Tom Corbett Space Cadet

by Carey Rockwell

  "Listen, Loring," pleaded Tom. "How about giving those fellows a break? If I don't pick them up, they'll all be killed."

  "Ain't that too bad," snarled Mason.

  "Look," said Tom desperately, "I'll promise you nothing will happen to you. We'll let you go free. We'll—"

  Loring cut him off. "Shut your trap and concentrate on them controls! You and Major Connel and them other punks are the only guys between me staying free or going back to a prison asteroid. So you don't think I'm going to let them stay alive, do you?" He grinned crookedly.

  "You dirty space crawler!" growled Tom and suddenly leaped up from the control seat.

  Loring raised the paralo-ray gun threateningly. "One more move outta you and I'll freeze you so solid you'll think you're a chunk of ice!" he yelled.

  Mason stepped to the other side of the control deck. They had Tom blocked on either side.

  "Now get back to them controls, Corbett," snarled Loring, "or I'll give it to you right now."

  "O.K., Loring, you win," said Tom. He sat down and faced the control panel. He tried hard not to smile. They had fallen for it. Now they were separated. Mason remained on the opposite side of the room. Tom took a deep breath, crossed his fingers, and put the next step of his plan into action. He reached out and pulled the master acceleration switch all the way back. The Polaris jumped ahead as if shot out of a cannon.

  "Hey," growled Mason, "what're you doing?"

  "You want more speed, don't you?" demanded Tom.

  "O.K.," said Mason, "but don't try any funny stuff!"

  "I don't see how I can. You've got me nailed with that paralo-ray," Tom replied.

  He got up leisurely, so as not to excite the nervous trigger finger of Loring, and turned slowly.

  "What is it this time?" demanded Loring.

  "I just gave you an extra burst of speed. All the Polaris will take. Now I've got to adjust the mixture of the fuel, otherwise she'll kick out on you and we'll have to clean out the tubes."

  "Yeah," sneered Loring. "Well, I happen to know you do that right on the control board." He motioned with the paralo-ray gun. "Get back down!"

  "On regular space drive, you do," agreed Tom. "But we're on hyperdrive now. It has to be done there"—he pointed to a cluster of valves and wheels at one side of the control deck—"one of those valve wheels."

  "Stay where you are," said Mason. "I'll do it!" He moved to the corner. "Which one is it?" he asked.

  Tom gulped and struggled hard to keep the terrible nervousness out of his voice. He had to sound as casual as possible. "The red one. Turn it to the right, hard!" he said.

  Loring sat down and Mason bent over the valve wheel. He gave the wheel a vicious twist. Suddenly there was the sound of a motor slowing down somewhere inside the great ship. Tom gripped the edge of the control board and waited. Slowly at first, but surely, Tom felt himself beginning to float off his chair.

  "Hey!" yelled Mason. "I'm—I'm floating!"

  "It's the gravity generators," yelled Loring. "Corbett's pulled a fast one. We're in free fall!"

  Tom lifted his feet and pushed as hard as he could against the control panel. He shot out of the chair and across the control room just as Loring fired his ray gun. There was a loud hiss as the gun was fired, and then the thud of a body against the wall, as Loring was suddenly shoved by the recoil of the charge.

  Tom huddled in the upper corner of the control deck like a spider, his legs drawn up underneath him waiting for Mason to fire. But the smaller spaceman was tumbling head over heels in the center of the room. The more he exerted himself, the more helpless he became. His arms and legs splayed out in an effort to level himself, as he kept trying to fire the ray gun.

  Tom saw his chance and lunged through the air again, straight at the floating spaceman. He passed him in mid-air. Mason made an attempt to grab him, but Tom wrenched his body to one side and pulled the ray gun out of the other's hand.

  He flipped over and turned his attention to Loring who was more dangerous, since he was now backed up against a bulkhead waiting for Tom to present a steady target. Loring started to fire, but Tom saw him in time and shot away from the wall toward the hatch. He twisted his body completely around, and with his shoulder hunched over, fired at Loring with his ray gun. The charge hit the target and Loring became rigid, his body slowly floating above the deck. His back to the wall, braced for the recoil, Tom brought his arm around slowly and aimed at Mason. He fired, and the spaceman stiffened.

  Tom smiled. Neither of the spacemen would give him any more trouble now. He pushed slightly to the left and shot over to the valve that Mason had unwittingly turned off. Tom turned it on and clung to an overhead pipe until he felt the reassuring grip of the synthetic gravity pull him to the deck. Loring and Mason, in the same positions they had been in when Tom fired, settled slowly to the deck. Tom walked over and looked at both of them. He knew they could hear him.

  "For smart spacemen like you two," said Tom, "you sure forgot your basic physics. Newton's laws of motion, remember? Everything in motion tends to keep going at the same speed, unless influenced by an outside force. Firing the ray gun was the outside force that will land you right on a prison asteroid! And you'd better start praying that I can pull those fellows off that satellite, because if I don't, you'll wind up frying in the sun with us!"

  He started to drag them to a locker and release them from the effects of the ray blast, but, remembering their cold-blooded condemnation of Connel and the others to death on the satellite, he decided to let them remain where they were.

  He turned to the control board and flipped on the microphone. He was too far away to pick up an image on the teleceiver, but the others could hear him on the audio, if, thought Tom, they were still alive.

  "Attention! Attention! Polaris to Major Connel! Major Connel, can you hear me? Come in, Major Connel—Astro—Roger—somebody—come in!"

  He turned away from the mike and fired the starboard jets full blast, making a sweeping curve in space and heading the Polaris back to Junior.

  CHAPTER 20

  "There's only one answer, boys," said Connel. "Loring and Mason have escaped and taken over the ship. I can't think of any other reason Tom would abandon us like this."

  The jet boat was crowded. Alfie, the smallest, was sitting on Astro's lap. For more than an hour they had circled above the copper satellite, searching the surrounding skies in vain for some sign of the Polaris.

  "Major," said Roger, who was hunched over the steering wheel of the small space craft, "we're almost out of fuel. We'd better drop down on the night side of Junior, the side away from the sun. At least there we'd be out of the direct heat."

  "Very well, Roger," said Connel. "In fact, we could keep shifting into the night side every hour." Then he added quietly, thoughtfully, "But we're out of fuel, you said?"

  "Yes, sir," said Roger. "There's just enough to get down." Roger sent the craft in a shallow dive. Suddenly the rockets cut out. The last of the fuel was gone. Roger glided the jet boat to a smooth stop on the night side of the planetoid.

  "How much longer before the reactor units go up?" asked Shinny.

  Connel turned, thinking he had heard something on the communicators, then answered Shinny's question. "Only four hours," he said.

  The crew of spacemen climbed out of the jet boat into the still blackness of the night side of the planet. There wasn't anything left to do.

  They sat around on the hard surface of the planet, staring at the strange stars overhead.

  "You know," said Astro, "I might be able to set up something to convert some of the U235 in the reactors to fuel the jet boat."

  "Impossible, Astro," said Alfie. "You'd need a reduction gear. And not only that, but you haven't any tools to handle the mass. If you opened one of those boxes, you'd be fried immediately by the radiation!"

  "Alfie's right," said Connel. "There's nothing to do but wait."

  Major Connel turned his face up as far as he could in the huge fish-bow
l helmet to stare at the sky. His eyes wandered from star cluster to star cluster, from glowing Regulus, to bright and powerful Sirius. He stifled a sigh. How much he had wanted to see more—and more—and more of the great wide, high, and deep! He remembered his early days as a youth on his first trip to Luna City; his first sensation at touching an alien world; his skipper, old, wise, and patient, who had given him his creed as a spaceman: "Travel wide, deep, and high," the skipper had said to the young Connel, "but never so far, so wide, or so deep as to forget that you're an Earthman, or how to act like an Earthman!" Even now, years later, the gruff voice rang in his ears. It wasn't long after that that he had met Shinny. Connel smiled behind the protection of his helmet, as he looked at the wizened spaceman, who was now old and toothless, but who still had the same merry twinkle in his eye that Connel had noticed the first time he saw him. Connel had signed on as first officer on a deep spacer bound for Titan. Shinny had come aboard and reported to Connel as rocketman. Shinny had promptly started roaring through the passageways of the huge freighter in his nightshirt singing snatches of old songs at the top of his voice. It had taken Connel four hours to find where Shinny had hidden the bottle of rocket juice! Connel laughed. He looked over at the old man fondly.

  "Say, Nick," said Connel, addressing the man by his given name for the first time, "you remember the time it took me four hours to find that bottle of rocket juice you hid on that old Titan freighter?"

  Shinny cackled, his thin voice coming over the headphones of the others as well as Connel's.

  "I sure do, Lou!" replied Shinny, using Connel's first name. They were just old spacemen now, reliving old times together. "Funny thing, though, you never knew I had two more bottles hidden in the tube chamber!"

  "Why, you old space crawler!" roared Connel. "You put one over on me!"

  Roger and Astro and Alfie had never known Connel's first name. They rolled the name over in their minds, fitting the name to the man. Unknown to each other, they decided that the name fitted the man. Lou Connel!

  "Say, Lou," asked Shinny, "where in the blessed universe did you come from? You never told me."

  There was a long pause. "A place called Telfair Estates, in the deep South on the North American continent. I was raised on a farm close by. I used to go fishing late at night and stare up at the stars." He paused again. "I ran away from home. I don't know if—if—anyone's still there or not. I never went back!"

  There was a long silence as each man saw a small boy fishing late at night, barefoot, his toes dangling in the water, a worm wiggling on the end of a string, more interested in the stars that twinkled overhead than in any fish that might swim past and seize the hook.

  "Where are you from, Nick?" asked Connel.

  "Born in space," cackled Shinny, "on a passenger freighter carrying colonists out to Titan. Never had a breath of natural fresh air until I was almost a grown man. Nothing but synthetic stuff under the atmosphere screens. My father was a mining engineer. I was the only kid. One night a screen busted and nearly everybody suffocated or froze to death. My pa and ma was among 'em. I blasted off after that. Been in the deep ever since. And you know, by the blessed rings of Saturn, I'd be on a nice farm near Venusport, living on a pension, if you hadn't kicked me out of the Solar Guard!"

  "Why, you broken down old piece of space junk," roared Connel, "I oughta—" Connel never finished what he was going to say.

  "Attention! Attention! Roger—Astro—Major Connel—come in, please! This is Tom on the Polaris!"

  As if they had been struck by a bolt of lightning, the five spacemen sat up and then raced to the jet boat.

  "Connel to Corbett!" roared the major. "Where are you? What happened?"

  "I haven't got time to explain now, sir," said Tom. "Loring and Mason escaped and forced me to take them to Tara. I managed to overcome them and blast back here. Meet me up about fifty miles above Junior, sir. I'm bringing the Polaris in!"

  "No!" yelled Connel. "It's no use, Tom. We're out of fuel. We've used up all our power."

  "Then stand by," said Tom grimly. "I'm coming in for a landing!"

  "No, Tom!" roared Connel. "There's nothing you can do. We're too far into the sun's pull. You'll never blast off again!"

  "I don't care if we all wind up as cinders," said Tom, "I'm coming in!"

  The communicator went dead and from the left, over the close horizon of the small satellite, the Polaris swept into view like a red-tailed fire dragon. It shot up in a pretouchdown maneuver, and then began to drop slowly to the surface of the planetoid.

  No sooner had the Polaris touched the dry airless ground than the air-lock hatch was opened. From the crystal port on the control deck, Tom waved to the men below him.

  Shinny climbed into the lock first, followed by Astro, Alfie, Roger, and Connel. While Roger and Alfie closed the hatch, Astro and Connel adjusted the oxygen pressure and waited for the supply to build to normal. At last the hissing stopped, and the hatch to the inner part of the ship opened. Tom greeted them with a smile and an outstretched hand.

  "Glad to have you aboard!" he joked.

  After the back slapping between Roger, Astro, and Tom was over, Connel questioned Tom on his strange departure from the satellite.

  "It was just like I told you, sir," explained Tom. "They got out of the brig," he paused, not mentioning the spoon that Loring had used or how he had gotten it. "They forced me to take them to Tara. I managed to get the gravity turned off and gave them a lesson in free-fall fighting. They're still frozen stiff up on the control deck."

  "Good boy!" said Connel. "I'll go and have a talk with them. Meantime, Astro, you and Shinny and Alfie get below and see how much fuel we have in emergency supply. We're going to need every ounce we have."

  "Aye, aye, sir," said Astro. The three hurried to the power deck.

  Connel followed Roger and Tom to the control deck. Loring and Mason were still in the positions they were in when Tom had fired his paralo-ray. Connel took Tom's gun and switched to the neutralizer. He fired twice and the two men rose shakily to their feet. Connel faced them, his eyes burning.

  "I'm going to say very little to you two space-crawling rats!" snapped Connel. "I'm not going to lock you in the brig; I'm not going to confine you in any manner. But if you make one false move, I'll court-martial you right here and now! You've caused enough trouble with your selfishness, jeopardizing the lives of six men. If we fail to get off this satellite, it'll be because you put us in this position. Now get below and see what aid you can give Astro. And if either of you so much as raises your voice, I'm going to let him take care of you! Is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir!" mumbled Loring. "We understand, sir. And we'll do everything we can to—to—make up for what we've done."

  "The only thing you can do is to stay out of my sight!" said Connel coldly.

  Loring and Mason scuttled past Connel and climbed down to the power deck.

  "Attention! Attention! Control deck—Major Connel! Sir, this is Roger on the radar bridge. I just checked over Tom's figures on thrust, sir, and I'm not sure, but I think we've passed the point of safety."

  "Thanks, Roger," said Connel. He turned to the intercom. "Power deck, check in!"

  "Power deck, aye," said Astro.

  "Loring and Mason there?" asked Connel.

  "Yes, sir. I'm putting them right to work in the radiation chamber, sir. I'm piling all emergency fuel into the reaction chambers to try for one big push!"

  "Why?" asked Connel.

  "I heard what Roger said, sir," replied Astro. "This'll give us enough thrust to clear the sun's gravity, but there's something else that might not take it."

  "What?" asked Connel.

  "The cooling pumps, sir," said Astro. "They may not be able to handle a load as hot as this. We might blow up."

  Connel considered this a moment. "Do what you can, Astro. I have absolute faith in you."

  "Aye, aye, sir," said Astro. "And thank you. If this wagon holds together, I'll get her off."
/>   Connel turned to Tom who stood ready at the control panel.

  "All set, sir," said Tom. "Roger's given me a clear trajectory forward and up. All we need is Astro's push!"

  "Unless Astro can build enough pressure in those cooling pumps to handle the overload of reactant fuel, we're done for. We'll get off this moon in pieces!"

  "Power deck to control deck."

  "Come in, Astro," said Tom.

  "Almost ready, Tom," said Astro. "Maximum pressure is eight hundred and we're up to seven seventy now."

  "Very well, Astro," replied Connel. "Let her build all the way to an even eight hundred and blast at my command."

  "Aye, aye, sir," said Astro.

  The mighty pumps on the power deck began their piercing shriek. Higher and higher they built up the pressure, until the ship began to rock under the strain.

  "Stand by, Tom," ordered Connel, "and if you've ever twisted those dials, twist them now!"

  "Yes, sir," replied Tom.

  "Pressure up to seven ninety-one, sir," reported Astro.

  "Attention! All members strap into acceleration cushions!"

  One by one, Shinny and Alfie, Loring and Mason, Astro and Roger strapped themselves into the acceleration cushions. Roger set the radar scanner and strapped himself in on the radar bridge. Connel slumped into the second pilot's chair and took over the controls of the ship, strapping himself in, while Tom beside him did the same. The whine of the pumps was now a shrill whistle that drowned out all other sounds, and the great ship bucked under the force of the thrust building in her heart.

  In front of the power-deck control panel Astro watched the pressure gauge mount steadily.

  "Pressure up to seven ninety-six, sir," he called.

  "Stand by to fire all rockets!" roared Connel.

  "Make it good, you Venusian clunk," yelled Roger.

  "Seven ninety-nine, sir!" bellowed Astro.

  Astro watched the gauge of the pressure creep slowly toward the eight-hundred mark. In all his experience he had never seen it above seven hundred. Shinny, too, his merry eyes shining bright, watched the needle jerk back and forth and finally reach the eight-hundred mark.