Tom Corbett Space Cadet

by Carey Rockwell

  "Have you tried making an adjustment for the overall pull of both components?" asked Connel. "That of Tara and of Alpha Centauri on Junior?" He picked up the paper Tom had been working on and glanced over the figures.

  "Yes, sir," replied Tom, "but I still can't seem to make it come out right!"

  "You'll get it, Tom," said Connel. "Go over it again. But remember. Time's running out. Just one day and about twenty hours left." Connel's voice was friendly—more friendly than at any time Tom could remember. He smiled, and taking a fresh sheet of paper, he began the complicated calculations of escape time all over again.

  Connel slipped out of the control room and went below to the power deck, where Astro and Mr. Shinny had been working without sleep for over fifty hours. When Connel slipped into the room he found the two men puzzling over a drawing board.

  "What seems to be the trouble, Astro?" asked Connel.

  Astro turned, startled. "We've tried building that lead baffle for the reactant units five times now, sir," said Astro. "We're having a hard time getting the correct amount of reactant power we need in a unit this small."

  "Maybe you're trying to make it too small, Astro," commented Connel, looking over the drawing. "Remember, this unit has but one job. To start the reaction. When the reaction fuel gets hot enough, it'll start a reaction of the copper on Junior and sustain itself. Try a smaller amount of the reactant. But whatever you do, keep working. Only a day and a few hours left."

  Connel looked at Shinny. "Keep him working, Mr. Shinny," he ordered. "I know he can do it. Just keep him going."

  Shinny grinned and nodded.

  "I'll try, sir," said Astro, shaking his head, "but I won't guarantee it—"

  Connel cut him off with a roar. "Cadet Astro, I don't want your guarantee! I want that unit. Now build it!"

  Hour after hour the cadets racked their brains for what seemed like impossible answers to an impossible task. Working until their eyes closed fast shut, they would lie down right where they were—power deck, control deck, or radar bridge—and sleep. They would awake, still groggy, drink hot tea, eat cold sandwiches, and continue their struggle with time and astrophysics.

  One by one, the problems were solved and set aside for newer ones that arose on the way. Each cadet worked in his particular field, and all of their information was assembled and co-ordinated by Major Connel. More than once, Connel had found the clever minds of his cadets reaching for answers to questions he knew would have troubled the professors back at Space Academy. Connel, his eye on the clock, his sharp tongue lashing out when he thought he detected unclear thinking, raced from one department to another while the incessant work continued. On the morning of the fourth day he walked into the radar bridge where Roger and Alfie had been working steadily for seventy-two hours on an electronic fuse to trigger the reactant units.

  "There you are, skipper," said Roger. "The fuse is all yours. Delivered twelve hours ahead of time!"

  "Good work, Roger. You too, Alfie. Excellent!" said Connel, his eyes appraising the fuse.

  "Ah, that's nothing, skipper," said Roger with a smile. "Anyone could have done it with Alfie here to help. He's got a brain like a calculator!"

  "Now, I want to see how smart you two really are!" said Connel.

  "Huh?" asked Roger stupidly. Alfie had slumped to the deck, holding his head in his hands.

  "I want a communications unit," said Connel, "that can send out a constant beam, a signal Space Academy can pick up to follow Junior in transit back to Earth."

  "In twelve hours?" exploded Roger. "Impossible, skipper!"

  "Cadet Manning," roared Connel, "I don't want your opinion, I asked for that unit!"

  "But one day, sir," said Roger. "Not even a day. Twelve hours. I can't, sir. I'm sorry. I'm so tired I can't see straight."

  Alfie let out a low moan.

  Connel studied the two cadets. He was aware that he had already asked them to do the impossible, and they had done it. And they deserved to be let alone. But Major Connel wasn't himself unless he had given every ounce of energy he had left, or the energy left in those around him. He patted Roger on the shoulder and spoke softly.

  "Roger, did I ever tell you that I think you have one of the finest brains for electronics I've ever seen? And that Alfie is sure to have a brilliant future in astrophysics?"

  Roger stammered. "Why—ah—thank you, sir—"

  Alfie looked up at Connel and then struggled to his feet.

  "You know, Roger," he said haltingly, "if we took that unit we came out here to test—you know, the transmitter unit—"

  Roger cut him off. "Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing. We could borrow some of the reaction mass that Astro got out of the Space Devil and use that as a power source."

  Connel backed away from the two cadets and tiptoed off the bridge. He smiled to himself. He was going to win his race with time yet! And he was going to do it because he had learned long before that you could only push a man so far, then you had to sit down, pat him on the back, tell him how smart he was, and he would push himself. Connel almost laughed out loud.

  Six hours later Connel sat in his quarters puzzling over one of the many minor problems of Junior's Pitch when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned. Astro, Tom, Roger, Alfie, and Shinny walked silently into the room. Connel stared.

  "Wha—what is it?" he demanded.

  "We're finished, sir," said Tom simply.

  "Finished?" exploded Connel. "You mean—"

  "That's what he means, skipper," said Shinny. His eyes were bloodshot for want of sleep, but there was a merry twinkle left tugging at the corners.

  "Everything?" asked Connel.

  "Everything, sir," said Roger. "The power units are built and the fuses installed. All it needs is to be set. Tom's worked out the ratios and the amount of reactant fuel needed in each unit for escape tangent. The escape time, combining orbital speeds of Tara and Junior, are completed, and we have six hours and fifty-five minutes before blast-off!" He turned and rumpled Alfie's hair. "Alfie and I have completed the communications unit and have tested it. Junior is ready to get his big kick in the pants!"

  Connel stood up. He was speechless. It was almost too much to believe.

  "Get below," he roared, "and go to sleep! If I catch one of you awake in five minutes, I'll log you fifty demerits!"

  The tired workers grinned back at their commander.

  "I'll get everything set," said Connel, "and wake you up an hour before we have to get things ready. Now hit the sack!"

  Their grins spreading even wider on their haggard faces, they turned away. Connel stepped to the desk on the control deck and wrote across the face of the logbook page.

  "… October 2nd, 2353. Space Cadets Corbett, Manning, Astro, and Higgins and ex-enlisted spaceman Nicholas Shinny completed this day all preparation for operation Junior's Pitch. By authority vested in me as Senior Officer, Solar Guard, I hereby recommend official commendation of "well done" to the above-mentioned spacemen, and that all honors pursuant to that commendation be officially bestowed on them. Signed, Connel, Major, SO—SG…"

  He closed the book and wiped the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand.

  CHAPTER 16

  "Well, fellows," said Tom, stifling a yawn, "it looks like we did it. But I could use some more sleep. That five hours was just enough to get started on!"

  "Yeah," agreed Roger sourly, "but where does this Venusian lummox get off grabbing all the credit." He looked at Astro. "If I hadn't built the fuses for your little firecrackers—"

  "Firecrackers!" yelped Astro. "Why, you skinny space fake! If I hadn't built those nuclear reactors, you wouldn't have anything to set off!"

  Connel appeared in the small messroom of the Polaris, his hands full of papers and drawings. "When you've finished congratulating each other, I'd like to say a few things!" he snapped.

  "Congratulate him?" exclaimed Roger. "Skipper, his head's so thick, the noise on the power deck can't even reach his eard
rums!"

  "Just one more word, Manning," growled Astro, "and I'll take a deep breath and blow you away!"

  "One more word out of either of you," roared Connel, "and I'll throw you both in the brig with Mason and Loring!"

  Suddenly he glared at the five spacemen. "Who's on prisoner watch today?" he asked.

  The four cadets and Mr. Shinny looked at each other then at Roger.

  "Uhhh—I am, sir," Roger confessed.

  "I had a sneaking suspicion you would be!" said Connel. "Cadet Manning, one of the first things an officer of the Solar Guard learns is to care for the needs of his men and prisoners before himself. Did you know that, Cadet Manning?"

  "Uhhh—yes, sir. I was just going to—" mumbled Roger.

  "Then go below and see that Mason and Loring get their rations!"

  "Yes, sir," said Roger. He got up and collected a tray of food.

  "All of you report to the control deck in five minutes for briefing," said Connel and followed Roger out of the door.

  "How do you like that?" said Astro. "We break our backs for the guy and we're no sooner finished then he starts the old routine again!"

  "That has nothing to do with it, Astro," said Tom. "Put yourself in his position. We've only got one or two things to think about. He's responsible for it all."

  "Just like he was when I sailed with him twenty-five years ago," said Shinny. He swallowed the remains of his tea and reached for a plug of tobacco. "He's all spaceman from the top of his head to the bottom of his space boots."

  "I'm rather inclined to agree with you, Tom," said Alfie mildly. "Leadership carries with it the greatest of all burdens—responsibility for other peoples' lives. You, Corbett, as a control-deck cadet, would do well to mark Major Connel's pattern of behavior."

  "Listen," growled Astro, "if Tom ever turned out to be a rocket buster like Connel—I'd—I'd—"

  "Don't worry, Astro," Tom said, laughing. "I don't think there'll be another Major Connel in a million light years!"

  Shinny laughed silently, his small frame shaking slightly. "Say it again, Tommy. Not in the whole universe will there ever be another like old 'Blast-off' Connel!"

  On the deck below the messroom, Roger, balancing a tray carefully on one hand, opened the electronic lock of the brig and then stepped back quickly, leveling a paralo-ray gun.

  "All right, Mason, Loring," he yelled, "come and get it!" The door slid open, and Loring stuck his head out. "Any funny business," Roger warned, "and I'll stiffen you so fast, you won't know what hit you!"

  "It's about time you showed up!" growled Loring. "Whaddaya trying to do, starve us to death?"

  "That's not a bad idea!" said Roger. Loring took the tray. Roger motioned him back inside the brig and slammed the door shut. He locked it and leaned against the grille.

  "Better eat it while you can," he said. "They don't serve it so fancy on a prison asteroid."

  "You'll never get us on a prison asteroid," whined Mason.

  "Don't kid yourself," said Roger. "As soon as we get the reactor units set, we're going to send this hunk of copper back to Earth and then take you back. They'll bury you!"

  "Who's going to do all that?" snapped Loring. "A bunch of punk kids and a loudmouthed Solar Guard officer?"

  "Yeah," retorted Roger.

  "Cadet Manning!" Connel's voice roared over the intercom. "You were ordered to report to the control deck in five minutes! You are already one minute late! Report to the control deck on the double and I mean double!"

  Loring and Mason laughed. "Old 'Blast-off' Connel's really got your number, eh, kid?"

  "Ah, rocket off, you pinheaded piece of space junk! It didn't take him long to dampen your tubes!"

  Connel roared again. "Blast your hide, Manning, report!"

  "Better raise ship, Manning," said Loring, "you might get another nasty demerit!"

  Roger turned away and raced to the control deck. He entered breathlessly and stood beside his unit-mates while Connel eyed him coldly.

  "Thank you, Cadet Manning," said Connel. "We appreciate your being here!"

  "Yes, sir," mumbled Roger.

  "All right," barked Connel, "you know your assignments. We'll take the jet boats as before and go out in pairs. Tom and myself, Astro and Roger, and Shinny and Alfie. We'll set up the reaction charges on Junior at the points marked on the chart screen here." He indicated the chart on the projection. "Copy them down on your own charts. Each team will take three of the reaction units. My team will set up at points one, two, and three. Astro and Roger at four, five, and six. Alfie and Shinny at seven, eight, and nine. After you've set up the charges, attach the triggers for the fuses and return to the ship. Watch your timing! If we fail, it'll be more than a year before Junior will be in the same orbital position again. How much time do we have left, Corbett?"

  Tom glanced at the clock. "Exactly two hours, sir," he said.

  "Not much," said Connel, "but enough. It shouldn't take more than an hour and a half to set up the units and get back to the ship to blast off. All clear? Any questions?"

  There were no questions.

  "All right," said the officer, "put on your space gear and move out!"

  Handling the lead-encased charges carefully, the six spacemen loaded the jet boats and, one by one, blasted off from the Polaris to positions marked on the map.

  Working rapidly, each of the teams of two moved from one position to another on the surface of the desolate satellite. Connel, referring constantly to his watch, counted the minutes as one by one the teams reported the installation of a reactor unit.

  "This is Shinny. Just finished installing reaction charge one at point seven…"

  "This is Manning. Just finished installing reaction charge at point four…"

  One after the other, the teams reported. Connel, with Tom piloting the jet boat, finished setting up their units at points one, two, and three and headed back to the Polaris.

  "How much time, sir?" asked Tom as he slowed the small craft for a landing.

  "Less than a half hour, Corbett," said Connel nervously. "I'd better check on Shinny and Alfie." He called into the audiophone. "Major Connel to Shinny and Higgins, come in Shinny—Higgins!"

  "Shinny here!" came the reply. "We're just finishing up the last unit. Should be back in five minutes."

  "Make it snappy!" said Connel. "Less than a half hour left!"

  "We'll make it," snorted Shinny.

  "Coming in for a touchdown," said Tom. "Better strap in, sir!"

  Connel nodded. He laced several straps across his lap and chest, gripping the sides of the seat. Tom sent the jet boat in a swooping dive, cut the acceleration, and brought the small ship smoothly inside the huge air lock in the side of the Polaris.

  "I'd better get right up on the control deck and start warming up the circuits, sir," said Tom.

  "Good idea, Tom," said Connel. "I'll try and pick up Manning and Astro."

  Tom left the officer huddling over the communicator in the jet boat.

  "Major Connel to Manning and Astro, come in!" called Connel. He waited for a moment and then repeated. "Manning—Astro, come in! By the rings of Saturn, come in!" There was the loud roar of an approaching jet boat. Shinny guided the ship into the Polaris with a quick violent blast of the braking rockets. The noise was deafening.

  "Belay that noise, you blasted space-brained idiot!" roared Connel. "Cut that acceleration!"

  Shinny grinned and cut the rockets. The jet-boat catapult deck was quiet, and Connel turned back to the communicator.

  "Come in, Manning—Astro! This is Major Connel. Come in!"

  On the opposite side of the airless satellite, Roger and Astro were busy digging a hole in the hard surface. Near by lay the last of the explosive units to be installed. Connel's voice thundered through their headset phones.

  "Boy, is he blasting his jets!" commented Roger.

  "Yeah," grunted Astro. "He should have to dig this blasted hole!"

  "Well, this is where it's got to go
. If the ground is hard, then it's our tough luck," said Roger. "If we stick it anywhere else, it might mess up the whole operation."

  Astro nodded and continued to dig. He held a small spade and jabbed at the ground. "How much—time—have we got left?" he gasped.

  "Twenty minutes," replied Roger. "You'd better hurry."

  "Finished now," said Astro. "Get the reactor unit over here and set the fuse."

  Roger picked up the heavy lead box and placed it gently inside the hole.

  "Remember," Astro cautioned, "set the fuse for two hours."

  "No, you're wrong," replied Roger. "I've set the fuses each time, subtracting the amount of time since we left the Polaris. I set this one for twenty minutes."

  "You're wrong, Roger," said Astro. "It's maximum time is two hours."

  "Listen, you Venusian clunk," exploded Roger, "I built this thing, so I know what I'm doing!"

  "But, Roger—" protested Astro.

  "Twenty minutes!" said Roger, and twisted the set-screw in the fuse. "O.K., it's all set. Let's get out of here!"

  The two cadets raced back to the jet boat and blasted off immediately. Once in space, Astro turned to Roger.

  "Better check in with Major Connel before he tears himself to pieces!"

  "Yeah," agreed Roger. "I guess you're right." He flipped on the audio communicator. "Attention! Attention! Manning to Major Connel. Am making flight back to Polaris. All installations complete."

  "Remember," Astro cautioned, "set the fuse for two hours."

  "What took you so long, Manning?" barked Connel in reply. "And why didn't you answer me?"

  "Couldn't, sir," said Roger. "We had a tough time digging a hole for the last unit."

  "Come back to the Polaris immediately," said Connel. "We're blasting off in fifteen minutes."

  "Very well, sir," said Roger.

  Presently the jet boat circled the Polaris and made a landing run for the open port. Roger braked the small craft and brought it to rest alongside the others.

  "That's it, spaceboy," he said to Astro. "All out for the Polaris express back home!"