Tom Corbett Space Cadet

by Carey Rockwell

  Barely able to lift it, he shoved it with all his strength to get the end of the pipe beneath the casing.

  "Here, let me get at that thing," growled Astro from behind. Tom stepped back, half falling out of the Venusian's way, and watched as Astro got down on his hands and knees, putting his shoulder against the case. He lifted it about three inches, then slowly, still balancing the weight on his shoulder, shifted his position, braced it with his hands and began to straighten up. The casing came up from the floor as the huge cadet strained against it.

  "All—right—Tom—" he gasped, "see if you can get a hold on Roger and pull him out!"

  Tom scrambled back and grabbed Roger's uniform. He pulled, and slowly the cadet's form slid from beneath the casing.

  "All right, Astro," said Tom, "I've got 'im."

  Astro began to lower the casing in the same manner in which he had lifted it. He eased it back down to the floor on his knees and dropped it the last few inches. He sat on the floor beside it and hung his head between his knees.

  "Are you all right, Astro?" asked Tom.

  "Never mind me," panted Astro between deep gasps for breath, "just see if hot-shot is O.K."

  Tom quickly ran his hands up and down Roger's arms and legs, his chest, collarbone and at last, with gently probing fingers, his head.

  "No broken bones," he said, still looking at Roger, "but I don't know about internal injuries."

  "He wasn't pinned under that thing," said Astro at last. "It was resting on a beam. No weight was on him."

  "Uh—huh—ahhh—uhhhh," moaned Roger.

  "Roger," said Tom gently, "Roger, are you all right?"

  "Uh—huh?—Ohhhh! My head!"

  "Take it easy, hot-shot," said Astro, "that head of yours is O.K. Nothing—but nothing could hurt it!"

  "Ooohhhh!" groaned Roger, sitting up. "I don't know which is worse, feeling the way I do, or waking up and listening to you again!"

  Tom sat back with a smile. Roger's remark clinched it. No one was hurt.

  "Well," said Astro at last, "where do we go from here?"

  "First thing I suggest we do is take a survey and see what's left," said Tom.

  "I came up from the power deck," said Astro, "all the way through the ship. You see this radar deck?" He made a sweeping gesture around the room that looked like a junk heap. "Well, it's in good shape, compared to the rest of the ship. The power deck has the rocket motors where the master panel should be and the panel is ready to go into what's left of the reactant chamber. The jet boat is nothing but a worthless piece of junk!"

  The three boys considered the fate of the jet boat soberly. Finally Astro broke the silence with a question. "Where do you think we are?"

  "Somewhere in the New Sahara desert," answered Tom. "I had the chart projector on just before we splashed in, but I can't tell you any more than that."

  "Well, at least we have plenty of water," sighed Roger.

  "You had plenty of water. The tanks were smashed when we came in. Not even a puddle left in a corner."

  "Of course it might rain," said Roger.

  Tom gave a short laugh. "The last time it rained in this place dinosaurs were roaming around on Earth!"

  "How about food?" asked Roger.

  "Plenty of that," answered Astro. "This is a passenger ship, remember! They have everything you could ask for, including smoked Venusian fatfish!"

  "Then let's get out of here and take a look," said Tom.

  The three bruised but otherwise healthy cadets climbed slowly down to the control deck and headed for the galley, where Tom found six plastic containers of Martian water.

  "Spaceman, this is the biggest hunk of luck we've had in the last two hours," said Roger, taking one of the containers.

  "Why two hours, Roger?" asked Astro, puzzled.

  "Two hours ago we were still in space expecting to splash in," said Tom. He opened one of the containers and offered it to Astro. "Take it easy, Astro," said Tom. "Unless we find something else to drink, this might have to last a long time."

  "Yeah," said Roger, "a long time. I've been thinking about our chances of getting out of this mess."

  "Well," asked Astro, "what has the great Manning brain figured out?"

  "There's no chance at all," said Roger slowly. "You're wrong, Corbett, about this being midday. It's early morning!" He pointed to a chronometer on the bulkhead behind Astro. "It's still running. I made a mental note before we splashed in, it was eight-O-seven. That clock says nine-O-three. It doesn't begin to get hot here until three o'clock in the afternoon."

  "I think you're wrong two ways," said Tom. "In the first place, Captain Strong probably has a unit out looking for us right now. And in the second place, as long as we stay with the ship, we've got shade. That sun is only bad because the atmosphere is thinner here on Mars, and easier to burn through. But if we stay out of the sun, we're O.K. Just sit back and wait for Strong!"

  Roger shrugged his shoulders.

  "Well," commented Astro with a grin, "I'm not going to sit around waiting for Strong without eating!" He tore open a plastic package of roast-beef sandwiches and began eating. Tom measured out three small cups of Martian water.

  "After we eat," suggested Roger, "I think we ought to take a look around outside and try to set up an identification signal."

  "That's a good idea," said Tom, "but don't you think the ship itself is big enough for that?"

  "Yeah," answered Roger, "I guess you're right."

  "Boy!" said Astro. "We sure are lucky to still be able to argue."

  "That's about all you can call it. Luck! Spaceman's luck!" said Tom. "The only reason I can figure why we didn't wind up as permanent part of the scenery around here is because of the course we were on."

  "How do you figure that?" asked Astro.

  "Luckily—and I mean luckily, we were on a course that took us smack onto the surface of Mars. And our speed was great enough to resist the gravity pull of the planet, keeping us horizontal with the surface of the desert. We skidded in like a kid does on a sled, instead of coming in on our nose!"

  "Well, blast my jets!" said Astro softly.

  "In that case," said Roger, "we must have left a pretty long skid mark in back of us!"

  "That should be easy to see when the jet scouts come looking for us," commented Astro.

  "I wonder if we could rig up some sort of emergency signal so we could send out a relative position?"

  "How are you going to get the position?" asked Astro.

  "I can give you some sort of position as soon as I get outside and take a sight on the sun," replied Roger.

  "Can you do it without your astrogation prism?" asked Astro.

  "Navigation, not astrogation, Astro," said Roger. "Like the ancient sailors used on the oceans back on Earth hundreds of years ago. Only thing is, I'll have to work up the logarithms by hand, instead of using the computer. Might be a little rough, but it'll be close enough for what we want."

  The three cadets finished the remaining sandwiches and then picked their way back through the ship to the control deck. There, they rummaged through the pile of broken and shattered instruments.

  "If we could find just one tube that hasn't been damaged, I think I might be able to rig up some sort of one-lung communications set," said Roger. "It might have enough range to get a message to the nearest atmosphere booster station."

  "Nothing but a pile of junk here, Roger," said Tom. "We might find something on the radar deck."

  The three members of the Polaris unit climbed over the rubble and made their way to the radar deck, and started their search for an undamaged tube. After forty-five minutes of searching, Roger stood up in disgust.

  "Nothing!" he said sourly.

  "That kills any hope of getting a message out," said Tom.

  "By the craters of Luna," said Astro, wiping his forehead. "I didn't notice it before, but it's getting hotter here than on the power deck on a trip to Mercury!"

  "Do we have any flares?" asked Roger.r />
  "Naw. Al James used them all," answered Tom.

  "That does it," said Roger. "In another couple of hours, when and if anyone shows up, all they'll find is three space cadets fried on the half shell of a spaceship!"

  "Listen, Roger," said Tom, "as soon as we fail to check in, the whole Mars Solar Guard fleet will be out looking for us. Our last report will show them we were heading in this direction. It won't take Captain Strong long to figure out that we might have run out of fuel, and, with that skid mark in the sand trailing back for twenty miles, all we have to do is stick with the ship and wait for them to show up!"

  "What's that?" asked Astro sharply.

  From a distance, the three cadets could hear a low moaning and wailing. They rushed to the crystal port and looked out on the endless miles of brown sand, stretching as far as the horizon and meeting the cloudless blue sky. Shimmering in the heat, the New Sahara desert of Mars was just beginning to warm up for the day under the bleaching sun. The thin atmosphere offered little protection against the blazing heat rays.

  "Nothing but sand," said Tom. "Maybe something is still hot on the power deck." He looked at Astro.

  "I checked it before I came topside," said Astro. "I've heard that noise before. It can only mean one thing."

  "What's that?" asked Roger.

  Astro turned quickly and walked to the opposite side of the littered control deck. He pushed a pile of junk out of the way for a clear view of the outside.

  "There's your answer," said Astro, pointing at the port.

  "By the rings of Saturn, look at that!" cried Tom.

  "Yeah," said Roger, "black as the fingernails of a Titan miner!"

  "That's a sandstorm," Astro said finally. "It blows as long as a week and can pile up sand for two hundred feet. Sometimes the velocity reaches as much as a hundred and sixty miles an hour. Once, in the south, we got caught in one, and it was so bad we had to blast off. And it took all the power we had to do it!"

  The three cadets stood transfixed as they gazed through the crystal port at the oncoming storm. The tremendous black cloud rolled toward the spaceship in huge folds that billowed upward and back in three-thousand-foot waves. The roar and wail of the wind grew louder, rising in pitch until it was a shrill scream.

  "We'd better get down to the power deck," said Tom, "and take some oxygen bottles along with us, just in case. Astro, bring the rest of the Martian water and you grab several of those containers of food, Roger. We might be holed in for a long time."

  "Why go down to the power deck?" asked Roger.

  "There's a huge hole in the upper part of the ship's hull. That sand will come in here by the ton and there's nothing to stop it," Tom answered Roger, but kept his eyes on the churning black cloud. Already, the first gusts of wind were lashing at the stricken Lady Venus.

  CHAPTER 18

  "You think it'll last much longer?" asked Astro.

  "I don't know, old fellow," replied Tom.

  "You know, sometimes you can hear the wind even through the skin of the ship," commented Roger.

  For two days the cadets of the Polaris unit had been held prisoner in the power deck while the violence of the New Sahara sandstorm raged around them outside the ship. For a thousand square miles the desert was a black cloud of churning sand, sweeping across the surface of Mars like a giant shroud.

  After many attempts to repair a small generator, Astro finally succeeded, only to discover that he had no means of running the unit. His plan was to relieve the rapidly weakening emergency batteries with a more steady source of power.

  While Astro occupied himself repairing the generator, Tom and Roger had slept, but after the first day, when sleep would no longer come, they resorted to playing checkers with washers and nuts on a board scratched on the deck.

  "Think it's going to let up soon?" asked Roger.

  "They've been known to last for a week or more," said Astro.

  "Wonder if Strong has discovered we're missing?" mused Roger.

  "Sure he has," replied Tom. "He's a real spaceman. Can smell out trouble like a telemetered alarm system."

  Astro got up and stretched. "I'll bet we're out of this five hours after the sand settles down."

  The big Venusian walked to the side of the power deck and pressed his ear against the hull, listening for the sound of the wind.

  After a few seconds he turned back. "I can't hear a thing, fellas. I have a feeling it's about played itself out."

  "Of course," reasoned Tom, "we have no real way of knowing when it's stopped and when it hasn't."

  "Want to open the hatch and take a look?" asked Astro.

  Tom looked questioningly at Roger, who nodded his head in agreement.

  Tom walked over to the hatch and began undogging the heavy door. As the last of the heavy metal bars were raised, sand began to trickle inside around the edges. Astro bent down and sifted a handful through his fingers. "It's so fine, it's like powder," he said as it fell to the deck in a fine cloud.

  "Come on," said Tom, "give me a hand with this hatch. It's probably jammed up against sand on the other side."

  Tom, Roger and Astro braced their shoulders against the door, but when they tried to push, they lost their footing and slipped down. Astro dragged over a section of lead baffle, jammed it between the rocket motors and placed his feet up against it. Tom and Roger got on either side of him and pressed their shoulders against the door.

  "All right," said Tom. "When I give the word, let's all push together. Ready?"

  "All set," said Astro.

  "Let's go," said Roger.

  "O.K.—then—one—two—three—push!"

  Together, the three cadets strained against the heavy steel hatch. The muscles in Astro's legs bulged into knots as he applied his great weight and strength against the door. Roger, his face twisted into a grimace from the effort, finally slumped to the floor, gasping for breath.

  "Roger," asked Tom quickly, "are you all right?"

  Roger nodded his head but stayed where he was, breathing deeply. Finally recovering his strength, he rose and stood up against the hatch with his two unit-mates.

  "You and Roger just give a steady pressure, Tom," said Astro. "Don't try to push it all at once. Slow and steady does it! That way you get more out of your effort."

  "O.K.," said Tom. Roger nodded. Again they braced themselves against the hatch.

  "One—two—three—push!" counted Tom.

  Slowly, applying the pressure evenly, they heaved against the steel hatch. Tom's head swam dizzily, as the blood raced through his veins.

  "Keep going," gasped Astro. "I think it's giving a little!"

  Tom and Roger pushed with the last ounce of strength in their bodies, and after a final desperate effort, slumped to the floor breathless. Astro continued to push, but a moment later, relaxed and slipped down beside Tom and Roger.

  They sat on the deck for nearly five minutes gasping for air.

  "Like—" began Roger, "like father—like son!" He blurted the words out bitterly.

  "Like who?" asked Astro.

  "Like my father," said Roger in a hard voice. He got up and walked unsteadily over to the oxygen bottle and kicked it. "Empty!" he said with a harsh laugh. "Empty and we only have one more bottle. Empty as my head the day I got into this space-happy outfit!"

  "You going to start that again!" growled Astro. "I thought you had grown out of your childish bellyaching about the Academy." Astro eyed the blond cadet with a cold eye. "And now, just because you're in a tough spot, you start whining again!"

  "Knock it off, Astro," snapped Tom. "Come on. Let's give this hatch another try. I think it gave a little on that last push."

  "Never-say-die Corbett!" snarled Roger. "Let's give it the old try for dear old Space Academy!"

  Tom whirled around and stood face to face with Manning.

  "I think maybe Astro's right, Roger," he said coldly. "I think you're a foul ball, a space-gassing hot-shot that can't take it when the chips are down!"

/>   "That's right," said Roger coldly. "I'm just what you say! Go ahead, push against that hatch until your insides drop out and see if you can open it!" He paused and looked directly at Tom. "If that sand has penetrated inside the ship far enough and heavily enough to jam that hatch, you can imagine what is on top, outside! A mountain of sand! And we're buried under it with about eight hours of oxygen left!"

  Tom and Astro were silent, thinking about the truth in Roger's words. Roger walked slowly across the deck and stood in front of them defiantly.

  "You were counting on the ship being spotted by Captain Strong or part of a supposed searching party! Ha! What makes you think three cadets are so important that the Solar Guard will take time out to look for us? And if they do come looking for us, the only thing left up there now"—he pointed his finger over his head—"is a pile of sand like any other sand dune on this crummy planet. We're stuck, Corbett, so lay off that last chance, do-or-die routine. I've been eating glory all my life. If I do have to splash in now, I want it to be on my own terms. And that's to just sit here and wait for it to come. And if they pin the Medal—the Solar Medal—on me, I'm going to be up there where all good spacemen go, having the last laugh, when they put my name alongside my father's!"

  "Your father's?" asked Tom bewilderedly.

  "Yeah, my father. Kenneth Rogers Manning, Captain in the Solar Guard. Graduate of Space Academy, class of 2329, killed while on duty in space, June 2335. Awarded the Solar Medal posthumously. Leaving a widow and one son, me!"

  Astro and Tom looked at each other dumfounded.

  "Surprised, huh?" Roger's voice grew bitter. "Maybe that clears up a few things for you. Like why I never missed on an exam. I never missed because I've lived with Academy textbooks since I was old enough to read. Or why I wanted the radar deck instead of the control deck. I didn't want to have to make a decision! My father had to make a decision once. As skipper and pilot of the ship he decided to save a crewman's life. He died saving a bum, a no good space-crawling rat!"

  Tom and Astro sat stupefied at Roger's bitter tirade. He turned away from them and gave a short laugh.