. Roger dove toward the space suit and wrenched open the
holster but found it empty. Miles was behind him now, running down the
ladder.

Roger spun around, darted to the ladder leading to the power deck, and
just missed being hit by Miles' second shot. He jumped the ten feet to
the power deck and darted behind the huge bank of atomic motors.

Miles came down the ladder slowly, gun leveled, eyes searching the deck.
He stopped with his back to the rocket motors and called, "All right,
Manning, come on out. If you come out without any trouble, I won't
freeze you. I'll just tie you up again."

Roger was silent, gripping the wrench tightly and praying for a chance
to strike. Miles still remained in one position, protected by the motor
housing.

"I'm going to count five, Manning!" he shouted. "Then I'll hunt you down
and freeze you solid."

Gripping the wrench tightly and raising it above his head, Roger eased
out from his hiding place and slipped across the floor lightly. He was
within four feet of Miles when the black-suited spaceman spun around
and stepped back quickly. "Sucker," he snarled, and fired.

Roger stood motionless, his arm still raised, the wrench falling to the
deck. Miles stuck his face close to Roger's head and said, "I don't know
how you got here, but it doesn't make any difference now. In a little
while you and your pal, Corbett, are going for a swim out in space."

Holding Roger by the arm, he tipped the boy over and lowered him to the
deck. Roger's arm stuck up like the branch of a tree. Miles stood over
him, flipped on the neutralizer charge of the gun, and fired again,
releasing Roger from the paralyzing effect of the ray.

The young cadet began to shake violently and through his chattering
teeth he muttered a space oath. Miles only grinned.

"Just wanted you to make yourself comfortable, Manning," he said. He
flipped the gun to direct charge again and pointed it at the boy. Seeing
it was useless to try and jump the burly spaceman, Roger relaxed and
stretched out on the deck. Miles fired again calmly, and after testing
the effect of the ray with his toe, he turned to the ladder.

As the spaceman climbed back to the control deck, Roger, though in a
paralyzed state, could hear the communicator loud-speaker paging Miles.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Come in, Quent! This is Ross! Come in!"

Tom Corbett sat bound and gagged in the copilot's chair of the black
ship, listening to Miles call again and again over the audioceiver. The
fact that Miles was identifying himself as Ross puzzled the young cadet
and he wondered if it was an alias. Tom was even more puzzled when
Miles addressed the person he was calling as Quent.

"This is Ross! Acknowledge, Quent! Come in!"

Static spluttered over the loud-speaker and then a clear, harsh voice
that was a perfect imitation, answered, "I read you, Ross," it said.
"Where are you?"

Tom watched as Miles made a hasty check on the astrogation chart. "Space
quadrant four," he replied. "Chart C for Charley! Where are you?"

"Same space quadrant, but on chart B for Baker," came the reply. "I
think we can make visual contact on radar in above five minutes. Make
the usual radar signal for identification. O.K.?"

"Good!" the _Space Knight_ pilot replied. "What course are you on?"

There was a pause and then the voice answered, "South southwest. Speed,
emergency maximum."

"Very well. I will adjust course to meet you. But what's the hurry?"
asked Tom's captor.

"Better get out of space as soon as possible."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

Tom listened intently. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the
charts and space quadrants he had heard mentioned. He knew the quadrants
by heart, and knew that he was close to the asteroid belt. But each
quadrant had at least a dozen or more charts, each one taking in a huge
area of space.

"Is Brett with you?" asked the voice over the audioceiver.

"No. I'll tell you about it when we get together. All the rockets in
space broke loose up there on Titan for a while."

"What do you mean? Hey! I think I just picked you up on my radar!" said
the voice over the loud-speaker. "Give me the identification signal."

Tom watched Miles go to the radarscope and make a minute adjustment. The
voice came over the loud-speaker again. "That's you, all right. Cut back
to minimum speed and I'll maneuver to your space lock."

"Very well," replied the spaceman on the _Space Knight_.

He cut the rockets and in a matter of minutes the ship was bumped
heavily as contact was made. The voice over the communicator announced
the two space vessels had been coupled. "Open your air lock and come
aboard."

"You come aboard my ship," said Miles. "We've got the stuff here."

"O.K. But I have to go below and wake up that jerk, Manning."

"Wake him up?"

"Yeah. I got him frozen."

"All right, make it snappy."

Miles turned to look at Tom, a sneer on his face. "I'm giving you a
break, Corbett," he said. "You're going to swim with your cadet buddy.
You'll have company!"

Gagged, Tom could only glare his hatred at the black-suited spaceman. In
a moment he heard the air lock open below and then footsteps clattered
up the ladder to the control deck.

The hatch opened and Roger stumbled inside. He saw Tom immediately and
yelled, "Tom! What are--" Suddenly he stopped. He looked at the man
standing beside Tom and gasped in astonishment.

Tom watched the hatch as Roger's captor stepped inside. What he saw made
him twist around in his chair and stare at the man beside him, utterly
bewildered.

"_Twins!_" cried Roger. "Identical twins."

The man stepped through the hatch and walked over to his brother. They
shook hands and slapped each other on the back.

"What happened to Charley, Ross?" asked Quent Miles.

"Just a minute, Quent," replied his brother. He turned and grinned at
Tom and Roger. "Surprised, huh? Don't let it bother you. We've been
driving people crazy ever since we were born. Does this tell you how we
won the race?"

"T-t-twin pilots," stuttered Tom in amazement. "And twin ships?"

"Exactly." Ross laughed. "Pretty smart, eh?"

"Never mind them now," snarled Quent. "I've been sitting up there on
that asteroid rock talking to myself. What happened to Charley?"

"Take it easy, will you, Quent?" said Ross. "I want to have some fun."
He turned to Manning. "Untie Corbett and get on the other side of the
deck. Have yourselves a nice long talk before you take your last walk."

Roger slowly bent over to untie Tom, muttering a space oath under his
breath. The two brothers retired to the opposite side of the control
deck and sat down. Ross kept his paralo-ray pistol in his hand and never
once took his eyes off the two cadets.

"Well, what happened?" demanded Quent. "What are you doing here with
Corbett and where in the blazes is Charley?"

"Charley is back on Titan, and probably dead," replied Ross easily. "He
wouldn't pay any attention to us when we suggested plugging up the old
tunnels when we started mining that uranium, so the oxygen which we were
sucking off from the main screen supply took too much. The screens
started to go. Practically the whole city is flooded with ammonia gas
and it's being abandoned."

Roger and Tom stood quietly, listening, and when Roger heard the news he
turned to Tom with a questioning look on his face. Tom merely nodded
grimly.

"But what are you doing here with this load of pitchblende?" Quent
persisted.

"Everything would have been all right, even with the screens letting
go," explained Ross, "if it hadn't been for Corbett and that big jerk
Astro. They followed me out to the warehouse and down into the mine.
Good thing we caught them, or we'd be on our way to a prison asteroid
right now."

Quent glared over at Tom. "And Charley spilled the beans about the whole
thing, eh?"

"Not exactly, but the Solar Guard knows enough to be suspicious,"
replied Ross. "We had some trouble with the radiation-detection gear and
wanted to haul it out to the hide-out for Manning to check. We decided
to bring out as much of the stuff as we had mined, and when we caught
Corbett and Astro snooping around, we made them load the ship. Corbett,
here, got smart and Astro escaped. In the fight, Charley fell out of the
ship. I don't know if he got away or not."

"Do we have a whole shipload of the stuff?" asked Quent.

Ross grinned. "About two million credits' worth."

Quent rubbed his hands together. "We're in clover." He laughed and
slapped his brother on the back. "Well, I suppose the Solar Guard is
looking for us by now?"

Ross grinned. "Right. So we pull the old trick, eh? We have two very
likely prospects right there." He pointed to Roger and Tom.

"What is that supposed to mean?" snapped Roger.

"You'll find out, squirt," sneered Quent Miles.

"Wait a minute, Quent," said Ross. "I just thought of something. No one
knows there are two of us, except these two punks here. We can't work
the old gag. We can only use one of them."

"How do you mean?"

"Simple. The Solar Guard thinks Manning took it on the lam from
Ganymede, right?"

Quent nodded.

"Well, we take Manning, dress him up in one of our outfits and stick him
aboard the empty ship alongside. The ship blows up, and should they find
anything of Manning, he'll be dressed like you, or me, and that will end
the situation right there. Later, we can dump Corbett out in a space
suit with a little oxygen, and write a note, sticking it in his glove.
When they find him, they'll think he got away from Quent Miles, and when
his oxygen gave out, wrote the note giving all the details. And who can
say No, since Quent Miles, as such, will be dead?"

"End to the affair!" shouted Quent. "That's perfect."

The audioceiver behind them crackled into life, and there was a clear,
piercing signal, a sign that an emergency transmission was taking over
all channels. The signal continued until the clear, strong voice of
Commander Walters flooded the control deck of the ship.

"Attention! Attention! This is Commander Walters of the Solar Guard!
Attention all Solar Guard units in space quadrants one through
seven--repeat, all ships in quadrants one through seven. This is
emergency alert for the rocket ship _Space Knight_, believed to be
heading for the asteroid belt. All ships are to institute an immediate
search of quadrants one through seven for the _Space Knight_ and arrest
any and all persons aboard. Repeat. All ships...."

Ross Miles rose up and snapped off the audioceiver. "Come on. We've got
to get out of here!"

"What about them?" asked Quent, pointing to Roger and Tom. "Will we have
time to--?"

"Plenty of time," said Ross coldly. "Blast 'em now."

"With pleasure," replied Quent Miles, taking his gun from his holster.

"Jump, Roger!" shouted Tom.

Both boys threw themselves sideways as Miles leveled his gun.

Tom plunged headlong through the hatch door and scrambled down the
ladder. Roger tried to follow, but Quent fired as Roger started to jump
feet first through the hatch. His body became rigid as he tumbled
through the hatch. Tom looked up just in time to break his unit mate's
fall, but seeing that it would be useless to stay with him, left him on
the deck and turned to flee through the depths of the black ship.




CHAPTER 19


"Never mind, Manning!" shouted Quent Miles as he jumped past Roger's
body. "We've got to find Corbett. Take the starboard ladder; I'll take
the port. Search all the way aft to the exhaust tubes if you have to!"

Ross nodded quickly, hefted his ray gun, and moved down the opposite
ladder.

Tom watched both of them come down like twin devils, hands holding the
ray guns as steady as rocks. The cadet hid behind the open door leading
to the lower cargo holds. Ross was the nearer of the two, walking like a
cat, slowly, ready to spring or fire at the slightest movement. Tom
quickly saw that if he jumped Ross, Quent would be on him in seconds.
His only chance lay in their passing him, giving him the opportunity to
return to the control deck and search for a ray gun for himself. And if
that failed, at least he could call Commander Walters.

Ross crept closer. Tom crouched tensely. Should Ross see him, Tom would
have to make an attempt to knock him out and get the ray gun before
Quent could do anything.

"Careful, Quent!" called Ross as he moved toward the open hatch.

"You too," replied his brother. "This kid is plenty smart."

Tom breathed a silent prayer. Ross was now opposite the door. Should the
black-suited spaceman decide to look behind it, Tom would be at his
mercy.

Ross stopped beside the door and hesitated a moment.

"Hey, Ross!" Quent called, and Ross turned away from the door. "I think
I hear something down inside the hold. Slip down the ladder a little way
and cover me. I'll go down inside and look around. He must be down here
somewhere, and if you guard the door, he can't get out."

Ross grinned. "Like flushing quail in Venus jungles," he said, moving
away from the door and down into the hold where the lead boxes filled
with uranium pitchblende were stored.

Tom could scarcely suppress a loud sigh of relief at his narrow escape.
After a moment he peered cautiously around the edge of the door, and
seeing the way clear to the control deck, ran back to the ladder. He
paused at Roger's inert form and bent over, his lips close to the
paralyzed cadet's ear.

"I'm going to try and find a ray gun," he whispered quickly. "If I
can't, then I'm going to try and get in touch with Commander Walters or
the Solar Guard patrols."

He patted the blond-haired cadet on the shoulder and raced up the
ladder to the control deck. Once inside, he barred the door to the rest
of the ship and began a frantic search of the many lockers and drawers.
But it was fruitless. He could find no ray gun or weapon of any kind.
Desperate, knowing that Ross and Quent would return to the control deck
when they had searched the rest of the ship, Tom turned and scrambled up
the ladder to the radar deck.

Again, barring the door behind him, he sat before the audioceiver and
began calling the _Polaris_.

"This is Cadet Corbett aboard rocket ship _Space Knight_ in quadrant
four, chart C for Charley. Corbett aboard spaceship _Space Knight_ in
quadrant four, chart C for Charley! Come in, Commander Walters! Come
in!"

Tom spun the dials on the audioceiver desperately, ranging over every
circuit and repeating his cry. "This is Cadet Corbett! I am being held
prisoner with Cadet Roger Manning aboard the spaceship _Space Knight_ in
space quadrant four, chart C for Charley...."

Suddenly the hum of the generators stopped and the glow of the tubes in
the audioceiver died. Without a second's hesitation, Tom spun around and
lunged for the door leading back to the control deck.

"They must have shut off the power," he decided. "When they didn't find
me down below, they guessed that I came this way."

He raced through the control deck and down the ladder to the starboard
companionway. If he could only get to the ship alongside!

He chided himself for not thinking of it before and darted toward the
air lock that coupled the two ships together in space.

He turned a corner in the companionway and saw the door to the coupling
chamber ahead. It was open. He dashed inside.

"Greetings, Corbett!" sneered Ross Miles. He stood just inside the
doorway, the ray gun leveled at Tom.

"We figured you'd get around to thinking about the other ship sooner or
later," said Quent behind him, jamming the ray gun in his back. "So we
just came here and waited for you."

"Go get the other one, Quent," said Ross. Jerking Tom sideways into the
coupling chamber, he rammed his gun into the curly-haired cadet's
stomach. "I'll get this guy fixed aboard the other ship, and then set
the firing chambers so they'll blow up."

"What are we going to do with Manning?" asked Quent.

"We'll figure that out later. Hurry up! Corbett probably called the
Solar Guard."

"That's right, I did, Miles," said Tom. "They're probably closing in on
you right now."

"Is that so?" snarled Quent. "Well, it's too bad you won't be alive to
say hello to them."

       *       *       *       *       *

"I want every pound of thrust you have on that power deck, Astro,"
roared Commander Walters into the intercom. "We just received word from
a freighter that picked up an S O S from Tom aboard the _Space Knight_."

Steve Strong and Kit Barnard sat in the pilot and copilot's chairs on
the control deck of the _Polaris_ and watched the needle of the
accelerometer climb as Astro poured on the power in answer to Walters'
command.

"If I know Astro," said Strong, "you'll probably get the fastest ride
you've ever had short of hyperdrive, Kit."

Kit Barnard gulped as he watched the needle. "I see what you mean," he
said.

Walters strode up and down the deck behind the two veteran spacemen, a
scowl on his face. "By the stars," he rumbled, "this is the most
incredible thing I've run up against in all my years in space!"

He paced up and down several times silently. "To think that two men
could--_would_--jeopardize the safety and lives of thousands of people
for--a--a uranium mine! It's beyond my comprehension."

"Excuse me, sir," said Sid, Kit Barnard's young assistant, coming down
the radar-bridge ladder. "This report just came in from Titan spaceport
control."

Walters took the message and read it quickly. He grunted and handed it
to Strong. "They've found the mine and the leak," he said. "The screens
are working again."

"Then you'll call off the evacuation operations, sir?" asked Strong.

"Right." Walters turned to Sid. "Son, send a message back to Titan
control and tell Captain Howard to stop all evacuations as soon as he
has enough oxygen to provide for the citizens of Titan. And then stand
by for a general order to all units in this area."

"Yes, sir," said Sid, climbing back up to the radar bridge quickly.

The three men on the control deck fell silent as the ship hurtled
through space. Each of them prayed silently for Tom and Roger's safety.

On the power deck below, Astro opened every valve and adjusted the
firing chambers to their emergency maximum, forcing the giant ship
faster and faster through space. And when he had done all he could, he
paced up and down the deck, snapping a greasy wiping rag against his
thigh again and again. His face showed the concern he felt for Tom and
Roger, and at the same time, there was a questioning look in his eye.
The auxiliary loud-speaker of the audioceiver overhead spluttered with
static. He stopped to listen.

"This is Lieutenant Frazer aboard the Solar Guard cruiser _Hydra_ to
Commander Walters!" crackled an unfamiliar voice. "Come in, Commander
Walters!"

Astro stared at the loud-speaker and held his breath.

"This is Walters on the _Polaris_. Go ahead, Frazer!"

"I am in command of a squadron of ships on space maneuvers in quadrant
five, sir. Shall I abandon my orders and proceed under your general
emergency alert to search quadrant four?"

"How many ships do you have with you, Lieutenant?" asked Walters.

"Three heavy cruisers and a rocket destroyer, sir," replied the voice
across the gulf of space. "And I am fully armed, sir."

"Proceed to quadrant four, Lieutenant, and seize the vessel _Space
Knight_." There was a pause, and then Astro's blood ran cold as he heard
the words, "and if necessary open fire!"

On the control deck, Captain Strong turned to Walters quickly. "But Tom
and Roger, sir," he protested.

Commander Walters glared at Strong and turned back to the audioceiver.
"Proceed to quadrant four," he said coldly. "Seize the vessel _Space
Knight_, and if there is any resistance, open fire!"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Did'ja hear that!" yelled Quent on the control deck of the _Space
Knight_.

[Illustration: "_Proceed to quadrant four and seize the_ Space Knight!"]

"I heard," replied Ross grimly. "With a whole squadron sweeping this
quadrant we won't make it."

"What are we going to do?" asked Quent.

"We're staying right here."

"What?"

"Right here," said Ross. "Get Corbett off the other ship and set the
fuses in the firing chambers to blow up after we cast off."

"But I don't see--"

"Don't ask questions!" snapped Ross. "Do as I tell you."

"O.K." Quent spun away and headed for the coupling locks that held the
two ships together. Ross turned back to the ladder and flipped his ray
gun on neutralizing charge, releasing Roger from the effects of the
paralo ray.

The blond-haired cadet staggered to his feet shakily. "Where's Tom?" he
said, clenching his teeth to keep them from rattling. "If you've done
anything to him--!"

"Take it easy, Manning," growled Ross. "Just get up on the control deck
and behave."

Roger glared at the spaceman, and realizing it would be useless to jump
him in his weakened condition, started up the ladder. Ross followed at a
careful distance.

A few minutes later Quent appeared on the control deck, forcing Tom
ahead of him. "All right," he growled. "What do I do now?"

"Did you cast off the other ship?" asked Ross. And when Quent nodded, he
jerked his head toward Tom and Roger and barked, "Cover them!"

As Quent stood before the two cadets, his gun leveled, Ross strode to
the audioceiver and flipped it on. "This is Quent Miles to Commander
Walters aboard the _Polaris_," he called. "Come in, Walters."

Tom and Roger looked at each other, puzzled.

"If you can hear me, Walters, this is Quent Miles. I'm surrendering to
you. And you alone! Call off your squadrons and come alongside in the
_Polaris_ by yourself. If you hear me, Walters, you better do what I
say, or you'll never see Manning and Corbett again." He flipped the
audioceiver off and grinned at his brother. "When Walters comes aboard,
he's going to get a nice surprise."

"Like what?" demanded Tom.

Ross grinned wickedly, looking very much like the devil incarnate. "You
heard Walters' order to open fire, didn't you?" he said. "It seems that
Space Cadets aren't worth much as hostages. But what do you think it
will be like with a full-fledged commander in our hands, eh? And a
rocket cruiser like the _Polaris_ to run around in."

"You wouldn't dare kidnap Commander Walters!" exclaimed Tom.

"Oh, no." Ross laughed. "Listen, punk, with a murder charge hanging over
our heads, and a couple of million credits' worth of pitchblende in the
holds, both of us would do anything! And don't you forget it!" He turned
to his brother. "Come on over here, Quent, and I'll tell you what we're
going to do."

When the two spacemen were out of earshot, Tom turned to Roger. "How do
you feel, Roger?"

"As if I'm going to shake myself apart," replied the radar-deck cadet,
his teeth still chattering from the effects of the paralo ray.

"Well, hold on just a little bit longer, boy, because the next few
minutes might spell the difference between getting out of here and--"

Tom was cut off by a sudden blast from the loud-speaker of the
audioceiver.

"This is Commander Walters!" came a clear voice. "I accept your
proposal, Miles. But I warn you, if anything has happened to those
boys--"

"No, Commander!" yelled Tom. "It's a trap!"

" ... you will suffer for it," the voice continued.

"No use, Tom," said Roger. "The set was only on reception."

The two boys looked at each other and then across the control deck to
the grinning faces of the twins, Quent and Ross Miles.

[Illustration]




CHAPTER 20


"Ease her up a little more, Steve!"

Commander Walters stood at the viewport watching the mighty _Polaris_
slide alongside the black ship toward the coupling devices that would
lock the two ships together in space.

"A little more!" said Walters. "About twenty feet!"

"Short burst on the main jets!" Strong called into the intercom.

"Aye, aye!" shouted Astro from below.

The giant ship inched along, the skins of the two ships barely touching.

"That's it!" shouted Walters. "The magnetic coupling links are in place.
We're locked together!" He turned to Strong and Barnard. "Secure ship
and come with me."

"Are you going to leave anyone on the ship, sir?" asked Strong as he cut
all power.

"No, I want everyone with me," replied Walters. "No telling what Miles
might try. As soon as we get aboard, spread out and search the ship.
Find Tom and Roger if you can and then come up to the control deck."

"Aye, aye, sir," acknowledged Strong.

Walters turned to the audioceiver and spoke sharply into the microphone.
"This is Walters, Miles. We're alongside and preparing to board your
ship. I warn you not to try any tricks. I've accepted your surrender and
hold you to it on your honor as a spaceman!" He paused, waiting for
acknowledgment, then called again. "Are you there, Miles?"

There was a crackle of static over the loud-speaker and Miles' voice
rang out on the control deck of the _Polaris_. "I'm here, Walters. Come
on aboard!"

Walters turned to Strong and Kit. "Let's go. You know your jobs, so
search the ship and report on the control deck." He strode toward the
coupling locks that held the two ships together in space.

Aboard the black ship, Quent and Ross Miles smiled at each other. "You
know what to do, Quent?" said Ross.

The brother nodded. "All set!" he said.

"Get going then. And don't make a move until you hear me draw their
attention!"

"Right!"

The two brothers shook hands and Quent turned away, hurriedly leaving
the control deck. Ross walked over to Tom and Roger, who watched the
scene with anxious eyes.

"I really hate to do this, boys," he said, "but as you can see, things
are pretty tight!" With that, he suddenly brought the butt of his ray
gun down hard on Roger's head. The blond-haired cadet slumped to the
floor. Tom leaped at the spaceman, but before he could close with him,
Ross stepped back quickly and brought the gun down sharply on his head.
The cadet slumped to the deck.

Quickly Ross propped them up against the bulkhead. Then, after a fast
look around the control deck for any last thing he might have forgotten,
he walked casually over to the control station and sat down. Seconds
later Walters and Strong stepped inside.

"I arrest you for murder, willful destruction of Solar Guard property,
and illegal operation of a uranium mine, Quent Miles!" said Walters. The
spaceman shrugged and said nothing.

Strong bent over the unconscious forms of the two cadets and tried to
bring them to, but they failed to respond.

"Better leave them alone, Steve," said Walters. "We have to get a
medical officer for them. They look as if they've been bumped pretty
hard."

Strong stood up abruptly and walked over to Miles, who lounged casually
in his chair. Ignoring Walters, the Solar Guard captain stood in front
of the black-suited spaceman, his jaw within an inch of the other man's
face.

"If anything serious has happened to those two boys, Miles," he said in
a cold, flat voice, full of menace, "I'll tear you apart!"

Miles paled for an instant and then grinned uneasily. "Don't worry about
it, Strong. They're pretty tough kids."

Kit Barnard suddenly burst into the control room. "I've searched the
cargo holds, Commander," he said. "Nothing there but lead boxes. Didn't
find the boys--" Barnard stopped suddenly at the sight of the two
unconscious cadets. "Tom! Roger!" he cried.

"They were slugged, Kit," said Strong. "You go back to the _Polaris_ and
send out an emergency call. Find the closest ship with a medical
officer aboard and arrange for a meeting out here in space. We'll be
ready to blast in five minutes."

"O.K., Steve," replied Kit, turning to the door and then stopping to
glare at Miles. "And save a piece of that space rat for me!"

Under Barnard's steely look, Miles rose to his feet and stepped back
hesitantly. Then, suddenly, he jumped up on the chair, scrambled to the
top of the master control panel, and crouched there tensely.

Strong, Walters, and Kit were momentarily stunned by his strange action.
It seemed like a senseless and futile effort to get away. There was no
way Miles could get out of the control deck or off the ship.

Beyond the reach of anyone on the control deck, Miles began to laugh.

Walters turned beet red with anger. "This is stupid, Miles!" he roared.
"You can't get away and you know it!"

"That all depends on where you're standing, Walters!" said a voice from
the hatch.

The three spacemen whirled at the sound of the voice and were dumfounded
by the appearance of Quent Miles, standing to one side of the hatch,
holding an automatic paralo-ray rifle, trained on them.

"Stay right where you are," he said softly. "The first man that moves
gets frozen solid!"

Walters, Strong, and Kit were too stunned to make a move. They could
only stare in open disbelief at Quent Miles.

"Come on down, Ross!" called Quent. "And if anyone tries to stop him,
I'll let all three of you have it!"

Ross climbed down from the control panel and stripped the three
helpless spacemen of their weapons. He threw them out of the hatch and
then went to stand by his brother. As they stood side by side, Strong
and Walters couldn't help but gasp at the identical features of the two
men.

"You can never hope to get away, either of you," growled Walters, when
he finally regained his composure.

Quent laughed. "We're doing more than just hope, Walters."

"Just for your information," Ross chimed in, "we're changing ships and
taking the cargo with us." He backed toward the hatch slowly. "Come on,
Quent." The two brothers stepped back through the doorway, Ross keeping
his rifle leveled at the three men.

Safely outside, Quent slammed the heavy door closed. Then, with a rocket
wrench, he worked on the outer nuts of the door used in emergency to
seal off the ship by compartments.

"All set!" said Quent, stepping back. "They can't get out now until
someone comes and loosens up those nuts."

"Get down below and start transferring that cargo to the _Polaris_,"
ordered Ross, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. "I'll get on the
audioceiver and tell that cruiser squadron to go back."

Quent laughed. "You know, Ross, this is terrific," he chortled. "We not
only get away, but we get ourselves a Solar Guard rocket cruiser.
Nobody'll be able to touch us in that ship."

"Nobody but me, Miles!" said a voice behind them. The two brothers spun
around to see Astro, stripped to the waist, a heavy lug wrench in his
hand, legs spread apart, ready to spring.

"Had me fooled there for a while, Ross!" he growled. "I saw your brother
back at the Academy and thought it was you. But he didn't have the split
ear lobe, the one I gave you. Remember?"

Ross slowly reached for the rifle that was slung over his shoulder.

"Don't do it, Ross!" warned Astro. "Get your hands off that rifle or
I'll ram this wrench down your throat!"

Ross lowered his hand again slowly.

"Who is this guy, Ross?" asked Quent, licking his lips nervously. "How
does he know about us?"

Ross kept his eyes on Astro, glaring at the cadet in hot fury. "I met
him on a deep spacer, five years ago, when you were laid up in the
hospital," he said between his teeth. "This punk was a wiper on the
power deck. I was his petty officer."

"We got into a fight," snarled Astro, "when he wanted to send me into a
firing chamber without letting it cool off first."

"There are two of us now, Astro!" said Ross.

Astro nodded slowly. "That's right. Two of you!" Suddenly he dove toward
the two men, arms outstretched. With one mighty swipe of the wrench he
knocked Quent unconscious. Ross was hurled against the bulkhead by the
impact but managed to stay on his feet. Desperately he tore the
paralo-ray rifle from his shoulder, but before he could level it, Astro
was upon him, wrenching it out of his grasp. Pushing Ross away, he
calmly broke it in two and threw the pieces to one side. Then he faced
the black-clad spaceman squarely.

"I was a kid when I first saw you, Ross," he said between his teeth. "So
you had me fooled like everyone else. When your brother showed up at the
Academy with his ears in good shape, I thought it was a curious
coincidence two guys should look so much alike. And on Titan, when you
had me hauling up those boxes, you wore your hat all the time, along
with the oxygen mask, so I didn't think anything of it. But now I know!"

[Illustration]

All the while Astro talked, the two men circled each other like two
wrestlers, each waiting for his opponent to make a mistake.

"So you know!" sneered Ross. "All right, wiper, come on!"

The black-suited spaceman suddenly dove straight at Astro and the cadet
caught the full force of his body in his stomach. He sprawled on the
deck, gasping. Miles was on top of him in a second, hands at Astro's
throat.

[Illustration]

Fire danced in the cadet's brain as Ross Miles' steely fingers closed
around his windpipe. Slowly, with every ounce of strength he had in his
body, Astro grasped Miles' wrists in his hands and began squeezing. The
fingers around the muscular wrists were the fingers of a boy filled
with hate and revenge. Slowly, very slowly, as the seconds ticked away
and the wind whistled raggedly in his throat, Astro increased the
enormous pressure.

Now he felt the fingers around his throat begin to relax a little, and
then a little more, and he kept tightening the pressure of his mighty
hands. Expressions of surprise and then pain spread across Miles' face
and he finally relaxed his grip around Astro's throat. He struggled to
free himself from the viselike grip but it was hopeless.

Astro continued to apply pressure. He forced Miles up from his chest and
then up on his feet, never relenting. Miles' face was now twisted in
agony.

They stood on the deck, face to face, for almost a minute in silent
struggle. There seemed to be no end to the power in the cadet's hands.

Suddenly Ross Miles slumped to his knees and sprawled on the deck as
Astro let him go. The black-clad spaceman had fainted.

       *       *       *       *       *

"They got a couple of hard bumps, but they'll be all right," announced
the medical officer, straightening up. "But that man outside, Ross
Miles, is going to stand trial with a broken wrist!" He turned to
Strong. "What do you feed these cadets?"

Strong smiled and replied, "These are special types we train to take
care of space rats!"

Tom and Roger lay stretched out on emergency cots set up on the control
deck of the _Polaris_. They grinned weakly at Astro, who hovered over
them solicitously.

"This is the first time we've ever wound up an assignment on our backs,
you big Venusian hick!" said Roger. "And I suppose I'll have to thank
you for saving my life!"

Astro grinned. "Wasn't much to save, Roger."

"Listen you!" Roger rose on one elbow, but the medical officer pressed
him gently back on the cot.

"Did you ever find out how Bill Sticoon's ship was sabotaged, Captain
Strong?" asked Tom.

"We sure did, Tom," said Strong. "One of Brett's confederates slugged
the Solar Guard officer in charge of monitoring the race on Deimos and
took his place. If it hadn't been for a brash stereo reporter that kept
taking pictures of everything and everyone, the impersonator wouldn't
have been caught."

"And to think that I wanted to give that reporter a few lumps!" Tom
exclaimed.

"Did you find out anything about the crash of Gigi Duarte's ship, sir?"
asked Roger.

"Yes. Ross confessed that he was in Luna City and planted a time bomb on
Gigi's ship when the French Chicken came in for refueling."

"Say," exclaimed Roger, "I just happened to think! With Miles
disqualified, Kit wins the race!"

Seated in the pilot's chair, Kit turned to Roger and waved a paper.
"Here's the contract, Roger. Signed, sealed, and with only the crystal
to be delivered."

"There's only one thing bothering me now," sighed Tom.

"What's that, Tom?" asked Strong.

"Do you think I could get a three-day pass before we go back to class at
the Academy?"

Strong and Kit looked at each other, puzzled. "With sick leave, you'll
have plenty of time," said Strong. "Why a three-day pass especially?"

Tom settled deeper into the cot. "Well, sir," he said, grinning, "I
figure it'll take just about three days for Astro and Roger to argue it
out about who did the most to catch Ross and Quent Miles. And I don't
want to have to listen to it!"

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
Standardized Punctuation
Corrected " where necessary
List of Illustrations: Changed quadrant five in caption to quadrant
         four to match story
Page 16: Changed oufit to outfit (Printer Error)
Page 19: Changed jet-car to jet car for consistency
Page 59: Changed well to we'll (Printer Error)
Page 106: Changed Corbet to Corbett (Printer Error)
Page 144: Changed I'll met you to I'll meet you (Printer Error)
Page 149: Changed come alone with to come along with (Printer Error)
Page 196: Changed quadrant five in caption to quadrant four to match
         story





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