Tom Corbett Space Cadet

by Carey Rockwell

  Again the three cadets nodded silently.

  "Wear your paralo-ray guns at all times and keep your belt communicators hidden beneath your jackets," Strong warned. "If one team gets into a tight spot, call the other right away. But don't call unless it's absolutely necessary!" Strong paused and glanced at the tele-scanner. "We're getting close to Luna City. We'll touch down at the municipal spaceport and go through the regular routine of customs search just to establish ourselves as tramp spacemen."

  "How long will we stay in each city, sir?" asked Tom.

  "Watch that 'sir,' Tom," snapped Strong. "Might as well begin to forget it now."

  "O.K., Steve," replied Tom sheepishly.

  "To answer your question, we'll stay in each city only as long as there might be something to be gained by staying. We'll live aboard the Dog Star. But stay away from the ship as much as possible. If anyone questions you, tell them you're looking for cargo. But in case they take you up on it and offer you a cargo haul, you always want more money for the job."

  Roger grinned. "That could be fun."

  "Be clever, but be tough. Some of the people you'll run into are the most ruthless men in the universe. They are just the ones that might know something about Wallace and Simms."

  Strong cautioned them against drinking rocket juice, suggesting they drink Martian water instead. The briefing was interrupted by the automatic warning beep from the tele-scanner informing them that they had passed the outer beacon on the approach to the municipal spaceport on the Moon. The four spacemen immediately began the routine task of landing their ship safely on the satellite colony.

  An hour later, as gray-clad customs men finished searching the empty ship, Roger waited for final clearance at the air lock of the freighter. When the last of the men were leaving the ship, Roger stopped two of them.

  "Say, ground hogs," drawled Roger, "where's the best place to get something to eat?"

  The two men stopped and turned to face the cadet, their eyes cold and unfriendly. "Why don't you space drift blast out of here?" asked one of them.

  "Yeah," agreed the other, "your kind aren't welcome in Luna City."

  Roger shrugged his shoulders and turned away. The two customs officers continued down the gangway. "Those young punks," muttered one, "they get themselves a berth on a crummy freighter and think they're real hot space aces when they're nothing but wet fire-crackers!"

  Strong had appeared at Roger's side and heard the last remark.

  "What was that about, Roger?" he asked, nodding toward the disappearing customs men.

  Roger smiled. "Just seeing if I could get by."

  "They certainly gave us a good going over," said Strong grimly. "I think our disguise is perfect. Those fellows don't miss much."

  "I heard them talking, Steve," said Roger. "They recognized the ship and know its reputation for smuggling."

  "Yes," agreed Strong. "And your remark will make them sure to watch every move we make. But that's just what we want. News of that sort has a way of getting around. And anyone interested in a ship with a reputation for smuggling is someone we're interested in."

  Astro walked up, and with a brief nod Roger followed the big cadet down the gangway. As they walked across the concrete surface of the spaceport, Tom appeared at Strong's elbow.

  "I'm ready to go, Steve," he said. "The ship's secure."

  "Very well, Tom," said Strong. "But from now on, keep your eyes and ears open. It only takes one slip to make a dead spaceman!"

  CHAPTER 8

  "See that fellow over there, Steve?" whispered Tom. "The one with the scar on his face?"

  "Yeah," replied the disguised Solar Guard officer. "I've been watching him too. And I think he's had his eye on us."

  Tom and Captain Strong were sitting in a small restaurant near the spaceport, drinking Martian water and discussing the shadowy characters that lounged around the stuffy little room.

  "I'll walk over to the bar," said Strong. "Maybe he doesn't want to talk to two of us together. You go over and see if you can strike up a conversation."

  "Good idea, sir—uh—Steve," said Tom.

  Strong got up and with an exaggerated swagger walked to the small bar. From the mirror in back of the bar, he could see Tom rise and saunter over to the man who sat on the opposite side of the room.

  For three days, Roger, Astro, Tom, and Strong had wandered through the bars, restaurants, and cheap hotels of Spaceman's Row in Luna City searching for information that would lead them to Wallace and Simms. Each night they returned to the freighter to exchange, sift, and analyze the bits of information gathered, but for three nights they had come up with a total of nothing. Finally, Strong had decided that this would be the last night they would spend in Luna City. It was after making this decision that he and Tom spotted the scar-faced man sitting alone in one corner.

  The scar-faced man obviously wanted something from Tom

  Strong saw Tom stop at the table, say a few words, then sit down and order drinks. Tom and the scar-faced man continued their conversation, now leaning across the table talking in whispers, stopping only long enough for the waiter to serve the drinks. Strong noticed that the scar-faced man paid for them and smiled to himself. That was a step in the right direction. He obviously wanted something from Tom.

  Suddenly the young cadet looked up and motioned for him to come over to the table. Strong merely lounged against the bar and nodded carelessly. Taking his time, he finished his glass of Martian water, then swaggered across the crowded room to the table.

  Tom glanced up casually and then turned to his companion at the table. "This is my skipper," he said. "Name's Steve. You gotta job to do, Steve'll do it. Anything, anywhere, any time," he paused, and then added with a smirk, "for a price!"

  The scar-faced man looked up at Steve. His eyes traced a pattern over the tall man, noting the broad shoulders, the piercing eyes, and the bulge of a paralo-ray gun in his jacket. He pushed a chair back with a foot and managed a smile in spite of the scar that twisted his features into an ugly mask. "Sit down, Steve. My name's Pete."

  Strong accepted the invitation silently. At close range, he saw the man was more disfigured than he had noticed from the bar. The scar on his face reached from his left ear across his cheek and down to his neck. Pete saw him looking at the scar and smiled again. "Funny thing about scars. I got one, but I don't have to look at it. I just stay away from mirrors and I remember myself as I was before I got it. So look all you want. You're the one that's got to suffer for it."

  Ignoring the man's bitter tone of voice, Strong growled, "I'm not interested in what you look like. You got something to haul; we got a ship to haul it. Name your cargo and destination, and we'll name a price."

  "Ain't as simple as that," said Pete craftily. "I gotta know more about you before we talk business."

  "What for instance?" asked Strong.

  "For instance, who do you know on Spaceman's Row that can give you a reference?"

  Tom spoke up quickly without looking at Strong. "Suppose I told you I helped pull a job a couple of weeks ago that was worth a hundred thousand credits?" He settled back, casually glancing at Strong and receiving an imperceptible nod in return.

  "A hundred thousand, eh?" said Pete with interest. "Not bad, not bad. What kind of a job was it?"

  "Me and two other guys held up the Credit Exchange at the Solar Exposition at Venusport."

  "Oh?" Pete was becoming extremely curious. "You in on the job too, Steve?"

  Before Strong could answer, Tom spoke quickly. "No, I bought a half interest in Steve's ship with my share of the take." Strong could hardly keep from smiling, so easily was the young cadet's tale growing.

  "Then who was in on this job with you?" persisted the scar-faced man. "You look pretty young to pull a big job like that."

  Tom glanced around the room and then leaned over the table before whispering, "Gus Wallace and Luther Simms."

  "What?" exclaimed Pete. "Gus Wallace? A guy about six feet tall a
nd two hundred pounds? Has a heavy rough voice?"

  "That's the one," said Tom.

  Pete's arm shot across the table like a snake and he grabbed Tom by the jacket. "Where is he?" he asked through clenched teeth.

  No sooner had Pete touched Tom than Strong had his paralo-ray gun leveled at the scar-faced man. "Take your hands off him," he said coldly, "or I'll freeze you right where you are!"

  Pete relaxed his grip and settled back into his chair. He glared at Tom and then at Strong.

  "All right," snapped Strong. "Now you talk!"

  Pete didn't say anything. Strong inched closer to the scar-faced man menacingly. "I said talk! Why do you want to know where Gus Wallace is? Maybe you're Solar Guard, eh? Trying to play a little trick on us. How do I know you haven't got a squad of MP's outside waiting to pick us up?"

  Pete began to shift nervously. "You got me all wrong, Steve. I ain't Solar Guard."

  "Why do you want to know where Gus Wallace is, then?" Strong persisted.

  Pete hesitated and had to be prodded with the paralo-ray gun again by Strong. "Talk!" hissed Strong.

  "You see this scar?" asked Pete. "Well, two years ago, on Spaceman's Row in Marsopolis, Gus slashed me in a fight. I swore I'd do the same for him when I caught him, but he's been running from me ever since."

  "Marsopolis, eh?" asked Strong. "Two years ago?"

  "Yeah."

  "I think you're lying! You're Solar Guard."

  "Honest, Steve," whined Pete. "That's the only reason I want him. Ask anybody. It happened in the Spacelanes Bar on New Denver Avenue. I bet there are five guys here right now who heard about it!"

  Strong got up, pushing the gun back in his belt.

  "Come on, Tom. I don't like the way your friend Pete answers questions."

  "Wait a minute!" Pete rose from his chair, protesting.

  Strong whirled around and faced the scar-faced man. "If I were you, Pete," he muttered, "I'd sit still and not ask any more questions. It isn't healthy!"

  Without another word Strong walked out of the dingy restaurant. Tom shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture and followed, leaving Pete alone and worried.

  Outside in the street, his face bathed in the garish light of the vapor street lights, Strong stopped to wipe his forehead.

  "Whew!" he gasped. "We certainly bulled our way through that one!"

  "I felt the same way," said Tom. "But at least we have something to go on. You think he was suspicious?"

  "No, Tom. He was so scared when I accused him of being tied up with the Solar Guard it threw him completely off stride."

  "Well? Where do we go from here?" asked Tom.

  "Back to the ship," replied Strong. "And as soon as Astro and Roger show up, we blast off for Marsopolis. Our next target is a joint called the Spacelanes!"

  * * * * *

  Against a backdrop of shimmering stars that studded the velvet black emptiness of space, the freighter Dog Star rocketed toward the red planet of Mars carrying the four spacemen on the next step of their search. Relaxing from the three arduous days on the Moon and able to be themselves once more, Strong and the three cadets rested and discussed every detail of their stay in Luna City. It was finally decided that their only real chance of tracing Wallace and Simms lay in the Spacelanes Bar. As they approached Mars, Strong outlined their next move.

  "We'll do the same thing as we did in Luna City," he said. "Split up. Only this time, we'll all go to the same place, the Spacelanes. Tom and I will go in first and do most of the nosing around. Astro and Roger will drift in later and hang around, just in case there's trouble."

  The three cadets nodded their understanding, and when Strong turned to the teleceiver to make his report to Commander Walters at Space Academy, they took their stations for touchdown at Marsopolis.

  His face impassive on the teleceiver screen, Commander Walters listened to Strong's report, and when the Solar Guard officer finished, he grunted his satisfaction.

  "Do you have any news on Wallace and Simms, sir?" asked Strong.

  "Yes, but my news isn't as good as yours," frowned Walters. "They've already made use of their knowledge of the light-key. They held up a Solar Guard transport en route to Titan and emptied her armory. They took a couple of three-inch atomic blasters and a dozen paralo-ray guns and rifles. Opened the energy lock with their adjustable light-key as easily as if it had been a paper bag. It looks as though they're setting themselves up for a long siege."

  "Do you have any idea where they might be hiding, sir?"

  "Somewhere in the asteroid belt, I believe," replied the commander. "They headed for the belt after they held up the transport."

  "Well, we'll do what we can from our end, sir," said Strong. "Since Mars is closer to the asteroid belt than any other planet, they might be using Marsopolis as a hangout. Or someone might have seen them recently."

  "Use whatever plan you think best, Steve. I'm counting on you."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Spaceman's luck! End transmission."

  "End transmission," replied Strong and flipped off the screen.

  Fifteen minutes later, the Dog Star settled on a blast-scorched ramp at the Marsopolis spaceport, and after a hasty review of their plans, the four spacemen left the ship. Strong had a brief argument with a customs officer over a personal search for small arms. They were forced to leave their paralo-ray guns on the ship. Disgruntled, as far as the customs agents were concerned, Strong was actually pleased with the success of their disguise as merchant spacemen.

  Tom and Strong found the Spacelanes Bar in the roughest and darkest section of Marsopolis. It was large and almost empty. But Tom noted that it was just like many other such places he had been in in Luna City. The walls were scarred and dirty, the floor littered, and the tables and chairs looking as if they had been used in a hundred fights. Behind a bar that ran the length of one wall, a heavy-set man with beady black eyes watched their approach.

  "What's your pleasure, spacemen?" asked the bartender in a gruff voice.

  Strong hesitated a moment and decided to play all his cards at one turn. "We'll have a thousand credits worth of information."

  The barman's eyes narrowed into black slits. "What kind of information would bring that kind of a price?" he asked.

  "Information about a man," said Strong.

  "What man?" asked the barman. He dropped his hand out of sight behind the bar. Tom's eye caught the move and he wished the customs men hadn't taken away their paralo-ray guns.

  Just at that moment he heard Roger's unmistakable laugh and turned to see the blond cadet, followed by Astro, enter, cross the room, and slap the bar for service.

  "Let me take care of these two," muttered the bartender and walked down to the end of the bar. Facing Roger and Astro, he snarled, "What'll it be?"

  "Coupla bottles of Martian water," drawled Roger.

  "Get out of here," roared the bartender. "We don't sell kids' drinks in here."

  "Two bottles of Martian water!" growled Astro and leaned over the bar threateningly. Strong and Tom watched the performance with amused eyes. Without a word, the barman opened the bottles of Martian water and gave them to Roger and Astro. He turned back to Strong.

  "These young rocketheads think they're so blasted tough," he sneered, "and then drink kids' soda pop."

  Strong looked at Roger and Astro. "That fellow on the right," indicating Astro's size, "looks like he could be a little more than a child, if he got mad."

  The barman snorted and leaned over the bar. "What about that thousand credits?" he asked.

  "What about it?" countered Strong.

  "That's a lot of money just for information," said the barman.

  "It's my money," replied Strong coolly, "and my business!"

  "What kind of information you interested in," asked the bartender.

  "I told you, information about a man," said Strong. "Gus Wallace. Happen to know him?" Strong pulled a roll of crisp credit notes out of his jacket pocket. The barman
looked at them greedily.

  "Maybe. What'cha want with him?" he asked.

  "He knifed a friend of ours in here two years ago."

  "Yeah?" drawled the barman. "Who?"

  "Pete," answered Strong, suddenly realizing he didn't know the scar-faced man's last name.

  "Pete? Pete who?" asked the barman craftily.

  "What are you trying to do?" snapped Tom suddenly. "Play space lawyer? You know Pete was knifed in here by Gus Wallace two years ago! Carved up good!" He made a slashing gesture from his ear to his throat, indicating the scar on Pete's face.

  "So you want Wallace, eh?" mused the bartender.

  "We want him a thousand credits' worth," said Strong.

  "You didn't tell me for what, yet."

  "None of your space-blasting business," roared Strong. "You want the thousand or not?"

  The bartender couldn't keep his eyes off the crisp roll of credit notes Strong rippled under his nose and hesitated. "Well, to tell you the truth, I ain't seen him for a long time."

  "Then do you know anyone who has?" asked Strong.

  "Hard to tell," said the bartender huskily. "But I do know the guy who would know if anyone does."

  "Who?" asked Tom.

  "On Venusport's Spaceman's Row. There's a joint called the Cafe Cosmos. Go there and ask for a little guy named Shinny. Nicholas Shinny. If anyone knows about Wallace, he'll know."

  Tom's heart almost stopped. Nicholas Shinny was a retired spaceman who had taken part in his last adventure to Alpha Centauri, and was a good friend of Strong's and the Polaris unit. Shinny had always operated on the edge of the space code. Nothing illegal, but as Shinny himself put it, 'just bending the code a little, not breaking it.'

  Tom spoke up. "That's only worth a hundred credits," he said.

  "Whaddya mean!" snapped the barman.

  "How would Nick Shinny know Gus Wallace?" asked Strong.

  "They prospected the asteroids together years ago."

  Strong dropped a hundred-credit note on the bar and turned away without another word. Tom followed, and as they passed Roger and Astro, a knowing look passed between them, and Tom gestured for them to follow.