Tom Corbett Space Cadet

by Carey Rockwell

  "Wild Bill would have done the same thing for me," said Kit without emotion. "Do I have permission to continue the race now?"

  The major was startled. "You mean you still want to go on?"

  "Every cent I have is tied up in my ship and in this race, sir," said Kit. "I have my new reactor unit working properly now, and I believe that I still have a chance."

  "But you've lost hours, man," protested the major.

  "I can make them up, sir," said Kit. "Am I permitted to carry on?"

  The major was flustered, but nodded his head. "By all means. Yes, indeed! And spaceman's luck to you."

  "I'd like to make the trip with him if he'll have me, sir," said Tom, getting off the bed. "I'm all right. The doctor said so."

  "But—but—but you need rest, Cadet Corbett," said the major. "No, I can't permit it."

  Just at that moment the medical officer walked in.

  "So far as I'm concerned," he said, looking at Tom, "he's a lot healthier than you are, sir. With all due respect, sir."

  "Very well, then," shrugged the major. "Carry on! Do as you please!" Shaking his head in confusion, the major left the room.

  "Well," said Kit Barnard, stepping forward, a big smile on his face, "what are we waiting for?"

  * * * * *

  "Minus five, four, three, two, one—zero!"

  The spaceship Good Company shot away from the small moon of Mars and thousands of eyes at the spaceport followed it into the heavens, watching its blazing track disappear into the depths of space. If sympathy and good wishes could decide the race to Titan, the spaceship Good Company was a certain winner.

  Aboard the sleek craft, Tom Corbett relaxed after the tremendous blast-off acceleration and turned to look at the tense face of Kit Barnard who was seated in the pilot's chair.

  "Why don't you get some sleep, Kit?" said Tom. "I can take this baby over. It's the least I can do for all you've done for me."

  "Thanks, Tom, but I'll stay with it awhile longer," replied the veteran spaceman. "At least until we find out where the Space Knight is."

  Tom suddenly remembered the trouble with Roger.

  "Has there been any news of them at all?" he asked.

  "The last thing we heard was that he was approaching Ganymede. And that was a few hours ago, when you were trapped in the air-lock chamber."

  "Ganymede!" Tom was thunderstruck. "But—but—how did he do it?"

  Kit shook his head. "I don't know, Tom, but he sure has some speed in that black ship of his."

  "Ganymede!" Tom repeated in bewilderment. It was beyond belief. The Polaris, using hyperdrive, could scarcely have made the flight any faster. Tom felt his heart sinking. The hope that Kit Barnard could catch the black Space Knight was faint now.

  "Shall I call Ganymede again and see if they have anything new?" Tom asked finally.

  "Yes, do that, Tom," Kit replied.

  The curly-haired cadet quickly climbed the ladder to the radar bridge and sat wearily in front of the teleceiver.

  "Spaceship Good Company to Ganymede spaceport," he called. "Come in, Ganymede."

  Seconds later, the voice of the Ganymede control operator crackled over the loud-speaker in reply. "Ganymede station to Good Company. Go ahead."

  "Can you give me any information on the departure time of Space Knight from Ganymede?"

  "She has not blasted off yet. She is having trouble in her after burners."

  "How long do you estimate it will take for her to effect repairs and blast off?" asked Tom, a note of rising hope in his voice. While the black ship had made it to Ganymede under full power without refueling, the strain might have damaged her seriously. Tom waited patiently for the reply, drumming his fingers on the table in his excitement.

  "Not more than sixteen hours, Good Company," the Ganymede operator finally answered. "Where are you now?"

  Tom quickly ascertained his position and relayed it to the tiny Jovian-moon station. "Space sector fourteen, chart B for baker." After the metallic voice had repeated the information, Tom asked for information on Roger Manning.

  "No such person has reported to this office, Cadet Corbett," came the negative reply. "End transmission."

  "End transmission," said Tom gloomily and slumped back into his chair. Something had happened to Roger, or he had completely blown his top. And in the light of past performances by the blond-haired radar expert, Tom could not decide which. Roger had threatened many times that if he should ever leave the Academy, he would do it quietly, without fanfare.

  There was no better place to drop out of sight than on Ganymede, for it was here that the deep spacers, gigantic spaceships that hauled supplies to the colonies of Alpha Centauri, Tara, and Roald made their last stop. If Roger had finally made good his threat to leave the Academy, Ganymede was the logical place to do it.

  But why?

  CHAPTER 11

  "Yeow!"

  Astro's bull-like roar echoed through the Good Company. Tom and Kit jumped around in their seats to stare dumfounded at the half-stripped cadet climbing through the hatch into the power deck, followed by Sid. Sweating, his body streaked with grease, the belt of rocketman's tools swinging from his hips, Astro pounded the two spacemen on the back. "We did it!" he roared, turning to hug Sid who was equally grimy and naked to the waist.

  "Did what?" demanded Kit.

  "You know that by-pass feeder you said wouldn't hold a pressure of more than D-18 rate?" said Astro eagerly.

  When Kit nodded, Astro roared triumphantly, "Well, it'll hold more than D-18 rate now!"

  "What do you mean?" demanded Kit.

  Astro's involved and detailed reply in engineering terms was almost gibberish to Tom, but he understood enough of the unit construction to sense that Astro had done something extraordinary.

  "And he did it all himself, too," said Sid quietly. "I didn't do any more than hold the tools."

  "But I still don't understand," protested Kit. "The by-pass won't take more than D-18."

  "We built another one," said Astro proudly. "Since you were making a small unit, you naturally built a small by-pass feeder. We made a big one." Astro grinned. "I admit that it looks a little lopsided, with that tank joint on the side nearly twice as big as the whole cooling unit, but if you'll cut your motors and give me fifteen minutes to change that line, I'll give you a reactant feed at D-30 rate."

  "D-D-30," stammered Kit. "You're space happy!" He glanced over at Sid. "Is that right, Sid?" he asked, almost hesitantly.

  The youth nodded. "It'll work, Kit. And believe me, I didn't have a thing to do with it. It was his idea and I thought he was nuts too. But he can holler louder than I can and—well, he's bigger'n I am and—" Sid shrugged his shoulders. "He went and did it."

  "I want to see that thing for myself!" exclaimed Kit, jumping out of his seat. "Take over for a while, Tom."

  Tom slid under the controls of the sleek ship, and while Astro, Sid, and Kit went below to the power deck, he began to figure their speed at a D-30 rate. He used a pencil at first, scribbling on a piece of paper, but the answer he reached was so fabulous, he put the ship on automatic gyro control and climbed to the radar deck where he checked the figures on the electronic calculator. When the result was the same, he let out a whoop.

  When he returned to the control deck again, Astro, Kit, and Sid were already working the master control panel, adjusting some of the controls to take the enormous increase in speed. Kit grinned up at Tom. "Here we go, Tom," he said. "This is going to be the fastest ride you've ever had next to hyperdrive."

  "Then it really works?" yelled the cadet.

  "It not only works, but from the looks of that thing, we'll use very little more fuel. So now it's our turn to by-pass a fuel stop! We're going right on through to Titan!"

  * * * * *

  "You're whistling into the wind, Barnard!" Quent Miles' voice was harsh and derisive as it crackled over the audioceiver. "You could never catch up with me in a hundred light years! This race is in the bag for yours
truly!"

  Across the vast distance of space that separated the two speeding ships, Tom, Astro, and Kit Barnard listened to Miles' bragging voice and smiled at each other. All Kit ever wanted was a fair chance, and now, thanks to Astro and Sid, he had better than a fair chance. With their added speed, Tom calculated that the two ships would arrive at the Titan spaceport at about the same time. Only scant minutes separated their estimated times of arrival.

  "How much farther do you think that wagon of yours will hold out, Barnard?" continued Miles over the audioceiver. "You'll burn it up or shake it apart. This race is in the bag!"

  "All right, Miles," interrupted Tom. "We'll do our talking at the Titan spaceport. Now let me talk to Roger."

  "You mean, Manning?" asked Miles, after an almost imperceptible pause.

  "Yes, I mean Manning!" snapped Tom.

  "Can't oblige, Corbett," said Quent Miles. "Your pal took it on the lam back at Ganymede. He ran out on me. As far as I know, he's still there. Didn't you see him when you stopped for refueling?"

  "We didn't stop," said Tom. "What do you mean, he got off at Ganymede? He's supposed to stay with you throughout the race."

  "I gotta go now, Corbett," came Miles' abrupt reply. "I'm hittin' rough stuff here, a swarm of meteors. See you on Titan. Be down there to welcome you in."

  "Wait! What about Roger?" Tom called frantically into the audioceiver, but Quent Miles did not answer. The young cadet slammed the microphone down on the table. "That blasted Roger!" he cried hotly. "When I get my hands on him, I'm going to—"

  "Take it easy, Tom," said Astro, putting a hand on the cadet's shoulder. "You know how Roger is. Wait until he has a chance to explain before you blast him."

  "I suppose you're right, Astro," replied Tom. "But why in the stars would he leave the ship?"

  "Whatever he's done, I'm sure Roger has a good explanation," replied the big Venusian. But inwardly he couldn't help feeling that Roger, somehow, had gotten into another scrape which would, in the end, reflect on the whole unit. Neither Tom nor Astro cared much for their own individual reputations, but they were concerned about the record of the unit. Roger had managed to pull himself out of some narrow scrapes, but there was always the first time for everything. Leaving his post as monitor in the race was as serious as anything he had done so far.

  "Heads up, Tom!" Kit called out. "Meteor storm in our course. We've got to change our heading."

  "Aye, aye, sir," replied the young cadet, pushing aside his concern over his unit mate and concentrating on routine flight operations.

  On and on, the sleek ship plummeted through the black depths of space beyond Jupiter, heading for the planet Saturn and her magnificent rings of different colors, and to her largest satellite with its deadly methane ammonia gas atmosphere, the crystal-bearing moon, Titan.

  * * * * *

  "They are approaching the spaceport, sir," called the Titan control-tower operator, and Strong jumped to the radarscope to stare at the two blips on the screen. Only a mile separated them, with Quent Miles' Space Knight ahead.

  "Five minutes to touchdown," reported the operator.

  "Come on, Kit," muttered Strong through clenched teeth. "Pour it on, boy. Give her the gun!"

  The two blips drew closer to the heart of the scope. First one and then the other shooting ahead for brief seconds as they began deceleration.

  "You can see them outside, now, sir," said the operator, and Strong jumped to the door, stepping out on the observation platform that looked out over the spaceport. He searched the skies above him, and then, faintly, he could see the exhaust trails of the two ships as they streaked over the field, beginning their deceleration orbits around the satellite.

  Behind him, Strong heard the voice of the tower operator ordering Ramp Four and Ramp Five cleared for the two ships, and the mobs of people on the spaceport surged back. Strong noted the irony of the situation. The people of Titan were not out to greet a hero of space, but were waiting for the next evacuation rocket ship.

  The ramps were cleared and within minutes the two ships reappeared over the horizon, nosing upward over the spaceport in an arc, their braking rockets blasting loudly as they prepared to land.

  Then, feeling that his heart would stop, Captain Strong saw Quent Miles' black ship touch the surface of the spaceport first. Kit Barnard had lost the race. By seconds to be sure, but he had lost the race.

  A weak cheer arose from the crowds and then quickly died out. To them the race was futile and the prize empty. How could the winning company ship crystal, when soon, none would be mined?

  Strong raced across the field and boarded the Good Company to find Kit, Tom, Astro, and Sid sitting glumly on the control deck. There was a quick smile of greeting on the two cadets' faces when they saw their unit commander, but their smiles died away. Abruptly Kit Barnard was on his feet looking past Strong to someone entering the hatch behind him.

  "Congratulations, Quent!" said Kit, extending his hand. "That was a great race."

  "Thanks," replied Miles. "But I never figured it would end any other way. You put up a great fight, Barnard. Yes, sir! A great fight!" He turned to Captain Strong and chortled. "Good race, eh, Strong?"

  The Solar Guard officer shook hands with the winner and then asked, "Where is Cadet Manning?"

  "Say, I want to make a complaint about that!" exclaimed Miles. He looked at Tom and Astro. "It was bad enough to have to be bothered with these kids, but when they behave the way that kid Manning behaved, I've got a right to be sore!"

  "When did Manning leave the ship?" asked Strong.

  "As soon as we made touchdown on Ganymede. He left the ship after sleeping all the way out, made a couple of nasty cracks, and the last I saw of him, he was heading over toward the deep-space section of the spaceport."

  "You're sure of that?" asked Strong.

  Quent Miles sneered. "I just said that's what happened, didn't I?"

  "Yes, that's what you said," Strong replied. "And I'll have to take your word for it until Manning can answer for himself."

  "How did you manage to make it from Earth to Ganymede without refueling, Quent?" asked Kit slowly. "And what have you got in your ship to get that kind of speed?"

  Miles' lips curled in a twisted grin. "That's my secret, spaceman," he said, turning away. "Well, I've got to report to my boss. Great race, Kit. Too bad there couldn't be more than one winner." He laughed and swaggered out of the ship.

  "I'd like to brain that guy," growled Tom.

  "All right, Corbett, Astro, pack your gear and report to the control tower for reassignment," snapped Strong. He turned and with a nod of sympathy to Kit left the control deck.

  "Let's go, Astro," sighed Tom. "We'll see you later, Kit. You too, Sid. And—" They looked at each other, but there was nothing more that could be said. The race was finished.

  When Tom and Astro had finished packing their gear and left the ship, Sid turned to Kit. "I'm going to take a look at the Space Knight!" he announced.

  "Better not, Sid." Barnard shook his head. "Miles is a rough customer. He might not like visitors around his 'secret' on the power deck."

  Sid's face was set. "I'm going," he repeated and ducked through the hatch.

  His face showing his disappointment at having lost the race, Kit paced the deck for a moment and then he strode purposefully toward the hatch, calling:

  "Hey! Wait, Sid. I'm coming with you."

  In the control tower at the far end of the spaceport, Tom and Astro entered the station commander's office in time to overhear the last of Commander Walters' orders to Captain Strong.

  "… might as well give the boys a rest before we begin our investigations, Steve." He looked up as the door opened. "Oh, here they are now."

  "Cadets Corbett and Astro reporting, sir." Tom and Astro saluted smartly.

  "Stand easy, boys," said Walters, rising to face them. "I don't know how much you've heard of this emergency on Titan, but you can be briefed on details later. For the moment, all y
ou have to know is that your assignment here is concerned with a detailed checking-out of the whole force-screen machinery. Take a twenty-four-hour rest and then report back here ready for the hardest work you'll ever do in your lives."

  "Yes, sir," said Tom.

  "Where is Manning? Didn't he think it necessary to report to me?" Walters looked at Strong. "Well, Steve? It's your unit?"

  "It seems he got off the Space Knight at Ganymede, sir," replied Strong reluctantly. "Captain Miles said the last he saw of Manning he was walking toward the deep-space section of the spaceport."

  Walters' eyes suddenly became very bright and hard. "He got off, did he? Well," he snapped, "this is just about the end of the line for Cadet Roger Manning!"

  "I'm sure Roger has a good explanation, sir—" began Tom.

  Walters glared at the cadet. "None of that, Corbett. Manning is a bad rocket and the sooner I get rid of him the better off the Academy and the Polaris unit will be. Now take your twenty-four-hours' leave and report back here ready to work."

  "Yes, sir," replied Tom. He and Astro saluted and turned to leave the office but were stopped by the sudden appearance of Sid and Kit. Sid's face was aglow. Kit was scowling.

  "You know what we found on the Space Knight?" exclaimed Sid, unable to hold back.

  "What?" asked Tom.

  "Almost a full tank of reactant!" replied the young engineer. "And the after burners showed about as much wear as if the ship had jumped from Earth to Venus."

  "What's that, young man?" snapped Walters, stepping forward quickly. "What are you talking about?"

  Kit Barnard faced the commander and began to explain.

  "We were both curious about Quent Miles' ship, sir," he said. "We wondered what kind of equipment he had to get that kind of speed, so we went aboard and looked her over. She looks as if she just made a routine flight. Hardly any of her baffling has been eaten away and her motors are cooling fast, and I'd swear by the stars there isn't anything on that ship to give her the kind of speed she made out here."