Tom Corbett Space Cadet Page 20

  Once the decision was made, Strong put the problem out of his mind. He walked to his huge circular desk and began sorting through the day's orders and reports. On the top of the pile of papers was a sealed envelope, bordered in red and marked "classified." It was from Commander Walters' office. Thoughtfully he opened it and read:

  To: Captain Steve Strong:

  Cadet Supervisor, Polaris Unit

  Upon receipt of this communication, you are ordered to transfer the supervisory authority of the cadet unit designated as POLARIS unit; i.e., Cadets Tom Corbett, Roger Manning, and Astro, and the command of the rocket cruiser Polaris, to the command and supervisory authority of Major Connel for execution of mission as outlined herein:

  1. To test range, life, and general performance of audio communications transmitter, type X21.

  2. To test the above-mentioned transmitter under conditions of deep space flight.

  3. This test to take place on the planet Tara, Alpha Centauri.

  This communication and all subsequent information relative to above-mentioned mission shall be classified as topmost secret.

  Signed: Walters,

  Commandant, Space Academy

  "So that's it," he thought. "A hop into deep space for the Polaris unit!" He smiled. "The cadets of the Polaris unit are in for a little surprise in two ways," he thought. "One from the mission and one from Major Connel!"

  He almost laughed out loud as he turned to the small desk teleceiver at his elbow. He pressed a button immediately below the screen and it glowed into life to reveal a young man in the uniform of the enlisted guard.

  "Yes, Captain Strong?" he asked.

  "Call the cadets of the Polaris unit," Strong ordered. "Have them report to me here on the double!"

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  Strong started to turn the set off, but the enlisted man added, "By the way, sir, Al Mason and Bill Loring are here to see you."

  "Oh—well—" Strong hesitated.

  "They're quite anxious to know if you've reached any decision regarding their petition for reinstatement."

  "Mmm—yes, of course. Very well, send them in."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  The teleceiver screen blackened. In a moment the door opposite Strong's desk slid back, and Loring and Mason stepped into the office. They shambled forward and stopped in front of the huge desk, obviously ill at ease.

  Strong stood up, holding their petition in his hand, and glanced over it briefly even though he knew its contents by heart. He motioned to near-by chairs. "Sit down, please," he said.

  The two spacemen settled themselves uncomfortably on the edge of their chairs and waited expectantly as Strong continued to look at the paper.

  Loring finally broke the heavy silence.

  "Well, Captain Strong, have you made a decision?" he asked. Loring was a heavy-set man, in his middle forties. He needed a shave, and when he talked, his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace.

  "Hope it's in our favor, sir," suggested Mason. He was shorter than Loring and, seated, his feet hardly reached the floor. His eyes darted nervously about the huge room, and he kept rolling a dirty black spaceman's cap in his hands.

  "Yes, I've reached a decision," said Strong slowly. He faced the two men and looked at both of them with a steady cold stare. "I've decided to sustain Major Connel's action. You are both grounded for the next twelve months. Earth months!"

  "What?" shouted Loring, jumping to his feet. He banged his fist down on the desk and leaned over, his face close to Strong's. "You can't do that to us!"

  Captain Strong didn't move. "I can," he said coldly. "And I have."

  "But—but—" Mason began to whine. "But space flight is all we know! How will we live?"

  Strong sat down and leaned back in his chair to get away from the foul odor of Loring's breath. He stared at the two men.

  "You should have thought of that before you stole a rocket scout from the expedition and made an unauthorized flight while on Tara," Strong replied. "You're lucky you're not accused, tried, and convicted of theft of a Solar Guard spaceship!"

  "We had permission to take that flight," snarled Loring. "That Major Connel is so blasted space happy he forgot he gave us permission. Then when we came back, he slapped us in the brig!"

  "Do you have any proof of that?" asked Strong.

  "No! But it's our word against his!" He slammed his hat down on the desk and shook his finger in Strong's face. "You haven't any right to take away our papers just on the say-so of a lousy Solar Guard officer who thinks he's king of the universe!"

  "Take your filthy hat off my desk, Loring!" barked Strong. "And watch your language!"

  Loring realized he had made a mistake and tried to backtrack. "Well, I apologize for that. But I don't apologize for saying he thinks he's—"

  "Major Connel has been in the Solar Guard for thirty years," said Strong emphatically. "He's been awarded the Solar Medal three times. No other living spaceman has achieved that! Not even Commander Walters! He rose through the ranks of the enlisted Solar Guard and was commissioned as an officer of the Solar Guard in space during an emergency. He qualifies higher than any other spaceman, and he has never been found to be unjust! He's one of the finest spacemen ever to hit the wide, deep, and high!" Strong stopped, choked for breath, and turned away. It wasn't often he lost his temper, but something had to be said in defense of his fellow officer, and particularly since that officer was Connel. He turned back to face the two spacemen, and his voice was hard and cold again.

  "You are hereby suspended from space flight for twelve Earth months. Any further petition for appeal of this decision will be denied!"

  "All right! All right, Mr. Big!" snapped Loring. "Does this mean we can't even ride as passengers?"

  "No rights under the Universal Bill of Rights of the Solar Alliance have been denied you, except that of actively participating in the flight of a spaceship!"

  The signal bell of the teleceiver began to chime softly, and on the desk the teleceiver screen glowed again. "Cadets Corbett, Manning, and Astro are here for their assignments, sir," announced the enlisted man outside.

  Loring glared at Strong. "I suppose you're going to send some punk kids out on the next trip to Tara and leave us experienced spacemen to rot on the ground, huh?"

  Strong didn't see the door slide open to admit the three cadets who entered quietly. His whole attention was focused on the ugly glaring faces of Bill Loring and Al Mason.

  "Get this, Loring!" snapped Strong hotly. "The assignments of the Polaris unit, whether it be to Tara or the Moon, has nothing to do with your own breech of conduct. In any case, if they were to be assigned, they'd do a better job than you 'experienced' spacemen who are disrespectful of your superior officers and break regulations! If either of you makes one more crack about the Solar Guard or Space Cadets, or anything at all, I'll take you out on the quadrangle and pound some common courtesy into your heads! Now get out!"

  "All right, all right—" muttered Loring retreating, but with a sneer on his lips. "We'll meet again, Mr. Bigshot Spaceman!"

  "I hope so, Loring. And if we do, I hope you've taken a bath. You even smell bad!"

  From the rear of the room came a burst of laughter. Tom, Roger, and Astro, unobserved, had been listening and watching their skipper in action. When Loring and Mason had left the room, they advanced to the desk, came to attention, and saluted.

  "Polaris unit reporting for duty, sir!" snapped Tom crisply.

  "At ease," said Strong. "Did you hear all of that?"

  "Yes, sir, skipper!" Roger smiled. "And believe me, you really gave it to those two space bums!"

  "Yeah," agreed Astro, "but I don't think even you could do much for Loring. He's just born to smell bad!"

  "Never mind that," said Strong. "I suppose you heard the part about the assignments?"

  The three cadets assumed looks of pure innocence.

  "We didn't hear a thing, sir," said Tom.

  "You'll make a fine diplomat, Corbett," S
trong laughed. "All right, sit down and I'll give it to you straight."

  They hastily took seats and waited for their skipper to begin.

  "You've been assigned as cadet observers on a mission to test the range of a new long-range audio transmitter." Strong paused, then added significantly, "The test is to take place in deep space."

  The three cadets only beamed their enthusiastic approval.

  "Tara," continued Strong, "is your destination—a planet like Earth in many respects, in orbit around the sun star Alpha Centauri. You'll take the Polaris directly to the Venus space station, where the transmitter has been given primary tests, outfit the Polaris for hyperdrive, and blast off!"

  "Excuse me, sir," interrupted Tom, "but you say 'you'?"

  "I mean," replied Strong, "you, in the sense that I won't be going along with you. Oh, don't worry!" said Strong, holding up his hand as a sudden look of anticipation spread over the faces of the three boys. "You're not going alone! You'll have a commanding officer, all right. In fact, you'll have the nearest thing to the perfect commanding officer in the Solar Guard!" He waited just long enough for each boy to search his mind for a suitable candidate and then added, "Your skipper will be Major Connel!"

  "Major Connel!" the three cadets cried in unison.

  "You mean Major 'Blast-off' Connel?" uttered Roger unbelievingly.

  "That's who I mean," said Strong. "It's the best thing in the universe that could happen to you!"

  Roger stood up and saluted smartly. "I request permission to be dismissed from this mission on the grounds of incompatibility, sir," he said.

  "Incompatible to what?" asked Strong, amused.

  "To Major Connel, sir," replied Roger.

  "Permission denied," said Strong with a smile. "Buck up! It isn't so bad." Strong paused and stood up. "Well, that's it. It's close to eleven A.M. and you're to report to the major at eleven on the nose. I hope you've got the Polaris in good shape."

  "We were up all night, sir," said Tom. "She's ready to go."

  "She's in better shape than we are," said Astro.

  "Very well, then. Report to Major Connel immediately. Your papers have been transferred, so all you have to do is report."

  Strong rounded the desk and shook hands with each cadet. "This is an important mission, boys," he said soberly. "See that you give Major Connel all the support I know you're capable of giving. He'll need it. I doubt if I'll see you before you blast off, so this is it. Spaceman's luck to each of you!"

  CHAPTER 3

  "Well, looks like we're big boys now," said Tom, as the three cadets strolled down the corridor away from Captain Strong's office. "They don't hand out secret and important missions to cadet units unless they're really on the ball!"

  "But we've got Major 'Blast-off' Connel to educate," grumbled Roger.

  "What do you mean 'educate'?" asked Astro.

  "You know he's the roughest officer in the Academy," replied the blond-haired cadet. "He eats cadets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And then has an extra one for dessert. He isn't just tough—his hide's made of armor plate. But I've got a hunch that if we play dumb at first, then smarten up slowly, we can make him feel that he's done it for us. So he'll be easier on us."

  "Say, it's after eleven!" exclaimed Tom. "We'd better hurry!"

  Suddenly, as if a rocket cruiser were blasting off in the corridors, a roar, deafening and powerful, filled their ears. And beneath its ferocity there were four unmistakable words:

  "Polaris unit—staaaaaaaannnnnndddddd toooooo!"

  Every muscle, every bone in their three bodies snapped to rigid attention simultaneously. Eyes straight, chins in, the cadets waited for whatever calamity had befallen them. From behind came quick, heavy footsteps. They drew closer until they passed alongside and then abruptly stopped. There, in front of them, stood the one and only Major "Blast-off" Connel!

  Though a few inches shorter than Astro, he was what Astro might become in thirty years, heavily muscular, with a barrel chest that filled the gold-and-black uniform tightly. He stood balanced on the balls of his small feet like a boxer, hands hanging loosely at his sides. A bulldog chin jutted out of his rough-hewn face as if it were going to snap off the head of the nearest cadet. He towered over Tom and Roger, and though shorter than Astro, he made up for this by sheer force of personality. When he spoke, his voice was like a deep foghorn that had suddenly learned the use of vowels.

  "So this is the great Polaris unit, eh?" he bellowed. "You're two minutes late!"

  Tom suddenly felt that he and his unit-mates were all alone in the corridor with the major. He glanced to one side, then the other, cautiously, and saw it was empty. And for good reason! No one wanted to be around when "Blast-off" Connel was blasting. Cadets, enlisted men, and even officers were not safe from his sudden outbursts. He drove himself so hard that he became impatient with others who were not able to match his drive. It was not because of ego but rather to get the job at hand finished. More than once he had dressed down a captain of the Solar Guard in the same tone he used on a green Earthworm. It was legend around the Academy that once, believing he was right, he had broken into the Council Chamber itself to argue his point. He won by a unanimous decision. Nothing, but nothing, had been devised or thought of that could stop "Blast-off" Connel. Every waking moment of his adult life had been spent in the pursuit of more and more knowledge about space, space travel, and life on the other planets.

  Now, his wrath at fever pitch at their being tardy, he stood in front of the cadets, turning his anger on Roger first.

  "Your name's Manning, isn't it?" he growled.

  "Yes, sir!" replied Roger.

  "Father got a medal—used to be a Solar Guard officer?"

  "That's right, sir. He was killed in space."

  "I know. He was a good man. You'll never be the man he was, if you live ten thousand years. But if you don't try to be a better man than he was, you won't live five minutes with me! Is that clear, Cadet Manning?"

  "Very clear, sir!" gulped Roger.

  Connel turned to Astro.

  "And you're the home-grown atomic-rocket genius, Venusian style, eh?"

  "Yes, sir," choked Astro. "I'm from Venus."

  "Bucked rockets on the old chemical burners as a kid before entering the Academy, eh?" asked Connel. There was less than an inch and a half between Astro's face and Major Connel's jaw.

  "Yes, sir," answered Astro, "I was an enlisted man before coming to the Academy."

  "Well, get this, you rocket buster," roared Connel. "I want a power deck that will give me what I want, when I want it, or you'll be back in the ranks again. Is that clear, Cadet Astro?"

  "Yes, sir! Everything she's got, when you want it, sir."

  "And I like to have a power deck clean enough to eat off the deck plates!"

  "Yes, sir," stuttered Astro, growing more and more confused. "You like to eat off the deck plates, sir!"

  "By the craters of Luna, no! I don't like to eat off the deck plates, but I want them clean enough to eat there if I want to!"

  "Yes, sir!" Astro's voice was hardly above a whisper.

  "And you're the tactical wizard that won the space maneuvers recently, singlehanded, eh?" asked Connel, bending down to face Tom.

  "Our side won, sir. If that answers your question," replied Tom. He was as nervous as Roger and Astro, but he fought for control. He was determined not to be bullied.

  "I didn't ask you who won!" snapped Connel. "But you're the one just the same. Control-deck cadet, eh? Well, you work with me. On the control deck there's only room for one brain, one decision, one answer. And when I'm on the control deck, that decision, answer, and brain will be mine!"

  "I understand perfectly, sir," said Tom tonelessly.

  Connel stepped back, fists on his hips, eying the three cadets. He had heard about their difficulty in fitting personalities together when they had first arrived at Space Academy (as described in Stand By for Mars!). And he had heard about their triumph over the Martian
desert. He was impressed with everything he had learned about them, but he knew that he had a reputation for being tough and that this reputation usually brought out the best in cadets. Early in his long and brilliant career he had learned that his life depended on the courage and ingenuity of his fellow spacemen. When he became an instructor at the Academy, he had determined that no cadet would ever be anything but the best, and that, when they blasted off in later years, they could be depended on.

  He looked at the three cadets and felt a tinge of excitement that did not show on his scowling face. "Yes," he thought, "they'll make spacemen. It'll take a little time—but they're good material."

  "Now listen to this!" he bawled. "We blast off for the Venus space station in exactly thirty minutes. Get your gear aboard the Polaris and stand by to raise ship." He dropped his voice and pushed out his jaw a little farther. "This will be the toughest journey you'll ever make. You'll either come back spacemen, or you'll come back nothing. I'm going to try my best to make it"—he paused and added coldly—"nothing! Because if you can't take it from me, then you don't belong in space! Unit dis-missed!"

  He turned on his heel and disappeared up the slidestairs without another look at the three rigid cadets.

  "Yeah—we'll educate him, all right," said Astro softly, with a wink at Tom. "Make him think he's done everything for us."

  "Ah, go blast your jets!" snarled Roger after he had found his voice.

  "Come on," said Tom. "Let's get the Polaris ready. And, fellows, I mean ready!"

  * * * * *

  Bill Loring and Al Mason stood near the entrance to the control tower of the Academy spaceport and watched the three cadets of the Polaris scramble into the giant rocket cruiser.

  "Every time I think about that Connel kicking us out of space for twelve months I wanta pound his head in with a wrench!" snarled Loring.

  Mason snorted. "Well, what's the use of hanging around here?" he asked. "That Connel wouldn't have us aboard the Polaris, even if we were cleared and had our papers. There ain't a thing we can do!"