The entire corps of Space Cadets had been given a special three-day holiday to see the trials, and the Academy buildings were decorated with multicolored flags and pennants. A festive atmosphere surrounded the vast Solar Guard installation.
But in his office in the Tower of Galileo, Captain Strong paced the floor, a worried frown on his face. He stepped around his desk and picked up a paper to re-read it for the tenth time. He shook his head and flipped open the key of his desk intercom, connecting him with the enlisted spaceman in the next office.
“Find Kit Barnard, spaceman!” Strong called. “And give him an oral message. Personal. Tell him I said he can’t use his reactor unit unless he changes it to more standard operational design.” Strong paused and glanced at the paper again. “As it stands now, his reactor will not be approved for the trials,” he continued. “Tell him he has until midnight tonight to submit new specifications.”
As Strong closed the intercom key abruptly, the three members of the Polaris unit stepped into his office and saluted smartly. Strong looked up. “Hello, boys. Sit down.” He waved them to nearby chairs and turned back to his desk. The drawn expression of their unit commander did not go unnoticed.
“Is there something wrong, sir?” asked Tom tentatively.
“Nothing much,” replied Strong wearily. He indicated the sheaf of papers in front of him. “These are reactor-unit specifications submitted by the pilots and crew chiefs of the ships to be flown in the time trials. I’ve just had to reject Kit Barnard’s specifications.”
“What was the matter?” asked Astro.
“Not enough safety allowance. He’s running too close to the danger point in feeding reactant to the chambers, using D-18 rate of feed and D-9 is standard.”
“What about the other ships, sir?” asked Tom. “Do they all have safety factors?”
Strong shrugged his shoulders. “They all specify standard reaction rates without actually using figures,” he said. “But I’m certain that their feeders are being tuned up for maximum output. That’s where your job is going to come in. You’ve got to inspect the ships to make sure they’re safe.”
“Then Kit Barnard put down his specifications, knowing that there was a chance they wouldn’t pass,” Tom remarked.
Strong nodded. “He’s an honest man.”
The door opened and several men stepped inside. They were dressed in the mode of merchant space officers, wearing high-peaked hats, trim jackets, and trousers of a different color. Strong stood up to greet them.
“Welcome, gentlemen. Please be seated. We will begin the meeting as soon as all the pilots are here.”
Roger nudged Astro and whispered, “What’s the big deal about a D-18 rate and a D-9 rate? Why is that so important?”
“It has to do with the pumps,” replied the power-deck cadet. “They cool the reactant fuel to keep it from getting too hot and wildcatting. At a D-9 rate the reactant is hot enough to create power for normal flight. Feeding at a D-18 rate is fine too, but you need pumps to cool the motors, and pumps that could do the job would be too big.”
“Kit’s problem,” commented Tom, “is not so much building the reactor, but a cooling system to keep it under control.”
“Will that make a big difference in who wins the race?” asked Roger.
“With that ship of Kit’s,” said Astro, shaking his head, “I doubt if he’ll be able to come even close to the top speeds in the trials unless he can use the new reactor.”
The room had filled up now and Strong rapped on the desk for attention. He stared at the faces of the men before him, men who had spent their lives in space. They were the finest pilots and crew chiefs in the solar system. They sat quietly and attentively as Strong gave them the details of the greatest race of spaceships in over a hundred years.
After Strong had outlined the plans for the time trials, he concluded, “Each of you competing in the time trials will be given a blast-off time and an orbital course. Only standard, Solar-Guard-approval equipment will be allowed in the tests. I will monitor the trials, and Space Cadets Corbett, Manning, and Astro will be in complete charge of all inspections of your ships.” Strong paused and looked around. “Are there any questions?”
“When will the first ship blast off, Captain Strong?” asked a lean and leathery-looking spaceman in the back of the room.
“First time trial takes place at 0600 hours tomorrow morning. Each ship has a designated time. Consult your schedules for the blast-off time of your ships.”
“What if a ship isn’t ready?” asked Kit Barnard, who had slipped into the room unnoticed.
“Any ship unable to blast off at scheduled time,” said Strong, finding it difficult to look at his old friend, “will be eliminated.”
There was a sudden murmur in the room and Quent Miles rose quickly. “That’s not much time to prepare our ships,” he said. “I don’t know who’s going to be first, but I can’t even strip my ship by tomorrow morning, let alone soup up the reactant.” His voice was full of contempt, and he glanced around the room at the other pilots. “Seems to me we’re being treated a little roughly.”
There were several cries of agreement.
Strong held up his hand. “Gentlemen, I know it is difficult to prepare a ship in twelve hours for a race as important as this one,” he said. “But I personally believe that any spaceman who really wants to make it can make it!”
“Well, I’m not going to break my back to make a deadline,” snarled Quent. “And I don’t think any of the other fellows here will either.”
“If you are scheduled to blast off tomorrow at 0600 hours, Captain Miles,” Strong announced coldly, “and you are unable to raise ship, you will be eliminated.”
Stifling an angry retort, Quent Miles sat down, and while Strong continued to answer questions, Astro, a worried frown on his face, stared at the spaceman dressed in black. Tom noticed it. “What’s wrong with you, Astro?” he asked.
“That spaceman Miles,” replied Astro. “I could swear I know him, yet I’m sure that I don’t.”
“He’s not a very ordinary-looking guy,” observed Roger. “He’s plenty big and he’s so dark that it wouldn’t be easy to mistake him.”
“Still,” said Astro, screwing up his forehead, “I know I’ve seen him before.”
“If there are no further questions, gentlemen,” said Strong, “we’ll close this meeting. I know you’re anxious to get to your ships and begin work. But before you go, I would like to introduce the cadet inspectors to you. Stand up, boys.”
Self-consciously, Tom, Roger, and Astro stood up while Strong addressed the pilots.
“Cadet Manning will be in charge of all electronics inspections, Cadet Astro in charge of the power deck, and Cadet Corbett will cover the control deck and over-all inspection of the ship itself.”
Quent Miles was on his feet again, shouting, “Do you mean to tell me that we’re going to be told what we can and can’t do by those three kids!” He turned and glared at Tom. “You come messing around my ship, buster, and you’ll be pitched out on your ear!”
“If the cadets do not pass on your ship,” said Strong, with more than a little edge to his voice, “it will not get off the ground.”
The two men locked eyes across the room.
“We’ll see about that!” growled Miles, and stalked from the room, his heavy shoulders swinging from side to side in an exaggerated swagger.
“I believe that’s all, gentlemen,” announced Strong coldly, “and spaceman’s luck to each of you.”
After the men had left, the three cadets crowded around Strong. “Do you think we’ll have any trouble with Miles, sir?” asked Tom.
“You have your orders, Tom,” said Strong. “If any ship does not meet standards established for the race, it will be disqualified!”
Astro stared at the doorway through which Quent Miles had disappeared. He scratched his head and muttered, “If it wasn’t for just one thing, I’d swear by the stars that he’s the same spacem
an who—” He stopped and shook his head.
“Who what?” asked Strong.
“Nothing, sir,” said Astro. “I must be mistaken. It can’t be the same man.”
“I suggest that you sleep out at the spaceport tonight,” said Strong. “The first ship will have to be inspected before she blasts off, and that means you will have to look her over before six.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Tom.
“And watch out for Quent Miles,” warned Strong.
“Yes, sir,” said the curly-haired cadet. “I know what you mean.”
CHAPTER 4
“The course is to Luna and return! Spaceman’s luck.”
Captain Strong’s voice rasped out over the public address system as a lone spaceship stood poised on the starting ramp, her ports closed, her crew making last-minute preparations. Ringing the huge spaceport, crews from other ships paused in their work to watch the first vessel make the dash around the Moon in a frantic race against the astral chronometer. In the temporary grandstands at the north end of the field, thousands of spectators from cities all over Earth leaned forward, hushed and expectant.
“Are you ready Star Lady?” Strong called, his voice echoing over the field.
A light flashed from the viewport of the ship.
“Stand by to raise ship!” roared Strong. “Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one—zero!”
There was a sudden, ear-shattering roar and smoke and flame poured from the exhaust of the ship, spilling over the blast-off ramp. The ship rocked from side to side gently, rose into the air slowly, and then gathering speed began to move spaceward. In a moment it was gone and only the echoing blasts of thunder from its exhausts remained.
“There goes number one,” said Tom to his unit mates as they watched from a vantage point near one of the service hangars.
“He got a pretty shaky start there at the ramp,” commented Astro. “He must’ve poured on so much power, he couldn’t control the ship.”
“Heads up, fellas,” announced Roger suddenly. “Here comes work.” Kit Barnard was walking toward them, carrying a small metallic object in his hand.
“’Morning, boys,” said Kit with a weary smile. His eyes were bloodshot. The cadets knew he had worked all night to revise and resubmit his specification sheet to Strong.
“’Morning, sir,” said Tom.
“I’d like to have you O.K. this gear unit. I made it last night.”
Astro took the gear and examined it closely.
“Looks fine to me,” he said finally, handing it back. “Part of your main pumps?”
“Why, yes,” replied Kit, surprised. “Say, you seem to know your business.”
“Only the best rocket buster in space, sir,” chimed in Tom. “He eats, sleeps, and dreams about machinery on a power deck.”
“Is that for your new reactor, sir?” asked Astro.
“Yes. Want to come over and take a look at it?”
“Want to!” exclaimed Roger. “You couldn’t keep him away with a ray gun, Captain Barnard.”
“Fine,” said Kit. “Incidentally, I’m not in the Solar Guard any more; don’t even hold a reserve commission, so you don’t have to ‘sir’ me. I’d prefer just plain Kit. O.K.?”
The three boys grinned. “O.K., Kit,” said Tom.
Astro began to fidget and Tom nudged Roger. “Think we can spare the Venusian for a little while?”
“Might as well let him go,” grunted Roger. “He’d only sneak off later, anyway.”
Astro grinned sheepishly. “If anyone wants me to check anything, I’ll be over at Kit’s. Where is your ship?” he asked the veteran spaceman.
“Hangar Fourteen. Opposite the main entrance gate.”
“Fine, that’s where I’ll be, fellows. See you later.”
With Astro bending over slightly to hear what Kit was saying, the two men walked away. Roger shook his head. “You know, I still can’t get used to that guy. He acts like a piece of machinery was a good-looking space doll!”
“I’ve seen you look the same way at your radarscope, Roger.”
“Yeah, but it’s different with me.”
“Is it?” said Tom, turning away so that Roger would not see him laughing. And as he did, he saw something that made him pause. In front of the hangar, Captain Strong was talking to Quent Miles. There was no mistaking the tall spaceman in his severe black clothes.
“Here comes more work,” muttered Tom. Quent had turned away from Strong and was walking toward them.
“Strong said I had to get you to O.K. this scope,” said Quent with a sneer. “Hurry it up! I haven’t got all day.”
He handed them a radarscope that was common equipment on small pleasure yachts, and was considerably lighter in weight than the type used on larger freight vessels.
“What’s the gross weight of your ship?” asked Roger after a quick glance at the large glass tube with a crystal surface that had been polished to a smooth finish.
“Two thousand tons,” said Quent. “Why?”
Roger shook his head. “This is too small, Mr. Miles. You will have to use the standard operational scope.”
“But it’s too big.”
“I’m sorry, sir—” began Roger.
“Sorry!” Quent exploded. “Give me that tube, you squirt.” He snatched it out of Roger’s hand. “I’m using this scope whether you like it or not!”
“If you use that scope,” said Tom coldly, “your ship will be disqualified.”
Quent glared at the two boys for a moment, his black eyes cold and hard. “They make kids feel mighty important around here, don’t they?”
“They give us jobs to do,” said Roger. “Usually we can handle them fine. Occasionally we run into a space-gassing bum and he makes things difficult, but we manage to take care of him.”
Quent stepped forward in a threatening manner, but Roger did not move. “Listen,” the spaceman snarled, “stay out of my way, you young punk, or I’ll blast you.”
“Don’t ever make the mistake of touching me, Mister,” said Roger calmly. “You might find that you’re the one who’s blasted.”
Quent stared at them a moment, then spun on his heels and swaggered back to his ship.
“You know, Roger,” said Tom, watching Miles disappear into the hangar, “I have an idea he is one spaceman who’ll back up his threats.”
Roger ignored Tom’s statement. “Come on. We’ve got a lot of work to do,” he said, turning away.
The two cadets headed for the next hangar and boarded a ship with the picture of a chicken on its nose. While Roger examined the communications and astrogation deck, Tom busied himself inspecting the control deck, where the great panels of the master control board were stripped of everything but absolute essentials. Later, they called Astro back to make a careful inspection of the power deck on the ship. While they waited for the Venusian cadet, Tom and Roger talked to the pilot.
Gigi Duarte was a small, dapper Frenchman who somehow, in the course of his life, had acquired the nickname “Chicken” and it had been with him ever since. The cadets had met him once before when they rode on a passenger liner from Mars to Venusport and liked the small, stubby spaceman. Now, renewing their friendship, the boys and “Gigi the Chicken” sat on the lower step of the air lock and chatted.
“This is the greatest thing that has happened to me,” said Gigi. “Ever since I can remember, I have wanted to race in space!”
“Don’t get much chance when you’re hauling passengers around, I guess,” said Tom.
Gigi shook his head. “One must always be careful. Just so fast, over a certain route, taking all the precautionary steps for fuel! Bah! But this flight! This time, I will show you speed! Watch the French Chicken and you will see speed as you have never—” Suddenly he stopped and frowned. “But you cannot see me. I will be going too fast!”
Tom and Roger laughed. After Astro joined them, they shook hands with the Frenchman, wished him luck, and went to the next ship to inspect it. Gi
gi’s ship was already being towed out to the blast-off ramp, and by the time the three boys had completed their inspection of the next ship, the gaily colored French ship flashed the ready signal to Strong.
“Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one—zero!” Strong’s voice boomed out over the loud-speakers and the French Chicken poured on the power. His ship arose from the ground easily, and in five seconds was out of sight in the cloudless skies above.
* * * *
All day the spaceport rocked with the thunderous noise of stripped-down spaceships blasting off on their trial runs around the Moon. Kit Barnard worked like a demon to complete the cooling system in his aged ship, and as each ship blasted off on its scheduled run to the Moon, the time for his own flight drew nearer. Kit worked with his chief crewman, Sid Goldberg, a serious, swarthy-faced youngster who rivaled Astro in his love for the power-deck machinery on a spaceship. By nightfall, with Tom, Roger, and Astro standing by to make their final inspection, Kit wiped the oil and grime from his hands and stepped back. “Well, she’s finished. You can make your inspections now, boys,” he said.
While Tom, Astro, and Roger swarmed over the vessel, examining the newly designed and odd-looking gear, the veteran spaceman and his young helper stretched out on the concrete ramp and in thirty seconds were asleep.
The Polaris unit quickly checked out Kit’s ship as qualified for the race, and then turned, fascinated, to the tangle of pipes, cables, and mechanical gear of the reactor unit and cooling pumps. Tom and Roger were unable to figure out exactly what changes Kit had made, but Astro gazed at the new machinery fondly, almost rapturously. He tried to explain the intricate work to his unit mates, but would stop in the middle of a sentence when a new detail of the construction would catch his eye.
The Tom Corbett Space Cadet Megapack: 10 Classic Young Adult Sci-Fi Novels Page 88
