The Tom Corbett Space Cadet Megapack: 10 Classic Young Adult Sci-Fi Novels

by Norton, Andre

  “Well, it looks like we did it, sonny boy!” he said.

  Roger turned to look at the wizened spaceman who still was chewing on the plug of tobacco. “What made you do this for me, Mr. Shinny?” asked Roger quietly.

  “Tell ya a little secret,” said Shinny, with a merry twinkle in his eye. “I was in the Solar Guard for twenty years. Enlisted man. Got into an accident and hurt my leg, but it wasn’t in the line of duty, so I was tossed out without a pension. Ever since then I been kinda bitter, you might say. And, strangely enough, it was Major Connel that kicked me out.”

  “But you—you—” gasped Roger.

  “Let’s just say,” said Shinny with a smile, “that once you’re a Solar Guardsman, you’re always a Guardsman. Now, how about getting this wagon down to Tara?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure,” said Roger absently, his eyes trailing after the small limping figure. Once a Solar Guardsman, always a Guardsman, he thought. Smiling, he turned to the control board. He felt the same way. He was a Guardsman, and it was good to be back home!

  CHAPTER 14

  Major Connel paced nervously in front of the group of spacemen. Tom, Roger, Astro, Alfie, and Mr. Shinny were lounging around the small clearing between the Polaris and the Space Devil. A piece of thin space cloth had been stretched between the two ships to shield the men from the blazing sun. Connel stopped in front of Roger and Shinny.

  “And you say the satellite is three-quarters solid copper?” asked Connel.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Roger, “at least that’s what Loring and Mason told us.”

  “Where is it?” asked Connel. “I mean, where exactly?”

  “I spotted her coming in, sir,” replied Roger. “I’d say she was about three hundred thousand miles outside of Tara in perfect orbit.”

  “By the blessed rings of Saturn,” exclaimed Connel, “it’s almost too good to be true! The whole Solar Alliance needs copper desperately. And if what you say is true, that’s enough to last for a hundred and fifty years!”

  “Didn’t you have any idea they discovered it, sir?” asked Tom. “I mean, when they took that unauthorized flight on your first trip out here?”

  “Didn’t suspect a thing, Tom,” replied Connel. “I thought they had gotten a little space rocky on some homemade rocket juice and just went on a wingding. Imagine the colossal nerve of those two wanting to corner the market with the largest deposit of copper ever found.”

  “How do you plan to get it back, Major?” asked Shinny.

  “I don’t know, Shinny—”

  “Mr. Shinny!” snapped the wizened spaceman. “I’m not one of your cadets!”

  “Still the hotheaded rocket buster, eh?” asked Connel, eying the toothless spaceman. “It was the same thing that got you kicked out of the Solar Guard twenty years ago!”

  “Wasn’t either! And you know it!” snapped Shinny. “You retired me because I busted my leg!”

  “That helped,” said Connel, “but the main reason was because you were too hotheaded. Couldn’t take orders!”

  “Well,” said Shinny doggedly, “I ain’t in no Solar Guard now, and when you talk to me, it’s Mr. Shinny!”

  “Why, you old goat!” exploded Connel. “I ought to arrest you for aiding criminals!”

  “You can’t do a thing to me,” barked Shinny. “Prospecting is prospecting, whether it’s in the asteroid belt or out here on Tara!”

  Unable to hold back any longer, the four space cadets suddenly roared with laughter at the sight of the two old space foes jawing at each other. Actually, Connel and Shinny were glad to see each other. And when they saw the boys doubled up with laughter, they couldn’t help laughing also. Finally Connel turned to Roger.

  “Can you find that satellite again?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir!” Roger grinned.

  “All right, then,” said Connel finally, “let’s go take a look at it. I still won’t believe it until I see it!”

  “Who’s hardheaded now?” snorted Shinny, climbing into the Polaris.

  Later, as the rocket cruiser blasted smoothly through space, Connel joined Roger and Alfie on the radar deck. The two cadets were bent over the radar scanner.

  “Pick her up yet?” asked Connel.

  “There she is, right there, sir,” said Roger, placing a finger on a circular white blip on the scanner. “But the magnascope shows pretty rugged country. I think we’d better take a look on the opposite side. Maybe we can find a better place to touch down.”

  “Very well, Manning,” replied Connel. “Do what you think best. Tell Tom to land as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” replied Roger.

  Leaving Alfie on watch at the scanner, Roger hurried down the ladder to the control deck where Tom was seated in front of the great board.

  “Tom,” called Roger, walking up behind his unit-mate, “we’re going to take a look at this baby on the other side. See if we can’t find a better place to touch down. Stand by to pick up the surface of the satellite on the teleceiver as soon as we get close enough.”

  “O.K., Roger,” said Tom. “Where are you going?”

  “Down to Loring and Mason in the cooler! I want to see their faces when I tell them they finally are getting where they wanted to go, but under slightly different circumstances!”

  Tom laughed and turned back to the board. “Power deck, check in!”

  “Power deck, aye,” replied Astro. “When do we set down on the precious rock, Tom?” asked the Venusian.

  “Should be soon, Astro,” said Tom. “Better stand by for maneuvering.”

  “Right!” replied Astro.

  Tom turned his full attention to the control board and the teleceiver screen above his head. He was happier than he had ever been in his life. The report sent back to Space Academy by Major Connel had been answered with a commendation to both Roger and Shinny for capturing Loring and Mason. With Roger back in the unit, Tom was at peace. Even Alfie was overjoyed at seeing Roger back aboard the Polaris.

  And Tom had noticed that Major Connel was beginning to call them by their first names!

  “Radar deck to control deck!” said Alfie. “From casual observations, Tom, the surface of the far side of the satellite is more suitable for a touchdown. I would suggest you observe the planetoid yourself with the magnascope and draw your own conclusions.”

  “O.K.,” replied Tom. He switched the teleceiver screen on to the more powerful magnascope and studied the surface of the small celestial body. He saw a deep valley with a flat hard surface set between two tall cliffs. It would be a tricky spot for a landing, but it looked like the best place available. Tom snapped open the intercom.

  “Attention! Attention! Stand by for touchdown. Power deck stand by for deceleration. Radar bridge stand by for range and altitude checks!” Sharply, crisply, Tom’s orders crackled through the ship.

  Working together with the ease and thoroughness of men well acquainted with their jobs, Astro and Shinny on the power deck, Roger and Alfie on the radar bridge, and Tom on the control deck handling the delicate maneuvering, combined to bring the great ship to a safe landing on the dry valley floor of the satellite.

  “Touchdown!” yelled Tom and began securing the ship. Two minutes later the entire crew faced Major Connel for briefing.

  “We’ll all go out to different parts of the satellite and make geological tests,” announced Connel. “We’ll pair off, two to a jet boat. Astro and Roger, Alfie and Mr. Shinny, Tom and myself. This is a simple test.” He held up a delicate instrument and a vial full of colorless liquid. “You simply pour a little of this liquid, about a spoonful, on the ground, wait about five minutes, and then stick the end of this into the spot where you poured the liquid.” He held up a two-foot steel shaft a quarter inch in diameter, fastened to a clock-face gauge with numbers from one to a thousand. The other end of the shaft was needle sharp. “When you stick this into the ground, there’ll be a reading on the meter. Relay it to me. This way well get an estimate of the amount
of copper in a three-mile area for a depth of a hundred feet. It must be more than two hundred tons per square mile to make it worth while!”

  He held up the testing equipment for all to see and explained its use once more. Then, giving each team a kit, he ordered them to the jet boats.

  Just before the crew of Earthmen left the Polaris, Connel gave them last-minute instructions.

  “Report back to the Polaris in one hour. Make as many tests as you can over as wide an area as possible. Don’t forget to leave one man in the jet boat while the other is making the test. Keep your audio communicator in the jet boat on at all times. And be sure your belt communicator is always open. Check your oxygen supply and space suits. All clear?”

  One by one, the spacemen checked in through the audio communicators that all was clear. The sliding hatch on the side of the Polaris was opened, and the jet boats blasted out into the brilliant sunlight of Alpha Centauri, going in three different directions.

  Tom piloted his small craft over the rugged surface of the satellite, circling the larger peaks and swooping into the small valleys. Connel would indicate when it was time to stop, and Tom would set the craft down. While Connel made the tests, Tom would talk to the others over the audio communicators. The three small ships covered the satellite quickly in evenly divided sections, reporting their readings on the needlelike instrument to Connel, who kept recording the reports on a pad at his knee.

  An hour later the boats returned to the Polaris and the Earthmen assembled in the control room. Connel, Tom, and Alfie were busy reducing the readings of the tests into recognizable copper ton estimates per square mile.

  Finally Connel turned around, wiped his brow, and faced the others.

  “This is one of the greatest discoveries for Earthmen since they learned how to blast off!” The big officer paused and then held up the results of the tests. “This satellite is really three-quarters solid copper!”

  There was a loud mumble as everyone began talking at once.

  “How are we going to get it back home, sir?” asked Tom. “Wouldn’t hauling it back in spaceships cost too much?”

  “Yes, it would, Corbett,” answered Connel, “but I’ve got an idea how we can lick that problem.”

  “Can’t see how you can lick it,” snorted Shinny, “unless you take the whole blasted satellite back!”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do!” answered Connel.

  “What?” exclaimed Roger, momentarily forgetting he was addressing a senior officer. “How in blazes are you going to do that?”

  Connel turned to the chart-screen projector and switched it on. Immediately an image of Earth and its Moon, and much farther away the sun, was visible. Connel stepped to the screen and pointed to Moon.

  “The Moon is a captive satellite of Earth, revolving around Earth the same way Earth revolves around the sun. It’s the same situation we have here. This satellite is a captive of Tara, and Tara is a captive of Alpha Centauri. The difference is that the satellite is a peanut compared in size to the Moon, being only about fifteen miles in diameter. I’m not sure, but I think I can get enough reactant energy out of the Space Devil’s fuel supply to blast the satellite out of Tara’s grip and send it back to our solar system in one piece!”

  “You mean, sir,” asked Tom, perplexed, “you’ll tear the satellite out of Tara’s gravitational pull?”

  “That’s right, Tom,” replied Connel, “using the same principle to clear gravity that we use on the Polaris or any spaceship. Enough power from the rockets will blast the Polaris off Tara. Well, if you can get enough power, you can blast this satellite out of Tara’s grip also, since the only thing holding it here is the gravity of Tara—the same thing that holds the Moon in orbit around Earth!”

  Astro’s eyes bulged. He looked at Connel blankly. “Why, sir,” he stammered, “it’d take—take—a ton of reactant fuel to pull something that size away from Tara. The Polaris is a kiddy car in comparison!”

  “You’re right, Astro,” said Connel, “but there’s one thing you’ve forgotten. The copper of the satellite itself. That’s going to be the main source of power. The reactant fuel from the Space Devil will serve only as a starter, a trigger, you might say, to make use of the copper as fuel!”

  Once again Astro gasped. “Then—then—there isn’t anything to stop you, sir,” he finished slowly.

  Connel smiled. “I know there isn’t. I’m going to contact Space Academy now for permission to pitch the biggest ball in the history of man!”

  CHAPTER 15

  “Well, I’ll be a star-gazing lunatic!” exclaimed Roger a few minutes later. “You really think that you can blast this satellite out of its orbit?”

  “Not only that, Manning,” said Connel with a smile, “but I might be able to get it back to our sun faster than we could get back ourselves.”

  “Why that would be the biggest project ever attempted by man, sir,” said Tom. “You’d be transporting an entire satellite from one star system to another!”

  “That’s right, Corbett,” said Connel. “I’ve just finished talking to Space Academy and they’ve given me permission to do anything I think necessary to accomplish just that. Now pay close attention to me, all of you. We haven’t much time.”

  Tom, Roger, Astro, Alfie, and Mr. Shinny gathered in a close circle around the major on the control deck of the Polaris and watched him as he drew several rough diagrams on a piece of paper.

  “Getting the satellite back is the trickiest part of the whole operation. Astro, are you sure you made a correct estimate on the amount of reactant fuel in the Space Devil?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Astro. “I checked it four times, and Mr. Shinny checked it, too!”

  “All right, then, listen,” said Connel. “I’ve given the satellite a name. From now on we call it Junior. And this will be known as Junior’s Pitch! I’ve explained how Junior is a captive satellite revolving around Tara, the same way our Moon revolves around Earth. We have two problems. One is to blast it out of Tara’s grip. And the other is to take advantage of Tara’s orbital speed around its sun Alpha Centauri, and Junior’s orbital speed around Tara. We’ve got to combine the velocities of the orbits, so that when we do spring Junior loose, he’ll gain in speed!”

  “But how do we get the orbital speeds to help us, Major?” asked Alfie. His glasses had slipped to the very end of his nose.

  “If you’d give the major a chance, he’d tell you, Big Brain,” drawled Roger. Alfie gave Roger a withering look and turned back to the major.

  “Do you remember when you were kids and tied a rock on the end of a rope and then swung it around your head?” asked Connel.

  “Sure, sorta like a slingshot,” said Astro.

  “That’s right, Astro,” said Connel, “and if you released the rope, the rock would fly in the direction it was headed, when you let go!”

  “I get it,” cried Tom excitedly. “The gravity of Tara is the rope holding Junior—ah”—he fumbled—“making it swing around!”

  “And the reactant power of the Space Devil placed in the right spot would be the trigger to make it let go!” commented Roger.

  “It’s as simple as that, boys!” said Connel with a smile.

  “But how in the blazing beams of the sun are you going to stop that blasted thing when you get it rolling?” asked Shinny.

  “The chances of Junior hitting anything on the way home are so small it doesn’t present a problem. So we just aim Junior for our solar system! Later on, arrangements can be made to steer it into an orbit around our sun.”

  “You know,” wheezed Shinny, his merry eyes twinkling, “that sounds pretty neat!”

  “It is,” replied Connel. He leaned against the control-board desk top and folded his arms across his massive chest. He looked at each of the cadets and Shinny a long time before speaking. Finally he stepped forward and stood among them, turning now and then to speak directly to each of them.

  “We have only four days, five hours,
and some few minutes to pull Junior out of Tara’s grip, and later, the grip of Alpha Centauri. You boys will have to work as you’ve never worked before. You’ll do things you never dreamed you could do. You’ll work until your brains ache and your bodies scream. But when you’re finished, you will have accomplished one of man’s greatest challenges. You’re going to do all this because I know you can—and I’m going to see that you do! Is that clear?”

  There was a barely audible “Yes, sir” from the cadets.

  “The six of us, working together, are going to send a hunk of copper fifteen miles in diameter hurtling through twenty-three million million miles of space, so let’s get that ball rolling. Right now!”

  With Major Connel roaring, pleading, and blasting, four young cadets and a derelict spaceman began the monumental task of assembling the mass of information necessary for the satellite’s big push through space. During the three days that their project had been under way, Tom, Roger, Astro, Alfie, and Mr. Shinny worked, as Major Connel promised, as they had never worked before.

  Late in the afternoon of the third day Connel stepped through the hatch of the control deck where Tom was busy over a table of ratios for balancing the amount of thrust from each of the reactant-power units. The power units were to give Junior its initial thrust out of the gravity of Tara.

  “Well, Corbett,” asked Connel, “how’re you making out with the ratios?”

  “I’ve finished them, sir,” replied Tom, looking up at the major. His face was drawn, his eyes red from lack of sleep. “But I just can’t seem to get a time for escaping the orbit on a true tangent.”

  “Have you tried making an adjustment for the overall pull of both components?” asked Connel. “That of Tara and of Alpha Centauri on Junior?” He picked up the paper Tom had been working on and glanced over the figures.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Tom, “but I still can’t seem to make it come out right!”

  “You’ll get it, Tom,” said Connel. “Go over it again. But remember. Time’s running out. Just one day and about twenty hours left.” Connel’s voice was friendly—more friendly than at any time Tom could remember. He smiled, and taking a fresh sheet of paper, he began the complicated calculations of escape time all over again.