Tom Corbett Space Cadet Page 3

  "You're washed out, cabbagehead!" Manning's whisper followed him. "Let's see if you can take it without bawling!"

  Tom's face burned and he fought an impulse to answer Manning with a stiff belt in the jaw. But he kept walking, reached his desk and sat down.

  Astro, the last to return to his desk, held the tube out in front of him as if it were alive. The room was silent as Dr. Dale rose from her desk.

  "All right now, boys," she announced. "Inside the tubes you will find colored slips of paper. Those of you who have red slips will remain here. Those who find green slips will return to their quarters. Blue will go with Captain Strong, orange with Lieutenant Saminsky, and purple with Warrant Officer McKenny. Now—please open the tubes."

  There was a tinkling of metal caps and then the slight rustle of paper as each boy withdrew the contents of the tube before him.

  Tom took a deep breath and felt inside for the paper. He held his breath and pulled it out. It was green. He didn't know what it meant. He looked around. Phil was signaling to him, holding up a blue slip. Tom's heart skipped a beat. Whatever the colors meant, he and Phil were apart. He quickly turned around and caught Astro's eye. The big Venusian held up a green slip. Tom's heart then nearly stopped beating. Phil, who had breezed through with such confidence, held a blue slip, and Astro, who hadn't even finished the test, held up the same color that he had. It could only mean one thing. Failure. He felt the tears welling in his eyes, but had no strength left to fight them back.

  He looked up, his eyes meeting the insolent stare of Roger Manning who was half turned in his seat. Remembering the caustic warning of the confident cadet, Tom fought back the flood in his eyes and glared back.

  What would he tell his mother? And his father? And Billy, his brother, five years younger than himself, whom he had promised to bring a flask of water from the Grand Canal on Mars. And his sister! Tom remembered the shining pride in her eyes when she kissed him good-bye at the Stratoport as he left for Atom City.

  From the front of the room, McKenny's rasping voice jarred him back to the present.

  "Cadets—staaaaaaaand to!"

  There was a shuffle of feet as the boys rose as one.

  "All the purple slips follow me," he roared and turned toward the door. The cadets with purple slips marched after him.

  Lieutenant Saminsky stepped briskly to the front of the room.

  "Cadets with orange slips will please come with me," he said casually, and another group of cadets left the room.

  From the rear of the room Captain Strong snapped out an order.

  "Blue slips will come with me!"

  He turned smartly and followed the last of Lieutenant Saminsky's cadets out of the room.

  Tom looked around. The room was nearly empty now. He looked over at Astro and saw his big friend slumped moodily over against his desk. Then, suddenly, he noticed Roger Manning. The arrogant cadet was not smiling any longer. He was staring straight ahead. Before him on the desk, Tom could see a green slip. So he had failed too, thought Tom grimly. It was poor solace for the misery he felt.

  Dr. Dale stepped forward again.

  "Will the cadets holding green slips return to their quarters. Those with red slips will remain in their seats," she announced.

  Tom found himself moving with difficulty. As he walked through the door, Astro joined him. A look more eloquent than words passed between them and they made their way silently up the slidestairs back to their quarters.

  Lying in his bunk, hands under his head, eyes staring into space, Tom asked, "What happens now?"

  Sprawled on his bunk, Astro didn't answer right away. He merely gulped and swallowed hard.

  "I—I don't know," he finally stammered. "I just don't know."

  "What'll you do?"

  "It's back to the hold of a Venusport freighter, I guess. I don't know." Astro paused and looked at Tom. "What'll you do?"

  "Go home," said Tom simply. "Go home and—and find a job."

  "Ever think about the enlisted Solar Guard? Look at McKenny—"

  "Yeah—but—"

  "I know how you feel," sighed Astro. "Being in the enlisted section—is like—well, being a passenger—almost."

  The door was suddenly flung open.

  "Haul off them bunks, you blasted Earthworms!"

  McKenny stood in the doorway in his usual aggressive pose, and Tom and Astro hit the floor together to stand at attention.

  "Where's the other cadet?"

  "He went with Captain Strong, sir." answered Tom.

  "Oh?" said Mike. And in a surprisingly soft tone he added, "You two pulled green slips, eh?"

  "Yes, sir," they replied together.

  "Well, I don't know how you did it, but congratulations. You passed the classification tests. Both of you."

  Tom just looked at the scarlet-clad, stumpy warrant officer. He couldn't believe his ears. Suddenly he felt as if he had been lifted off his feet. And then he realized that he was off his feet. Astro was holding him over his head. Then he dumped him in his bunk as easily as if he had been a child. And at the same time, the big Venusian let out a loud, long, earsplitting yell.

  McKenny matched him with his bull-like roar.

  "Plug that foghorn, you blasted Earthworm. You'll have the whole Academy in here thinking there's a murder."

  By this time Tom was on his feet again, standing in front of McKenny.

  "You mean, we made it? We're really in? We're cadets?"

  "That's right." McKenny looked at a clip board in his hand and read, "Cadet Corbett, Tom. Qualified for control deck. Cadet Astro. Power deck."

  Astro took a deep breath and started another yell, but before he could let go, McKenny clamped a big hand over his mouth.

  "You bellow like that again and I'll make meteor dust out of you!"

  Astro gulped and then matched Tom's grin with one that spread from ear to ear.

  "What happened to Philip Morgan?" asked Tom.

  "What color slip did he have?"

  "Blue."

  "Anything besides green washed out," replied Mike quickly. "Now let's see, you have a replacement for Morgan in this unit. An astrogator."

  "Greetings, gentlemen," drawled a voice that Tom recognized without even looking. "Allow me to introduce myself to my new unit-mates. My name is Manning—Roger Manning. But then, we're old friends, aren't we?"

  "Stow that rocket wash, Manning," snapped Mike. He glanced at the clock over the door. "You have an hour and forty-five minutes until lunch time. I suggest you take a walk around the Academy and familiarize yourselves with the arrangement of the buildings."

  And then, for the first time, Tom saw the hard little spaceman smile.

  "I'm glad you made it, boys. All three of you." He paused and looked at each of them in turn. "And I can honestly say I'm looking forward to the day when I can serve under you!"

  He snapped his back straight, gave the three startled boys a crisp salute, executed a perfect about-face and marched out of the room.

  "And that," drawled Roger, strolling to the bunk nearest the window, "is the corniest bit of space gas I've ever heard."

  "Listen, Manning!" growled Astro, spinning around quickly to face him.

  "Yeah," purred Roger, his eyes drawn to fine points, hands hanging loosely at his sides. "What would you like me to listen to, Cadet Astro?"

  The hulking cadet lunged at Manning, but Tom quickly stepped between them.

  "Stow it, both of you!" he shouted. "We're in this room together, so we might as well make the best of it."

  "Of course, Corbett—of course," replied Manning easily. He turned his back on Astro, who stood, feet wide apart, neck muscles tight and hands clenched in hamlike fists.

  "One of these days I'll break you in two, Manning. I'll close that fast-talking mouth of yours for good!"

  Astro's voice was a low growl. Roger stood near the window port and appeared to have forgotten the incident.

  The light shining in from the hallway darkened, and
Tom turned to see three blue-clad senior cadets arranged in a row just inside the door.

  "Congratulations, gentlemen. You're now qualified cadets of Space Academy," said a redheaded lad about twenty-one. "My name is Al Dixon," he turned to his left and right, "and these are cadets Bill Houseman and Rodney Withrop."

  "Hiya," replied Tom. "Glad to know you. I'm Tom Corbett. This is Astro—and Roger Manning."

  Astro shook hands, the three senior cadets giving a long glance at the size of the hand he offered. Roger came forward smartly and shook hands with a smile.

  "We're sorta like a committee," began Dixon. "We've come to sign you up for the Academy sports program."

  They made themselves comfortable in the room.

  "You have a chance to take part in three sports. Free-fall wrestling, mercuryball and space chess." Dixon glanced at Houseman and Withrop. "From the looks of Cadet Astro, free-fall wrestling should be child's play for him!"

  Astro merely grinned.

  "Mercuryball is pretty much like the old game of soccer," explained Houseman. "But inside the ball is a smaller ball filled with mercury, making it take crazy dips and turns. You have to be pretty fast even to touch it."

  "Sounds like you have to be a little Mercurian yourself," smiled Tom.

  "You do," replied Dixon. "Oh, yes, you three play as a unit. Competition starts in a few days. So if you've never played before, you might go down to the gym and start practicing."

  "You mentioned space chess," asked Roger. "What's that?"

  "It's really nothing more than maneuvers. Space maneuvers," said Dixon. "A glass case, a seven-foot cube, is divided by light shafts into smaller cubes of equal shape and size. Each man has a complete space squadron. Three model rocket cruisers, six destroyers and ten scouts. The ships are filled with gas to make them float, and your power is derived from magnetic force. The problem is to get a combination of cruisers and destroyers and scouts into a space section where it could knock out your opponent's ships."

  "You mean," interrupted Astro, "you've got to keep track of all those ships at once?"

  "Don't worry, Astro," commented Roger quickly. "You use your muscles to win for dear old 42-D in free-fall wrestling. Corbett here can pound down the grassy field for a goal in mercuryball, and I'll do the brainwork of space chess."

  The three visiting cadets exchanged sharp glances.

  "Everybody plays together, Manning," said Dixon. "You three take part in each sport as a unit."

  "Of course," nodded Roger. "Of course—as a unit."

  The three cadets stood up, shook hands all around and left. Tom immediately turned to Manning.

  "What was the idea of that crack about brains?"

  Manning slouched over to the window port and said over his shoulder, "I don't know how you and your king-sized friend here passed the classifications test, Corbett, and I don't care. But, as you say, we're a unit. So we might as well make adjustments."

  He turned to face them with a cold stare.

  "I know this Academy like the palm of my hand," he went on. "Never mind how, just take it for granted. I know it. I'm here for the ride. For a special reason I wouldn't care to have you know. I'll get my training and then pull out."

  He took a step forward, his face a mask of bitterness.

  "So from now on, you two guys leave me alone. You bore me to death with your emotional childish allegiance to this—this"—he paused and spit the last out cynically—"space kindergarten!"

  CHAPTER 3

  "I just can't understand it, Joan," said Captain Steve Strong, tossing the paper on his circular desk. "The psychographs of Corbett, Manning and Astro fit together like gears. And yet—"

  The Solar Guard officer suddenly rose and walked over to a huge window that filled the entire north wall of his office, a solid sheet of glass that extended from the high domed ceiling to the translucent flooring. Through the window, he stared down moodily toward the grassy quadrangle, where at the moment several hundred cadets were marching in formation under a hot sun.

  "—And yet," continued Strong, "every morning for the last three weeks I've got a report from McKenny about some sort of friction between them!"

  "I think it'll work out, Steve," answered the pretty girl in the uniform of the Solar Guard, seated in an easy chair on the other side of the desk.

  Joan Dale held the distinction of being the first woman ever admitted into the Solar Guard, in a capacity other than administrative work. Her experiments in atomic fissionables was the subject of a recent scientific symposium held on Mars. Over fifty of the leading scientists of the Solar Alliance had gathered to study her latest theory on hyperdrive, and had unanimously declared her ideas valid. She had been offered the chair as Master of Physics at the Academy as a result, giving her access to the finest laboratory in the tri-planet society.

  Now facing the problem of personality adjustment in Unit 42-D, she sat across the desk from her childhood friend, Steve Strong, and frowned.

  "What's happened this time?"

  "Manning." He paused. "It seems to be all Manning!"

  "You mean he's the more aggressive of the three?"

  "No—not necessarily. Corbett shows signs of being a number-one spaceman. And that big cadet, Astro"—Strong flashed a white smile that contrasted with his deep space tan—"I don't think he could make a manual mistake on the power deck if he tried. You know, I actually saw him put an auxiliary rocket motor together blindfolded!"

  The pretty scientist smiled. "I could have told you that after one look at his classification tests."

  "How?"

  "On questions concerning the power-deck operations, he was letter perfect—"

  "And on the others? Astrogation and control deck?"

  "He just skimmed by. But even where the problem involved fuel, power, supply of energy, he offered some very practical answer to the problem." She smiled. "Astro is as much an artist on that power deck as Liddy Tamal doing Juliet in the stereos."

  "Yes," mused Strong. "And Corbett is the same on the control deck. Good instinctive intelligence. That boy soaks up knowledge like a sponge."

  "Facile mind—quick to grasp the essentials." She smiled again. "Seems to me I remember a few years back when a young lieutenant successfully put down a mutiny in space, and at his promotion to captain, the citation included the fact that he was quick to grasp the essentials."

  Strong grinned sheepishly. A routine flight to Titan had misfired into open rebellion by the crew. Using a trick picked up in ancient history books of sea-roving pirates in the seventeenth century, he had joined the mutiny, gained control of the ship, sought out the ring-leaders and restored discipline.

  "And Manning," asked Strong. "What about Manning?"

  "One of the hardest, brightest minds I've come across in the Academy. He has a brain like a steel trap. He never misses."

  "Then, do you think he's acting up because Corbett is the nominal head of the unit? Does he feel that he should be the command cadet in the control deck instead of Corbett?"

  "No," replied Dr. Dale. "Not at all. I'm sure he intentionally missed problems about control deck and command in his classification test. He concentrated on astrogation, communications and signal radar. He wanted to be assigned to the radar deck. And he turned in the best paper I've ever read from a cadet to get the post."

  Strong threw up his hands. "Then what is it? Here we have a unit, on paper at least, that could be number one. A good combination of brains, experience and knowledge. Everything that's needed. And what is the result? Friction!"

  Suddenly a buzzer sounded, and on Steve Strong's desk a small teleceiver screen glowed into life. Gradually the stern face of Commander Walters emerged.

  "Sorry to disturb you, Steve. Can you spare me a minute?"

  "Of course, Commander," replied Strong. "Is anything wrong?"

  "Very wrong, Steve. I've been looking over the daily performance reports on Unit 42-D."

  "Dr. Dale and I have just been discussing that situati
on, sir." A relieved expression passed over the commander's face.

  "Good! I wanted to get your opinions before I broke up the unit."

  "No, sir!" said Strong quickly. "Don't do that!"

  "Oh?" replied the commander. On the screen he could be seen settling back in his chair.

  "And why not?"

  "Well, Joan—er—Dr. Dale and myself feel that the boys of Unit 42-D make it potentially the best in the Academy—if they stay together, sir."

  Walters considered this for a moment and then asked thoughtfully, "Give me one good reason why the unit shouldn't be washed out."

  "The academy needs boys like this, sir," Steve answered flatly. "Needs their intelligence, their experience. They may be a problem now, but if they're handled right, they'll turn out to be ace spacemen, they'll—"

  The commander interrupted. "You're pretty sold on them, aren't you, Steve?"

  "Yes, sir, I am."

  "You know, tomorrow all the units will be assigned to their personal instructors."

  "Yes, sir. And I've selected Lieutenant Wolcheck for this unit. He's tough and smart. I think he's just the man for the job."

  "I don't agree, Steve. Wolcheck is a fine officer and with any other unit there'd be no question. But I think we have a better man for the job."

  "Whom do you suggest, sir?"

  The commander leaned forward in his chair.

  "You, Steve."

  "Me?"

  "What do you think, Joan?"

  "I wanted to make the same suggestion, Commander," smiled Joan. "But I didn't know if Steve really would want the assignment."

  "Well, what about it, Steve?" asked the commander. "This is no reflection on your present work. But if you're so convinced that 42-D is worth the trouble, then take them over and mold them into spacemen. Otherwise, I'll have to wash them out."

  Strong hesitated a moment. "All right, sir. I'll do my best."

  On the screen the stern lines in Commander Walters' face relaxed and he smiled approvingly.