But Dave Barret did not like Troy, and he made this dislike obvious by giving Troy as much work as possible, mainly tasks that were beneath his ability, claiming he only trusted the trained scientists. Barret put the professor in the position of having to defend one to the other. He needed both men, both being excellent in their respective fields, and found it more and more difficult to maintain any kind of peaceful relationship between them. Barret, as Hemmingwell's chief assistant and supervisor of the project, was naturally superior in rank to Troy, and made the most of it. A placid, easy-going man, Troy took Barret's gibes and caustic comments in silence, doing his work and getting it finished on time. But occasionally he had difficulty in controlling his resentment.
The day after the accident, or sabotage attempt on the firing unit, the hangar was quiet, most of the workers still being psychographed. Troy, one of the first to be graphed, had been detained by the technicians longer than usual, but was now back at his bench, working on the unit. This incident gave Barret the opportunity he was looking for, and as he and Professor Hemmingwell strode through the hangar, he commented casually, "I hate to say this, sir, but I don't like the way Troy has been acting lately."
"What do you mean, Dave?" asked Hemmingwell.
"I depend a great deal on instinct," replied Barret. "And as good as Troy's work has been, I feel the man is hiding something."
"Come now, Dave," snorted the professor. "I've known him a long time. I think you're being a little harsh."
As Barret shrugged and didn't reply, a troubled expression crossed Hemmingwell's face. "But at the same time," he said slowly, "if you have any reservations, I don't suppose it would hurt to keep an eye on him."
"Yes!" agreed Barret eagerly. "That's just what I was thinking."
They reached the workbench where Troy, a small man with powerful arms and shoulders, was working on a complicated array of wires and vacuum tubes. He looked up, nodded casually at the two men, and indicated the instrument.
"Here it is, Professor," he said. "All ready to go. But I had a little trouble fitting that coil where the blueprints called for it."
"Why?" Barret demanded. "I designed that coil myself. Isn't it a little odd that a coil I designed, and the professor O.K.'d, should not fit?"
"I don't care who designed it," said Troy easily. "It didn't fit where the blueprint indicated. I had to redesign it."
"Now, now," said Professor Hemmingwell, sensing trouble. "Take it easy, boys."
"Professor," Barret exploded, "I insist that you fire this man!"
"Fire me!" exclaimed Troy angrily. "Why, you space crawler, you're the one who should be fired. I saw you come back to the hangar the other night alone and…"
"Of course I did!" snapped Barret. "I was sent down here to get information about—" He stopped suddenly and eyed Troy. "Wait a minute. How could you see me down here? What were you doing here?"
"Why—I—" Troy hesitated. "I came down to check over some equipment."
"Why were you detained at the psychograph tests this morning?" demanded Barret.
"None of your business!" shouted Troy. "I was doing my job. That's all."
"I'll bet," snapped Barret. "Professor, here is your sabotage agent. Who are you working for, Troy?"
"None of your business," stammered Troy, seemingly confused. "I mean, I'm not working for anyone."
"There! You see, Professor!" shouted Barret.
"I think you'd better explain yourself, Pat," said the professor, looking troubled and suspicious. "Why were you detained so long this morning?"
"They were asking me questions."
"What kind of questions?" demanded Barret.
"I'm not allowed to tell you."
"What were you doing here the other night?" pursued Barret. "The night you saw me here."
"I came down to check our supplies. I knew that we were running short on certain equipment."
"What kind of things?" demanded the professor.
"Well, the timers on the oscillators," Troy replied. "I knew we would need them for the new units you and Commander Walters were planning."
"Guard!" shouted Barret suddenly. "Guard!" He turned and called to Roger and Astro, who were standing guard at the doors. They both came running up, their blasters held at ready.
"What is it?" demanded Astro. "What's going on here?"
"Arrest that man!" shouted Barret. Astro and Roger looked questioningly at Troy. They did not know him personally but had seen him around the hangar and knew that he worked closely with the professor and Barret.
Still vaguely distrustful of Barret's behavior, Astro turned to Hemmingwell. "How about it, Professor?" he asked. "Do we haul this guy in?"
Hemmingwell looked at Troy steadily. "Pat, you knew about that new unit I was building?"
"Yes, sir," replied Troy forthrightly. "I accidentally overheard you and Commander Walters discussing it. From what you said about it, I knew you would need new timers for the oscillators—"
Roger and Astro had heard about the vital unit that had not been destroyed, and realized that Troy was admitting to knowledge he shouldn't have had. Roger raised the blaster menacingly. "All right, buster!" he growled. "Move this way and move slowly."
"Professor," exclaimed Troy, "you're not going to let them—!"
"I'm sorry, Pat," said the professor, a dejected look in his eyes. "I have nothing to do with it now. You should have told me that you knew about the new unit. And the fact that you were here the night it was destroyed, well—" He shrugged meaningfully and turned away.
"All right, buster," growled Astro, "do you move or do I move you? It makes no difference to me."
Troy took a look at the blasters leveled at him and silently walked between them to the hangar door. Barret and Professor Hemmingwell remained at the workbench, following the trio with their eyes.
Later, after Troy had been safely locked in the Academy brig, Firehouse Tim Rush sat at his desk in the small security shack taking down the two cadets' reports.
"…. And upon the orders of Dave Barret and Professor Hummingbird—" Roger was saying.
"Hemmingwell," snapped Firehouse. "Hemmingwell."
"—Hemmingwell"—nodded Roger with a wink at Astro—"we brought the suspect to the officer of the guard, Firehouse Tim Rush."
"Can that Firehouse, ya squirt!" growled Rush. "Only my friends can call me that. And you two are not in that classification."
"O.K., Fireman," said Roger. "I can call you Fireman, can't I? After all, you are a pretty hot rocket, and—"
"Get back to your posts!" roared Firehouse Tim in his loudest voice.
Roger and Astro grinned and hurried out of the small building. Before resuming their posts in the hangar, the two cadets stopped at an automatic soda dispenser. As they drank slowly, they looked around the hangar. The project was back in full operation now. The workers that had been cleared had heard about the arrest of their foreman, and there seemed to be more talk than work.
Dave Barret walked over to Roger and Astro. Nodding in a surprisingly friendly fashion, he said, "I want to commend you two boys on your good work a while ago. I think that traitor would have tried anything if you hadn't been there. He might even have tried to kill me or the professor."
Roger and Astro mumbled curt thanks for the compliment.
Barret looked at them quizzically. "No need for us to be angry with each other," he said smoothly. "I realize that when we had our two little run-ins you were carrying out your duties, and I apologize for behaving the way I did. How about it? Can we shake and forget it?" He held out his hand. Astro and Roger looked at each other and shrugged, each in turn, taking the young man's hand.
"You know," said Barret, "I've heard a lot about you three cadets of the Polaris unit. Especially you, Manning. I understand that you know almost as much about electronics as your instructor at the Academy."
Roger grinned shyly. "I like my work."
"Well, blast my jets!" roared Astro. "That's the first time I have
ever heard Manning accept a compliment gracefully." The big Venusian turned to Barret. "He is not only the finest astrogator in the whole high, wide, and deep," he said sincerely, "but he could have had a wonderful career in electronics if he didn't want to be a rocket jockey with me and Corbett."
"Is that so?" murmured Barret politely. "Well, Manning, you must have some ideas about the work that's going on here."
"I sure have," said Roger. "And I see a lot of things here that could be done a lot easier."
"Hum," mused Barret. "You know something. I think I might be able to relieve you two of guard duty. After all, if Corbett can get out of it, I don't see why I can't put your talents to work for us here. How about it?"
Both boys almost jumped straight up in the air.
"That would be terrific, Mr. Barret!" exclaimed Astro.
"Call me Dave, Astro. We're friends now, remember?"
"Sure, Dave," stuttered Astro. "But listen, we'd do anything to be taken off this detail and get Firehouse off our necks."
Barret smiled. "All right. I'll see what I can do." He turned and walked off, giving them a friendly wave in parting.
Astro and Roger could hardly believe their luck. They returned to their posts and took up guard duty again with light hearts.
In his small private office, Barret watched them through the open door to the hangar and then turned to his desk, to pick up the recently installed private audioceiver. He asked for a private number in a small city on Mars, and then admonished the operator, "This is a security call, miss. Disconnect your circuit and do not listen in. Failure to comply will result in your immediate dismissal and possible criminal prosecution."
"Yes, sir," replied the operator respectfully.
There was a distinct click and Barret heard a gruff voice.
"Hello?"
"This is Barret," the young designer whispered. "Everything's going fine down here. I just had the foreman arrested to throw them off the track, and I have a plan to get rid of two of these nosy cadets." Barret listened a minute and then continued. "Connel and the other cadet, Corbett, have gone to Mars to inspect the receivers. Don't worry about a thing. This ship will never get off the ground. And if it does, it will never fire a projectile."
Barret hung up and returned to the open door. He waved at Roger and Astro on the other side of the hangar and the two cadets waved back.
"Like lambs to the slaughter," he said to himself.
CHAPTER 7
"Sound off, Corbett!"
Seated in the pilot's chair on the control deck of the rocket cruiser Polaris, Major Connel bellowed the order into the intercom as he scanned the many dials on the huge control board.
"One minute to touchdown, sir," reported Tom over the intercom from the radar bridge of the Polaris.
"One minute to touchdown," repeated Connel. "Right!"
Connel reached for the switches and levers that would bring the giant ship to rest on the red planet of Mars. Even after his many years in the Solar Guard and thousands of space flights, landing a rocket ship was still a thrill to the veteran spaceman, and knowing that he had a good man on the radar deck made it even more exciting and demanding of his skill.
"Decelerate!" yelled Tom over the intercom.
Connel shut down the main drive rockets and at the same time opened the nose braking rockets. "Braking rockets on!" he yelled.
"One thousand feet to touchdown," said Tom.
Connel watched the dials spinning before him.
"Seven hundred and fifty feet to touchdown," reported Tom.
"Keep counting, Corbett!" yelled Connel enthusiastically.
"Five hundred feet!"
Connel quickly cut back the nose braking rockets and again opened the main drive rockets as the ship plummeted tailfirst toward the surface of Mars.
"Two hundred feet!" came the warning call over the intercom.
Connel glanced up at the teleceiver screen over his head that showed the spaceport below. The concrete runways and platforms were rushing up to meet the giant ship. He opened the main rockets full.
"Seventy-five feet! Stand by!" yelled Tom.
Connel's hands flashed over the control panel of the ship, snapping switches, flipping levers, and turning dials in an effort to bring the ship to a smooth landing. There was a sudden roar of rockets and then a gentle bump.
"Touchdown!" roared Connel.
He flipped off the main switches on the control board, spun around in his chair, and noted the time on the astral chronometer. "Touchdown Marsport, 2117!" he announced.
Tom clambered down the ladder from the radar bridge and immediately noted the time of arrival in the logbook. He turned around and saluted the major sharply. "All secure, sir," he said.
"Congratulations on a smooth trip, Corbett," Connel said. "And thanks for letting me take her in. I know it's unusual to have the senior officer take over the ship, but once in a while I get the urge to put my hands on those controls and—well—" Connel paused, fumbling for words.
Tom was so startled by the major's stumbling attempt to explain his feelings, he felt himself blush. He had always suspected the major of being a rocket jockey at heart and now he was certain. But he would never tell anyone, not even Roger and Astro about this incident. It was something he knew that he himself would feel if he ever got to be as old as Major Connel and had reached his position. There passed between the officer and the cadet a sudden feeling of mutual understanding.
"I understand, sir," said Tom quietly.
"Dismissed!" roared Connel, recovering his composure again, and very conscious that he had exposed his innermost feelings to the cadet. But he didn't mind too much. Tom Corbett had proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had the stuff true spacemen are made of, and because of this, Connel could feel as close to him as a man near his own age. There was never a breed of men who were drawn so close together in their love of work as the spacemen and there was no need for further explanation.
When they had climbed out of the Polaris and stepped on the landing ramp at Marsport, Connel and Tom saw that the ground crews were already checking over the afterburners and exhaust tubes of the ship. A young Solar Guard lieutenant, wearing a decidedly greasy uniform, snapped to attention before Connel.
"Lieutenant Slick at your service, sir," he announced.
"Lieutenant," bawled Connel, "your uniform is filthy!"
"Yes, sir, I know it is, sir," replied the young officer. "But I was overhauling a firing unit this morning, sir, and I guess I got a little dirty."
"That is enlisted man's work, sir," stated Connel. "You are an officer."
"I know, sir, but—" Slick stammered. "Well, sir, once in a while I like to do it myself."
Tom turned away, hiding a smile. The young officer was expressing the same feelings Connel himself had uttered just a few minutes before. Connel cleared his throat, and with a sidelong glance at Tom and a wink, dismissed the young officer, ordering him to have a jet car sent for them right away.
"Take mine, sir," said the young officer, happy to have escaped Connel's wrath so easily. It was not too long ago that he had been a cadet at the Academy and he remembered all too clearly what Connel could do when he was mad.
When the jet car was brought up, Tom slipped behind the wheel, and with Connel seated beside him, he sent the sleek little vehicle roaring across the spaceport to the main administration building.
Inside the gleaming crystal building, Connel and Tom were escorted by a Space Marine guard to the office of the spaceport commander, Captain Jim Arnold. He and Connel knew each other well, and after quick greetings and the introduction of the young cadet, Connel asked for the latest reports on the projectile receivers.
"Lou, I've got good news for you," announced Arnold. "We've completed the receiver ramps for the test. As soon as your ship is ready to fire her cargo projectiles, we can receive them."
Connel's face showed the surprise he felt. "Why, Jim, that's the most amazing news I've ever heard!" he exc
laimed. "How did you do it?"
"Through hard work," replied Arnold, "and the efforts of a young officer named Slick. He handled the whole thing."
"Slick!" exclaimed Connel. "I just bawled him out for wearing a dirty uniform."
"He's responsible for our success," asserted Arnold. "And what's more, those receivers can be taken apart and reassembled again in less than ten minutes."
"Incredible," gasped Connel. "I've got to see those things right away. Come along, Corbett."
Tom followed the major out of the office and back to the jet car. They were about to drive off to the opposite end of the field when they heard someone shout to them. Tom stopped the speedy little car and Connel turned around to see who had called them.
Carter Devers rushed up and greeted the Solar Guard officer enthusiastically. "Major, this is a surprise."
"Hello, Carter. What are you doing here?" Connel asked bluntly.
"Had some business here on Mars," said Devers. "I've finished and I'm on my way back to Earth. You wouldn't, by any chance, be going back soon, would you? I saw the Solar Guard cruiser come in and one of the attendants told me that they were preparing it for immediate blast-off—"
"Of course, Carter," Connel said briskly. "Get in. We're just going over to inspect the receivers and then we'll be heading back."
Devers jumped into the jet car and Tom headed across the broad expanse of the spaceport.
Connel turned to Devers and said enthusiastically, "Can you imagine, Devers? Some young officer here at Marsport has worked out a way to assemble and transport the receivers in a fantastically small amount of time."
"That's amazing," said Devers. "I'd like very much to see them." He looked at Tom and said, "Incidentally, who is your young friend?"
"Oh, sorry," replied Connel. "This is Cadet Corbett of the Polaris unit. No doubt you've heard of them. He and his unit mates manage to get into more trouble than all the monkeys in the Venusian jungle."
Carter laughed. "I've known Lou Connel long enough to know that when he says something like that about you, son, he thinks very highly of you."
Tom Corbett Space Cadet Page 103
