Tom Corbett Space Cadet

by Carey Rockwell

  "O-N-L-Y—one—gun—between—them. You—take—big—fellow. I'll—charge—gun…"

  "Can't you figure this thing out either?" asked Mason, leaning over Loring's shoulder.

  "Ah, this wagon is an old converted chemical burner. These controls are old as the sun. I've got to find the automatic pilot!"

  "Try that lever over there," suggested Mason.

  Loring reached over to grasp it, turning away from his prisoners.

  "Bangs, get 'em!" shouted Jardine. The two men jumped to their feet and lunged at Loring and Mason. Loring dove to one side, losing the gun in the scramble, but as he fell, he reached for the acceleration control lever. He wrenched it out of its socket and brought it down on Bang's head, and the officer slid to the floor. Jardine, meanwhile, had Mason in a viselike grip, but again Loring used the lever, bringing it down hard on the neck of the freighter pilot. Jardine dropped to the deck.

  "Thanks, Loring," gasped Mason. "That was close! Good thing we had on these space suits, or we'd have been finished. They couldn't grab onto the smooth plastic."

  "Finished is right!" snarled Loring. "I told you to keep an eye on them! If they'd nabbed us we woulda wound up on the prison asteroid!"

  "Loring," shouted Mason, "look!" He pointed a trembling finger at the thrust indicator. "We're blasting at full space speed—right for the station!"

  "By the rings of Saturn," cried Loring, "I must've jammed the thrust when I yanked the lever out of the control board!"

  "Put it back! Slow this ship down!" cried Mason, his face ashen with fear. Loring jumped to the control board and with trembling fingers tried to replace the lever in the socket.

  "I can't—can't—" he panted. "We gotta pile outta here! We're heading for the station. We'll crash!"

  "Come on! This way! We left the space helmets back in the cargo hold!" shouted Mason. He ran toward the open hatch leading to the companionway. Suddenly he stopped. "Hey, what about those two guys?"

  "Never mind them!" shouted Loring. "Keep going. We can't do anything for them now!"

  And as the two men raced toward the stern, the freighter, her powerful rockets wide open, arrowed straight toward the gleaming white structure of the space station.

  * * * * *

  "It was easy, honey," cooed Roger into the microphone on the main control panel of the space-station radar bridge.

  "I switched the frequency on the station, beamed to a teleceiver trunk line on Earth, and called you up, my little space pet! Smart, huh? Now remember we have a date as soon as I get back from this important and secret mission. I could've got out of it, but they needed me badly. As much as I like you, baby, I had to go along to give the boys a break and…"

  "Cadet Manning!" An infuriated roar echoed in the small chamber.

  "Yeah, whaddaya wan—" growled Roger, turning to see who had interrupted him. He suddenly gulped and turned pale. "Ohhhhhhhhh—good-by, baby!" He flipped the switch and stood up.

  "Uh—ah—good morning, Major Connel," he stammered.

  "What's going on here, Manning?" barked Connel.

  "I—was—talking, sir," replied Roger.

  "So I heard! But talking to whom?"

  "To whom, sir?"

  "That's what I said, Manning." Connel's voice dropped to a deep sarcastic purr. "To whom?"

  "I was—ah—talking to Earth, sir."

  "Official business, I presume?"

  "You mean—official—like here on the station, sir?"

  "Official, like here on the station, Manning," replied Connel in almost a kindly tone.

  "No, sir."

  "You failed to make your quarter-hour check to the traffic-control center, I believe?"

  "Yes, sir," gulped Roger. The full realization of what he had done was beginning to dawn on him.

  "And you've tampered with vital station equipment for your own personal use," added Connel. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Roger noticed the major was strangely quiet in his interrogation. It felt like the calm before the storm.

  "Yes, sir," admitted Roger, "I changed several circuits."

  "Are you aware of the seriousness of your negligence, Manning?" Connel's voice began to harden.

  "Yes—yes—I guess so, sir," stumbled Roger.

  "Can you repair that radar so that it can be used as it was intended?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then do so immediately. There are ships in flight depending on your information and signals."

  "Yes, sir," said Roger quietly. Then he added quickly, "I'd like the major to know, sir, that this is the first time this has happened."

  "I have only your word for that, Manning!" Connel finally began blasting in his all too familiar roar. "Since you've done it once, I see no reason to think you couldn't have done it before or that you might not do it again!" The officer's face was now almost purple with rage. "When you've repaired that set, return to your quarters! You are confined until I decide on disciplinary action!"

  Turning abruptly, Connel stormed out of the room, slamming the hatch closed behind him.

  With a sigh Roger turned back to the set. With trembling fingers he reconnected the terminals and made delicate adjustments on the many dials. Finally, as power began to flow through the proper chain of circuits, the radar scanner glowed into life and the hair-thin line of light swept around the dull green surface of the scope. It had been left on a setting covering two hundred miles around the space station, and seeing the area was clear, Roger increased the range to five hundred miles. The resulting scan sent a sudden chill down his spine. A spaceship was roaring toward the station at full thrust!

  Cold sweat beaded Roger's forehead as he grabbed for the microphone and called Tom.

  "Radar bridge to control deck!" The words tumbled out frantically. "Tom! Tom! There's a ship heading right for the station! Bearing 098! Distance 450 miles! Coming in on full thrust! Tom, acknowledge! Quick!"

  Down on the control deck, Tom had been watching a space freighter easing out of the station when Roger's voice came over the speaker in a thin scream.

  "What?" he yelled. "Give me that again, Roger!"

  "Spaceship bearing 098—full thrust! Range now four twenty-five!"

  "By the craters of Luna," shouted Tom, "why didn't you pick her up sooner, Roger?"

  "Never mind that. Contact that guy and tell him to change course! He can't brake in time now!"

  "All right! Sign off!" Without waiting for a reply, Tom cut Roger off and switched to a standard space band. His voice quivering, the young cadet spoke quickly and urgently into the microphone. "Space station to spaceship approaching on orbit 098. Change course! Emergency! Reduce thrust and change course or you will crash into us!"

  As he spoke, Tom watched the master screen of his scanner and saw the ship rocketing closer and closer with no change in speed or course. He realized that any action, even now, would bring the craft dangerously close to the station. Without hesitation, he flipped on the master switch of the central station communicator, opening every loud-speaker on the station to his voice.

  "Attention! Attention! This is traffic-control center! Emergency! Repeat. Emergency! All personnel in and near landing ports five, six, seven, eight, and nine—decks A, B, and C—evacuate immediately to opposite side of the station. Emergency crews stand by for crash! Spaceship heading for station! May crash! Emergency—emergency!"

  On the endangered decks, men began to move quickly, and in a moment the great man-made satellite was prepared for disaster. On the control deck, Tom stayed at his station, sounding the warning.

  "Emergency! Emergency! All personnel prepare for crash! All personnel prepare for crash!"

  CHAPTER 8

  "There—there!" shouted Captain Stefens into the mike aboard the jet boat circling around the station. "I think I see something bearing about seventy degrees to my left and up about twenty on the ecliptic! Do you see it, Scotty?"

  Tom, in the bucket seat of the jet boat, strained his eyes but was unable to see ove
r the control board.

  Terry Scott, in a second jet boat ten miles away, answered quickly, "Yes, I think I see it, sir."

  "Good!" shouted Stefens. "Maybe we've found something."

  He spoke to Tom over his shoulder, keeping his eye on the floating objects in the black void of space. "Come to the starboard about one-quarter full turn, Corbett, and hold it. Then up, about twenty-five degrees."

  "Aye, aye, sir," said Tom. He began to maneuver the small gnat-sized space craft to the proper position.

  "That's good!" shouted Stefens. "Now hold that. Let me see. I think we've hit pay dirt."

  From the right, Tom could see the red flash of the rockets of Terry Scott's jet boat, which Astro had volunteered to pilot, coming into view. As soon as order had been restored aboard the station, search parties had been sent out to look for survivors.

  Carefully Tom slowed the space craft in response to Stefens' brief commands and soon came to a dead halt in space. There, hovering right above them, visible through the crystal dome of the jet boat, Tom could see two space-suited figures floating effortlessly. A moment later Scott's craft came alongside, and the two small ships were lashed together with magnetic lines. Tom and Stefens hurriedly pulled on their space helmets. They adjusted the valves regulating the oxygen supply in their suits, and Stefens slipped back the sliding top of the jet boat. Out on the hull he secured a line to a projecting ring, and ordering Tom to stand by, he pushed himself off the ship into the bottomless void of space.

  The line trailing behind him, Stefens drifted toward the two helpless figures. He reached them in less than a minute, secured the line to their belts, and signaled Tom to haul in.

  Near by, Terry Scott and Astro watched as the three figures were pulled to safety.

  Quickly the top of the jet boat was closed, oxygen pressure in the craft was restored, and the four men took off their helmets.

  "Whew!" said Loring. "I sure want to thank you for pulling us out of the deep!"

  "We sure do, sir!" added Mason. Then, with a quick look at Loring, he asked softly, "Were there any other survivors?"

  Stefens' face was grim. "Not one. After we untangled the mess, we found bodies of two men. It was pretty bad. A little later something was spotted on the radar, and we hoped there might be survivors. Luckily for you, we came to look!"

  Tom could see two space-suited figures floating effortlessly

  "By the rings of Saturn," swore Loring softly, "Jardine and Bangs were brave men. They practically forced us to pile out when they saw they were going to crack up." He turned to Mason. "Didn't they, Al?"

  "Yeah, yeah, sure brave men," Al Mason agreed.

  "Nothing to be done for them now, of course," said Stefens. "What happened?" He paused, and then added, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to before you make out your report, but I'd sure like to know."

  "I don't really know what happened, sir," said Loring. "We had made a deal for a ride back to Earth with Jardine and were sleeping back on the cargo deck. All of a sudden, Jardine came running in. Told us we were about to pile into the station and for us to suit up and get out. We asked him about himself, but he said he was going to stay and try to save the ship. We piled out, and—well, we saw the whole thing from out here. Like a big splash of light. It must have been pretty bad on the station, eh?"

  "Plenty bad, but thanks to Cadet Corbett here, there wasn't a single injury. He warned everybody to get off that side of the station. A lot of damage but no casualties."

  "Don't you have any idea what made the ship crash?" asked Tom quietly.

  Loring looked at Tom but spoke to Stefens. "I told you all I know, sir. Can I expect to be questioned by everyone in the Solar Guard. Including cadets?"

  Stefens bristled. "It was a civil question, Loring," he said stiffly, "but you don't have to say anything if you don't want to!"

  Loring and Mason had not expected such a strong defense of the cadet, and Loring was quick to make amends. "I'm sorry—I guess I'm still a bit shaken up," he muttered.

  Stefens grunted.

  "It wasn't pretty, you know, watching that ship go up and not be able to do anything about it," Loring continued plaintively. "Jardine and Bangs—well, they're—they were sorta friends of mine."

  They were silent all the way back to the station, each with his own thoughts—Stefens puzzling over the cause of the crash, Loring and Mason exchanging quick furtive glances and wondering how long their story would hold up, and Tom wondering how much Roger's changing the power circuits on the radar had to do with the crash of the ship.

  "That's right," snapped Connel to the two enlisted spacemen. "I said I wanted the radar section of the communications deck closed and sealed off until further investigations. You can hook up and use one of the monitors in the traffic control meantime."

  The two red-clad spacemen turned and walked away. Stefens stood to one side.

  "Don't you think that's carrying things a little too far, sir?" he asked Connel.

  "I'm doing this as much to protect Cadet Manning as I am to prosecute him! I want to be sure there was no connection between the crash of the Annie Jones and his tampering with the radar circuits!" Connel replied.

  "I guess you're right, sir," replied Stefens. "Those two survivors, Loring and Mason, are having coffee in the mess if you want to talk to them."

  "Did they change their story?" asked Connel.

  "None at all. They were hooking a ride back to Atom City, and they were asleep in the cargo hold. Jardine, one of the pilots, came in and told them to pile out. They did."

  "Ummmmh," mused Connel. "I know those two, Loring and Mason. Had a little trouble with them recently on a trip to Tara. Suspended their papers. So if they were just hooking a ride, it might be they're telling the truth!"

  "I have a report here on the damage to the station, sir, if you'd like to listen to it," said Stefens, handing his superior a spool of audiotape.

  "Good! Did you make out the report yourself?" asked Connel.

  "Yes, sir. With the assistance of Terry Scott and Cadet Corbett."

  "Good lad, that Corbett," said Connel and paused. "The whole unit is good! If it weren't for that hare-brained Manning, I'd say they had as bright a future in the Solar Guard as any unit I've seen!"

  "I'll buy that, sir!" said Stefens with a smile. "That Corbett picked up traffic-control operations like a duck takes to water. And it's been a long time since Jenledge on the power deck raved about a cadet the way he does about Astro."

  Connel smiled. He was reluctant to press for an investigation of the radar deck, knowing that if he did, it would mean a damaging black mark against Manning. But justice was justice, and Connel came closer to worshiping justice than anything else in space!

  Connel placed the spool of tape in the audiograph and settled in a chair to listen. He didn't like the entire affair. He didn't like to think of losing a cadet of Manning's ability because of one stupid mistake. He had recommended a thorough investigation. There was no other way. If Manning was cleared of the responsibility for the crash, he was free, and it would not show up against his record. If he wasn't, however, then he'd have to pay. Yes, thought Connel to himself, as Stefens' voice began to crackle harshly on the audiograph, if Manning was guilty, then Manning would most certainly pay. Connel would see to that.

  * * * * *

  Deep in the heart of the space station, Loring and Mason were huddled over steaming cups of coffee whispering to each other cautiously.

  "Want more coffee, Mason?" asked Loring.

  "Who wants coffee when there's going to be a Solar Guard investigation?" whined Mason. "Suppose they find out something?"

  "Relax, will ya?" muttered Loring reassuringly. "Connel doesn't suspect a thing. Besides, he has that cadet under arrest!"

  "Yeah," argued Mason, "but you don't know those guys at Space Academy. All this honor stuff! It's not like a regular investigation. They don't stop digging until they dig up real facts! They'll find out we stowed away and…"r />
  Loring calmly added cream and sugar to his coffee. "They can't prove a thing. Jardine and Bangs are dead, and the ship's nothing but a pile of junk."

  "They'll find out, I tell you, and now we've got murder on our hands!"

  A door behind Mason suddenly opened and Stefens appeared.

  "Shut up, you fool!" Loring hissed. He turned blandly to face Stefens. "Well, Captain, glad you came. I wanted to talk to you about getting us transportation back to Venusport."

  "You'll have to wait for the jet liner from Earth," said Stefens. "See me in about two hours. Right now, I've got to make arrangements for the investigation of the crash."

  "Sure, sir," said Loring. "Ah—say, Captain, what do you expect the investigation to turn up?"

  "The true facts," replied Stefens. "Whether the crash was due to the negligence of Cadet Manning or something that happened on the ship."

  "Then you really think the cadet may be responsible?" asked Loring softly.

  "He admits to negligence, and the Annie Jones is a lot of evidence," said Stefens with a shrug, and walked out.

  "There's our answer!" said Loring triumphantly. "Come on!"

  "Where are we going?" asked Mason.

  "We're going to have a little talk with our fall guy!"

  * * * * *

  "Ahhh, sit down, Roger," said Astro. "Everything will be O.K."

  "Yeah," agreed Tom. "You're just wearing out the deck and your nerves walking back and forth like that. Everything will be O.K." Tom tried hard to keep any apprehension out of his voice.

  "Nothing will make those two guys on the spaceship O.K.," said Roger. He kicked viciously at a stool and sat down on the side of his bunk.

  Since the crash, Roger had been confined to his quarters, with Tom and Astro bringing him his meals. Tom had watched his unit-mate grow more and more bitter over the turn of events and was afraid Roger would do something rash.