Tom Corbett Space Cadet

by Carey Rockwell

  "Just be sure you give me a good course, Manning," grunted Astro, heaving his huge frame out of the small cabin of the jet boat, "and I'll give you all the thrust you want!"

  Astro secured the jet boats while Roger closed the air-lock hatch, shutting out the last view of the rugged little planetoid. Roger threw the landscape a mocking kiss.

  "So long, Junior! See you back home!" The two cadets climbed the ladder leading to the control deck.

  Seated in front of the control panel, Tom watched the sweeping hand of the solar clock. Connel paced nervously up and down behind him. Shinny and Alfie stood to one side also watching the great clock.

  "How much time, Corbett?" asked Connel for the dozenth time.

  "Junior gets his kick in the pants in ten minutes, sir," replied Tom.

  "Fine," said Connel. "That gives me just enough time to notify Space Academy to get ready to receive Junior's signal. You know what to do?"

  "I don't have to do anything, sir," answered Tom, nodding to the solar clock over his head. "In nine minutes and twenty seconds, the reactor units go off automatically at one-second intervals."

  Roger and Astro entered the control deck and came to attention. Connel returned their salute and put them at ease.

  "All right, our work here is done," said Connel. "No point in hanging around any longer. Tom, you can blast off immediately."

  "Yes, sir," replied Tom.

  Connel climbed the ladder to the radar bridge to contact Space Academy. Astro, Roger, Shinny, and Alfie went to their posts and began quick preparations for the blast-off. One by one, they checked in to Tom on the control deck.

  "Power deck, ready to blast off!" reported Astro.

  "Radar bridge, all set. Clear trajectory forward and up," said Roger.

  "Energize the cooling pumps!" bawled Tom into the intercom.

  The great pumps began to wheeze under the strain of Astro's sudden switch to full load without the usual slow build-up. Tom watched the pressure needle rise slowly in front of him and finally reached out and gripped the master switch.

  "Stand by to raise ship!" he yelled. "Blast off minus five—four—three—two—one—zeroooooo!"

  He threw the switch. The great ship shivered, vibrated, and then suddenly shot away from the precious satellite. Tom quickly adjusted for free fall by switching on the synthetic-gravity gyro generators and then announced over the intercom,

  "Major Connel! Cadet Corbett reporting. Ship space-borne at exactly thirty-one, sir!"

  "Very well, Corbett," replied Connel. "Space Academy sends the crew a 'well done!' Everything's set back home to take over the beam as soon as Junior starts on his way back. How much time until zero blast-off on the satellite?"

  Tom glanced at the clock. "Less than two minutes, sir!"

  "All right," said Connel over the intercom, "everybody to the control deck if you want to see Junior do his stuff!"

  In a moment the six spacemen were gathered around the magnascope waiting for the final act of their great effort. Breathlessly, their eyes flicking back and forth from the solar clock to the magnascope, they waited for the red hand to sweep around.

  "Here it comes," said Tom excitedly. "One second—two seconds—three—four—five!"

  On the surface of the planetoid, giant mushrooming clouds appeared climbing into the airless void. One by one the reactor units exploded. Connel counted them as they blew up.

  "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—" he paused. Junior began moving away from them. "Nine!" shouted Connel. "What happened to nine?"

  "Roger," shouted Astro, "you made a mistake on the timer!"

  "But I couldn't. I—I—"

  Connel spun around, his eyes blazing, breathing hard. "What time did you set the last one for, Roger?" he demanded.

  "Why, twenty minutes to blast-off time, sir," answered the blond-headed cadet.

  "Then it won't go off for another forty minutes," said Connel.

  "But, sir—" began Roger, and then fell silent. The room was quiet. Everyone looked at Roger and then at Connel. "Honestly, sir, I didn't mean to make a mistake. I—" pleaded Roger.

  Connel turned around. His face suddenly looked very tired. "That's all right, Roger," he said quietly. "We've all been working pretty hard. One little mistake is bound to show up in an operation like this." He paused. "It's my fault. I should have checked those fuses myself."

  "Does it make so much difference, sir?" asked Astro.

  "A lot of difference, Astro," said Connel. He sat down heavily.

  "But how, sir?" asked Tom.

  "It's very simple, Tom," answered Connel. His voice was strangely quiet. "Junior spins on its axis in two hours, just as Earth spins in twenty-four hours. I thought we had the explosions timed so at the proper moment we'd push Junior out of his orbit around Tara, and the greater orbit around Alpha Centauri, by utilizing both speeds, plus the initial thrust. But by being one blast short, forty minutes late, the explosion will take place when Junior is forty minutes out of position"—he paused and calculated rapidly in his mind—"that's about forty-eight thousand miles out of position. When it goes off, instead of sending Junior out into space, it'll blast it right into its own sun!"

  "Isn't there something we can do, sir?" asked Tom.

  "Nothing, Corbett," answered Connel wearily. "Instead of supplying the Solar Alliance with copper, in another week Junior will be hardly more than a molten piece of space junk." He looked at the teleceiver screen. All ready, Junior was falling away.

  "Stand by for full acceleration, hyperdrive," said the big officer in a hoarse whisper. "We're heading home!"

  CHAPTER 17

  The subdued whine of the hyperdrive filled the power deck and made Roger wince as he stepped through the hatch and waved at Astro. He climbed down the ladder and stopped beside the big Venusian who stood stripped to the waist, watching the pressure gauges on the power-deck control board.

  "Hiya, Roger," said Astro with a big grin.

  "Hello, Astro," replied Roger and sat down on a stool near by.

  "Excuse me a minute, hot-shot," said Astro. "Gotta check the baffling around reaction tube three." The big cadet hurriedly donned a lead-lined protective suit and entered the reaction chamber. After a moment he reappeared and took off the suit. He poured a glass of water, handed it to Roger, and poured another for himself.

  "Gets pretty hot down here," he said. "I don't like to use the air conditioner when I'm on hyperdrive. Sucks my power output and reduces pressure on the oxygen pumps."

  Roger nodded absently at the needlessly detailed explanation. Astro looked at him sharply. "Say, what's eating you?"

  "Honestly, Astro," said Roger, "I've never felt more miserable in my life."

  "Don't let it get you down, Roger," said Astro. "The major said it was a mistake anyone could make."

  "Yeah," flared Roger, "but have you seen the way he just—talks?"

  "Talks?" asked Astro blankly.

  "Yeah, talks," said Roger. "No yelling, or blasting off, or handing out demerits like they were candy. Nothing! Why he hasn't even chewed Alfie out since we left Junior. He just sits in his quarters."

  Astro understood now and nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. I'd rather have him fusing his tubes than the way he is now."

  "Tom must feel pretty rotten, too," said Roger. "I haven't seen much of him either."

  "Or Alfie," put in Astro. "Neither of them have done anything but work. I don't think either of them has slept since we left Tara."

  "It's all my fault!" said Roger. "I'm nothing but a loudmouthed bag of space gas-with an asteroid for a head!" He got up and lurched toward the ladder.

  "Hey, where you going?" yelled Astro.

  "Almost forgot," yelled Roger from the top of the ladder. "I've got to feed our prisoners a meal. And the way I feel, I'd like to shove it down their throats!"

  Roger went directly to the galley off the control deck and prepared a hasty meal for Loring and Mason. He piled it on a tray a
nd went below to the brig.

  "All right, Loring," he growled, "come and get it!"

  "Well, well, well," sneered Loring. "Where's the big Manning spirit? You boys are kinda down since you blew that little operation, huh?"

  "Listen, you space crawler," said Manning coldly, "one more word out of you and I'll bring you out in the passageway and pound that head of yours into space junk!"

  "I wish you'd try that, you little squirt!" snarled Loring. "I'd break you in two!"

  "O.K., pal," said Roger, "I'm going to give you that chance!" He opened the door to the cell and Loring stepped out. Holding the paralo-ray gun on him, Roger relocked the door. Left inside, Mason stuck his face close to the grille.

  "Give it to him, Loring," he hissed. "Take him apart!"

  Roger threw the paralo-ray gun in the corner of the passageway and faced the heavier spaceman. He held his arms loosely at his side, and he balanced on the balls of his feet. A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth.

  "Start breaking, Loring," he said quietly.

  "Why, you—" snarled Loring and rushed in. He swung wildly for Roger's head, but the cadet slipped inside the punch and drove a hard right to Loring's mid-section. The prisoner doubled over, staggered back, and slowly straightened up. Roger's lips were drawn tightly in a grimace of cold anger. His eyes were shining hard and bright. He stepped in quickly and chopped two straight lefts to Loring's jaw, then doubled the spaceman up again with a hard right to the heart. Loring gasped and tried to clinch. But Roger threw a straight jolting right to his jaw. The prisoner slumped to the floor, out cold. The fight was finished.

  Roger went over, picked up the paralo-ray gun, and opened the cell door again.

  "All right, Mason," he said coldly, "drag him inside. And if you want to try me for size, just say so."

  Mason didn't answer. He merely hurried out, and grabbing Loring by the feet, dragged him inside. Roger slammed the door and locked it.

  Rubbing his knuckles and feeling better than he had felt for days, he started back to the radar bridge. As he neared Major Connel's quarters, he heard Connel's voice. He stopped and listened outside the door.

  "It's a beautiful job of calculation, Tom," Connel was saying. "I don't see how you and Higgins could have done it in so short a time. And without an electronic computer to aid you. Beautiful job—really excellent—but I'm afraid it's too risky."

  "I've already talked to Astro and Mr. Shinny, sir," said Tom, "and they've volunteered. I haven't spoken to Roger yet, but I'm sure he'd be willing to try."

  Roger stepped through the door.

  "Whatever it is," said Roger, "I'm ready."

  "Eavesdropping on your commanding officer," said Connel, eying the blond-headed cadet speculatively, "is a very serious offense."

  "I just happened to hear my name mentioned, sir," replied Roger with a smile.

  Connel turned back to Tom. "Go over that again, Tom."

  "Well, sir," said Tom, "Junior's falling into the sun at a speed of twenty-two miles a second right now. But we could still land a jet boat on Junior, set up more nuclear explosions to blast him out of the sun's grip, and send him on his way to our solar system. We wouldn't get as much speed as before, but we'd still save the copper."

  By this time, Astro and Shinny had joined the group and were standing outside the door in the passageway, listening silently.

  Connel tugged at his chin. "Let's see," he said, "if we could get back to Tara in three days…" He looked up at Astro. "Do you think you could get us back in three days, Astro?"

  "Major Connel, for another crack at Junior," roared the big Venusian, "I'd get you back in a day and a half!"

  "All right," said Connel. "That's one problem. But there are others."

  "What, sir?" asked Tom.

  "We have to prepare reactant fuses and we have to build new reactor units. If we could do that—"

  "If Astro can get us back," said Shinny, "and Roger and this smart young feller here, Alfie, can make up some fuses, I'll build them there units. After all, Astro showed me how once. I guess I can follow his orders!"

  "Good!" said Connel. "Now there is the element of time. How much time would we need on Junior?" He looked at Tom.

  "Let me answer this way, sir," said Tom. "We'd only have two hours to plant the reaction charges and trigger them, but that should be enough."

  "Why so close, Tom?" asked Roger.

  "It has to be," answered Tom. "We know what the pull of the sun is, and the power of the jet boat. When the sun's pull becomes greater than the escape speed of the jet boat, the boat would never clear. It would keep falling into the sun. I've based this figure on reaching Junior at the last possible moment."

  "It'd take at least five men to set up the five explosions we need," mused Connel. "That means one of us will have to stay on the Polaris."

  There was an immediate and loud chorus of "Not me!" from everyone.

  "All right," said Connel, "we'll draw numbers. One, two, three, four, five, and six. The man who draws number six will stay with the Polaris. All right?"

  "Yes, sir," said Tom, glancing around. "We agree to that."

  Connel went to his desk and wrote quickly on six slips of paper. He folded each one, dumped them in his cap, and offered it to Astro.

  "All right, Astro," said Connel, "draw!"

  Astro licked his lips and stuck in his big paw. The Venusian fingered several, then pulled out a slip of paper. He opened it and read aloud. "Number two! I go!" He turned and grinned at the others.

  Connel offered his cap to Alfie. Alfie dipped in two fingers and pulled out a slip. "Number four! I go!" he squealed.

  Roger and Shinny drew numbers one and three. Tom looked at the major. "Go ahead, Corbett," said Connel.

  "After you, sir," said Tom.

  "I said draw one!" roared Connel.

  "Yes, sir," said Tom. He reached in and quickly pulled out one of the two remaining slips.

  "Number six," he said quietly. "I stay."

  Connel, not bothering to open the last one, slapped the hat on his head and turned away.

  "But, sir," said Tom, "I—ah—"

  Connel cut him off with a wave of his hands. "No buts!" He turned to the others. "Manning, Higgins! Get me a course back to Junior and make it clean and straight. Astro, Shinny, stand by on the power deck for course change. Tom, get on the control deck. We're going back to snatch a hot copper filling right out of a sun's teeth!"

  Once again the energy of the six spacemen was burned in twenty-four hour stretches of improvisation and detailed calculations. Roger and Alfie redesigned the fuse to ensure perfect co-ordination of the explosions. Astro and Shinny surpassed their previous efforts by putting enough power in the five small reaction units to more than do the job required. Tom, standing long watches on the control deck, devoted his spare time to the torturous equations that would mean failure or success to the whole project. And Major Connel, alert and alive once more, drove his crew toward greater goals than it had achieved before.

  Nearly three days later, the Polaris appeared over the twin oceans of Tara and glided into an orbit just beyond the pull of the planet's gravity. Aboard the spaceship, last-minute preparations were made by the red-eyed spacemen.

  In constant contact with Space Academy, using the resources of the Academy's scientific staff to check the more difficult calculations, the six men on the Polaris worked on.

  Connel appeared on the radar bridge and flipped on the long-range scanner.

  "Have to find out where Junior is," he said to Roger and Alfie.

  "That doesn't work, sir," said Roger.

  "What do you mean it doesn't work?" exploded Connel.

  "Junior's falling into the sun, sir. The radiations are blocking it out from our present position."

  "Couldn't we move to another position?" asked the officer.

  "Yes, sir," said Roger, "we could. But to do that would take extra time, and we haven't got it."

  "Then how are you going t
o find Junior?" asked Connel.

  "Alfie's busy with a special scanner, sir, one that's especially sensitive to copper. Since the sun is composed mostly of gas, with this filter only Junior will show up on the screen."

  "By the rings of Saturn," exclaimed Connel, "you mean to tell me that Alfie Higgins is building a new radar scanner, just like that?"

  "Why, yes, sir," answered Roger innocently. "Is there something wrong with that?"

  "No—no—" said Connel, backing off the bridge. "Just—just go right on. You're doing fine! Yessirree, fine!" He literally ran from the bridge.

  "Most humorous of you, Manning," said Alfie, smiling.

  "I'll tell you something funnier than that," said Roger. "I feel the same way he does. Is there anything you can't do, Alfie?"

  Alfie thought a moment. "Yes, there is," he said at last.

  "What?" demanded Roger.

  "I can't—shall I say?—make as much progress as you do with—er—space dolls."

  Roger's jaw dropped. "Space dolls! You mean—girls?"

  Alfie nodded his head.

  "Listen," said Roger, "when we get Junior on his way home, and we get back to the Academy, I promise you I'll show you how to really blast your jets with the space lovelies in Atom City!"

  Alfie put out his hand seriously. "And if you do that for me, Roger, I'll show you how to use the new electronic brain they recently acquired at the Academy. Only one other person can operate it. But you definitely have the potential."

  Roger stared at him stupidly. "Huh? Yeah. Oh, sure!"

  Gradually the mass of data was brought together and co-ordinated, and finally, as Tom stood beside him, Major Connel checked over his calculations.

  "I can't see a thing wrong with it, Tom," Connel said at last. "I guess that's it. Figuring we land on Junior at exactly seventeen hundred hours, we'd reach the point of no return exactly two hours later."

  "Shall I alert stations to blast off for Junior?" asked Tom.

  "Yes," said Connel, "bring the Polaris to dead ship in space about three hundred miles above Junior. That's when we'll blast off in jet boats."