With double guards around the hangar area and even tighter security restrictions than before, the unknown saboteur was unable to attack the precious ship again. But he struck elsewhere. The single track monorail that Barret had run into the area was blocked by an explosion in the mouth of the tunnel. Nearly a thousand tons of rock and earth had fallen on the hangar side, blocking delivery of vital equipment.

With powerful earth-moving machinery, the tunnel was cleared of the heavy rocks and dirt, and all that remained was a general cleaning up, and the enlisted man's work gangs had been assigned to that job.

Nearly a hundred tough, battle-scarred spacemen from the enlisted ranks of the Solar Guard worked in the area, stripped to the waist, their bodies burned brown from the sun. Sent to the work gang for petty offenses, rather than for criminal acts, the enlisted men as a whole did not mind the work. They were under guard, watched by a squad of Space Marines armed with paralo-ray guns, but there was no attempt to make the men feel as if they were criminals. Most of the sentences were short, usually running from five to thirty days, with some extreme cases serving as long as three months. But no one had ever remembered a Space Cadet working on the squad, and particularly for six months! It was an extraordinary situation and the guards, as well as the men on the work details, sympathized with Roger and Astro. They realized that nothing really serious had been done, or the boys would have been sent to the prison asteroid, where all true criminals were sent. So a true spirit of comradeship developed between the cadets and the enlisted men.

When Captain Strong arrived to speak to Roger and Astro, he found them in the tunnel, working as a team of a shoveler and a sweeper. Roger would sweep up a little pile of dirt and Astro would shovel it into a handcart nearby.

"All right, you Venusian pug!" bawled Roger. "Police the joint!"

Astro scooped up the little pile of dirt neatly and deposited it in the truck.

"Manning, what made the spaceship cross to Pluto?" he asked.

"To get to the other side of the universe," said Roger.

"All right," interrupted Strong. "If you two will cut out the comedy, I'd like to talk to you."

"Captain Strong!" yelled Roger. "Hey, fellas! Look!" He turned to the other men on the work gang. "We're special characters! See? We have visitors during working hours!"

Strong laughed with the others, and then motioning for Roger and Astro to follow him, walked to an isolated corner of the tunnel.

"How is it going?" he asked.

"Fine, sir," said Roger. "We have no complaints."

"Yeah," chimed in Astro with a grin. "The food is better here than at the Academy!"

"Give this Venusian bum a good kitchen and he'd go to the Rock!" Roger laughed.

Strong noted their lean, brown bodies and decided that a little work in the sun with a pick and shovel had done them good. But six months of it would interfere with their work at the Academy and could hold them back.

He told them of the work he had been doing to have their case renewed by the Solar Guard Review Board and asked them for any special details in their relationship with Barret that might lend weight to his plea for outright pardon, rather than just a commutation of sentence. He wanted it clear on their records that they had been accused unjustly, and that, therefore, their sentence was an error.

But neither Astro nor Roger could add anything to what the young captain already knew. He finally turned to leave, cautioning them both to stay out of trouble, especially Roger.

"Manning," he warned, "your mouth is your big weakness. I'm detailing Astro to make sure it stays closed!"

"You see?" gloated Astro. "You see who the captain trusts!"

"Listen, you big bum!" began Roger angrily, then stopped and grinned. "O.K., Captain Strong, I'll keep on the ball."

"You'd better," Astro interrupted, "or I'll stand you on your head!"

With a pat on the back, Strong left them. Just as he was about to leave the tunnel, Roger called after him:

"Have you heard anything about Tom, sir?"

"Not a word," replied Strong grimly. "So far as I know, he's still on Mars."

"A—a fugitive?" asked Astro.

"Yes, Astro. The Solar Guard is still looking for him."

Strong watched the two cadets turn back to their work dejectedly, and then, sighing with weariness, he headed back to the slidewalk. In the morning he would check the reports of the Security Section for word of Tom. Then he squared his shoulders determinedly. He would check them now!

He could not go to bed yet. Not while Tom was still missing and while Astro and Roger were on the work gang. He would not sleep until they were free and the Polaris unit was together again out in space!

* * * * *

Tom Corbett was also unable to sleep. He had spent the night in the village hotel tossing and turning, his mind seething with plans to aid Roger and Astro.

Finally, at dawn, he got up and sneaked out of the hotel. Avoiding the convenience of the monorail, he struck out on foot over the rugged countryside for Space Academy. He had a plan, but the plan required that he talk to Roger and Astro first, and then to Captain Strong, but it had to be done secretly. He realized that his knowledge of the identity of the saboteur would be a more effective weapon if everyone still believed he was on Mars.

After getting close enough to the Academy to use the slidewalk system crisscrossing the huge area, he loitered on the crowded platforms which connected the hangar, the Academy, and the spaceport. He kept his coat collar high and his civilian hat pulled low over his eyes.

He was on the main slidewalk, moving toward the Tower building, when his eyes picked out the familiar close-cropped blond hair of Roger and the unmistakable bulk of Astro on the walk leading to the hangar. Changing at the slidewalk intersection, he took off after them, hoping he would not be noticed in the crowd of civilian workers. Roger and Astro were carrying tools over their shoulders and were lagging behind the main body of workers moving toward a huge tunnel opening. Tom saw his chance and moved up quickly beside them.

"Keep walking and don't show surprise!" he whispered sharply.

But it was too much to ask. Astro and Roger jumped in surprise and let out involuntary shouts of joy, which attracted the attention of the guards. They noticed the stranger in civilian clothes and stared at him.

"Tom!" exclaimed Roger. "What the devil are you—?"

"Sh!" hissed Tom. "We haven't got much time." He saw one of the guards turn and stare at him. "Listen to me," he continued quickly. "I've got important dope about the saboteur!"

"How?" gasped Astro.

"Never mind," replied Tom. "Now, to nail him, I've got to get him into the act! I need proof!"

"But who is it?" asked Roger.

"I can't tell you now. Here comes the guard. Are you going to be working around here long?"

"At least another three days," said Roger. "But who—?"

Roger noticed the guard move up to them and he suddenly straightened up and snorted derisively, "Yeah. But why a guy should want to join the Solar Guard is more than I can see. You must be wacky, mister!"

He and Astro walked away, and after a hesitant look at Tom, the guard followed the two cadets. Tom boarded the slidewalk heading back toward the Academy. So far, so good. He knew where his unit mates were, but up ahead, in the gleaming Tower of Galileo, was his second target, Captain Strong. His skipper had to listen to him, had to be sympathetic and help him catch the saboteur. It was the only way Tom could clear his own name and free Roger and Astro.



CHAPTER 15

"Scott!"

"Here!" bellowed a grizzled spaceman in reply to Major Connel's call.

"Augutino!"

"Here!"

"Jones!

"Present!"

"Smith!"

"Here!"

"Albert!"

"Here!"

Connel checked the last name on the clipboard and turned to Professor Hemmingwell standing beside him at the base of the ship. "All present and ready, sir."

"Fine!" said the professor. He turned and looked around. "Where is Dave?"

"Here he comes now," said Connel.

They both watched Barret stride toward them, his arms loaded with gear.

"This is the stuff I told you about, Professor," he said as Hemmingwell looked at it curiously.

"What stuff?" asked Connel.

"Portable heaters for the crew's space suits, just in case—" Barret paused meaningfully.

"In case of what?" growled Connel.

"Why, ask them!" replied Barret, gesturing toward the group of civilian crewmen who had been selected for the test flight of the spaceship.

Connel turned to look at them, then back at Barret. "Ask them what?" he barked.

"How they feel about making this flight," said Barret.

Connel scowled and turned to the men. "Is there anything to what he says?" he demanded.

The men shuffled their feet nervously but did not reply.

"Well?" exploded Connel.

"See, they're afraid of you, Connel," said Barret, deliberately omitting the courtesy of using the major's title.

Ignoring Barret's thrust, Connel continued to face the men. "Is that right, men?" he shouted. "Are you afraid of me?"

There was a mumble from the group and then the man named Scott, a thick-set individual with black flashing eyes, stepped forward.

"Speaking for myself," he said, looking straight at the major, "I'm not afraid of anything that walks. And that includes you, Major Connel. No offense meant, it's just a statement of fact." He paused and drew a deep breath. Then he added, "But I am afraid of this ship."

"Why?" demanded Connel, who could not help admiring the man for his straightforward approach.

"She's junk-jinxed," said the man, using the expression of spacemen who believed a ship with a suspicious accident record should be junked because it was jinxed.

"Junk-jinxed!" cried Connel, amazed.

"Preposterous," snorted Professor Hemmingwell. "Why, you helped build this ship, Scotty! Do you doubt the work you've put into her? Or the work of your friends?"

"That has nothing to do with it," replied Scott stubbornly. "The others feel the same way I do."

Barret stepped forward. Arrogantly and before Connel could stop him, he began addressing the men. "Listen, you men!" he shouted. "You're being childish! Why, you built this ship! How can you possibly allow yourselves to be so stupid as to believe in an idiotic thing like a jinx. Now, why don't you just get aboard and stop being so ridiculously superstitious!"

Connel could have reached out with one of his big hands and squeezed Barret's neck to shut him up. Instead of allaying their fears, which even he would admit were real enough, the man was creating further resentment with his attack on their pride as thinking, reasoning men.

"All right, all right!" he bellowed. "That's enough for now, Mister Barret!" He turned to the men and he could tell by the expressions on their faces that he had lost them. They would not take the ship aloft. But he had to try.

"Now listen," he growled. "This is a very important project and someone has been trying to get us to wash out the whole idea. If you don't come through, he'll succeed. You are the best men in your fields, and if each of you attend to your particular job, then the ship will blast off and be a success! Now, how about it?"

He was met with the stony faces of men who were afraid. Nothing he could say or offer them would get them to take the ship off the ground. He tried a new tack. "I'm offering you double wages!" he roared.

The men were silent.

"Double wages and a bonus!"

Silence.

"All right! Beat it!" he growled. "Don't ever show your faces around here again!"

Connel turned to Professor Hemmingwell. "I'll see if I can't muster a crew from the ranks of the Solar Guard," he said.

"Major," said the professor, his face worn and haggard from the long ordeal of completing the project, "I wouldn't want men ordered to man this vessel."

"They're in the Solar Guard and they take orders," said Connel.

"No," persisted Hemmingwell. "I will not let a man on that ship that does not want to go. Remember, Major, it is still my personal property."

"All right," said Connel grimly. "I'll see if I can recruit a crew from the civilian workers around the Academy."

But Major Connel encountered the same superstitious dread everywhere. The word had spread that the projectile ship was jinxed. Old tales of other ships that had gone out into space, never to be heard of again, were recalled, and the men found instances of similar prelaunching happenings on the projectile ship. Very little of it was true, of course. The stories were half-truths and legends that had been handed down through generations of spacemen, but they seemed to have special significance now.

Connel fumed and ranted, threatened and cajoled, begged and pleaded, but it was no use. There was not a man in the Academy who would set foot inside the "jinxed" ship. Finally, in a last desperate attempt, he ignored Hemmingwell's order and appealed to Commander Walters.

"No, Lou. I cannot order men to take that ship up," Commander Walters replied, "and you know it!"

"Why not?" argued Connel. "You're the commander, aren't you?"

"I most certainly am," asserted Walters, "and if I want to get other things done in the Solar Guard, I can't order men to take a jinxed ship off the ground." He looked at Connel narrowly. "Do you remember the old freighter, the Spaceglow?" he asked.

Connel frowned but didn't reply.

"You were mate on that ship before you enlisted in the Solar Guard," persisted Walters. "And I read the log of your first trip when you wrote, and I quote, 'There seems to be some mysterious and unanswerable condition aboard this vessel that makes her behave as if she had human intelligence....'"

"That has nothing to do with this situation!" roared Connel.

"They're alike! You couldn't get a crew on that wagon in any port of call from Venus to Jupiter!"

"But we found out what was wrong with her eventually!"

"Yes, but the legend still exists that the Spaceglow had intelligence of its own!" asserted Walters.

"All right," snorted Connel. "So we have to fight superstition! But, blast it, Commander, we're faced with a saboteur. There's nothing supernatural or mysterious about a man with a bomb!"

Connel turned abruptly and walked out of the commander's office, more furious than Walters had ever seen him.

Back at the hangar, Connel faced the professor. It was a tough thing to tell the elderly man, and Connel, for all his hard exterior, could easily appreciate the professor's feelings. After many years of struggle to convince die-hard bankers of the soundness of his Space Projectile plan, followed by sabotage and costly work stoppages, it was heart-rending to have a "jinx" finally stop him.

"I'm sorry," said Connel, "but that's the way things are, Professor."

"I understand, Major," replied Hemmingwell wearily. He turned away, shoulders slumping, and walked back to his tiny office in the shadow of the mighty ship that was anchored on the ground.

"May I speak to you a moment, Major?" a voice broke the silence in the hangar.

Connel turned around slowly. "You!" he exclaimed. "If it hadn't been for you and your big mouth, this ship might be in space right now!"

"Stop blowing your jets!" snapped Dave Barret. "I want to see this ship in space as badly as you do. Perhaps even more so. But listen, I'm not afraid of the jinx. Neither are you, nor is Professor Hemmingwell. We're spacemen. And we know the operation of every piece of equipment on that ship. What's to prevent us from taking her up?"

Connel looked at the young man, immediately recognizing the value of his suggestion. He nodded his head curtly. "All right," he said. "I'll take you up on that."

Barret grinned, stuck out his hand, and after a friendly shake turned and ran to the professor's office. Connel walked back to the outside of the hangar and began bellowing orders for the giant ship to be brought out to the blast ramp and prepared for the blast-off.



But Dave Barret did not go directly to Professor Hemmingwell's office. He made one stop. Looking around quickly to make sure that he was not observed, he slipped into the teleceiver booth and made a hurried call to an Atom City number. When a gruff voice answered, he merely said three words:

"It's all set!"

* * * * *

Roger and Astro were some distance away from the main gang, working at the tunnel mouth overlooking the hangar area.

"Look, Astro," said Roger. "They're bringing out the ship. They must be ready to blast off!"



Astro stopped his work momentarily and stared as the huge ship was inched out of the hangar, resting on her tail fins, her nose pointing skyward.

"I'd sure like to be bucking the power deck on that baby," sighed Astro.

"Yeah, and I'd give my eyeteeth to see that radar deck," said Roger. "It must be really something with all the gear to control those projectiles when they're released."

"Do you believe any of that talk about her being jinxed?" asked Astro.

"Stop being a Venusian lunkhead!" snorted Roger. "The only thing wrong with that ship is a rocket-blasting clever saboteur."

"You know," said Astro, "I've been thinking."

"Don't strain yourself," snorted Roger. But when Astro failed to reply in kind, the blond-haired cadet realized he was serious. "What is it?" he asked.

"Why, in the name of the moons of Mars, would Barret want to do the things he did to us?"

"Simple," said Roger, beginning to sweep industriously as he saw the guard walking toward them. "He didn't like the way we manhandled him."

"You think he was just getting even with us?" asked Astro, also resuming work.

"What else?" asked Roger. "We made him look pretty silly. And that was no love tap I gave him that night we caught him in the hangar."

"That's what I mean," said Astro. "I know Major Connel said he was supposed to be there. But with that teleceiver conversation I overheard and all the rest—well, I just don't get it," he concluded lamely.

"You'll get it in the neck if you don't watch out," said Roger. "Here comes Spike and he doesn't like to see us loafing!"

The two cadets worked steadily for ten minutes, and when the guard finally walked away, they paused to watch the big ship again.

"I wonder what Tom is up to?" said Roger thoughtfully. "He said he knew who the saboteur was, but he needed help to prove it."

"I'd give a full year's leave just to get my hands on that guy for ten minutes," said Astro.

"Yeah," grunted Roger. "Well, come on, hot-shot, we still got a lot of cleaning to do."

They returned to their work, but even then, as they watched the preparations for the take-off of the big ship, they both thought about Tom. They knew his problems were as difficult as their own, and with much more at stake. If Tom failed in his efforts to catch the saboteur, it could very well mean the end of the Polaris unit.



CHAPTER 16

"Bump-ty—bump-ty—bump-ty—"

Tom Corbett's heart beat with such rapid, heavy drumming that the young cadet felt as though it was going to tear itself right out of his chest.

For nearly six hours Tom had lain in wait in Galaxy Hall, the museum of Space Academy, on the second floor of the Tower building. He was hiding in the tail section of the Space Queen, the first rocket ship to breach space safely, blasting from Earth to Luna and back again. He had kept watch through a crack in the hull of the old ship, waiting for the lights to go out, a signal that the Academy had bedded down for the night.

Now, in the silence of the museum, surrounded by the ancient objects that traced man's progress to the stars, Tom felt like crying. For as long as he had been at the Academy, he had revered these crude, frail objects and wondered if he would ever match the bravery of the men who used them. Now, unless his plan was successful, he would be finished as a cadet and the dream of being an officer in the Solar Guard would vanish forever.

The Tower building had been quiet for over an hour. Tom had not heard any voices or movement other than the evenly paced steps of the guards patrolling their lonely beats outside.



He slipped out of the antiquated ship, and staying well in the shadows, moved out into the corridor to the head of the slidestairs. He peered over the railing to the main floor below and saw Warrant Officer Mike McKenny through the open door of a small office, seated at his desk, watching an evening stereo program. The young cadet jumped on the stairs quickly and rode the moving belt of plastic to the upper floors where the officers' quarters were located.

Tom was in great danger of discovery. No civilian was allowed on Academy grounds after taps. And he was still wearing the civilian clothes he had taken from the suitcase on the passenger ship from Mars. Silently but swiftly, he made his way from level to level toward the seventy-fifth floor.

He knew that there would be a guard stationed in the halls outside the officers' apartments and it would be impossible to elude him. He would simply have to brazen it out.

At the seventy-fifth floor the young cadet stepped off the slidestairs noisily, his heels clicking on the dark crystal floor, and strode down the hall. He was immediately seen by the guard who advanced to meet him, his ray gun at the ready. Tom was prepared.

"Guard!" he yelled.

The guard stopped in front of him, a puzzled look on his face. "Yes?" he replied.

"Sir!" snapped Tom. "Show me where Captain Strong's quarters are and be quick about it!"

"But who are—?" The guard started to protest, but Tom did not give him the chance to finish.

"Don't stand there like an idiot, man! Move!"

"Uhh—yes, sir," stammered the guard, obviously taken aback.

"Lead the way," continued Tom loudly. "I haven't much time."

"Yes, sir, but would you mind lowering your voice, sir? Some of the officers are asleep, sir."

"Well, get on then and stop jabbering!"

The guard turned quickly and started down the hall. Tom followed, hardly able to keep from smiling at the man's frustration and confusion.

They stopped at the door to Captain Strong's quarters and the guard rapped softly.

"Yes?" came a muffled voice from inside.

"Someone to see you, sir," called the guard.

"Just a moment."

The guard stepped to one side and stood at rigid attention. When the door opened and Captain Strong was revealed, Tom brushed past the guard and stepped into the room, talking quickly.

"My name is Hinkleworth, Captain," he announced. "I am here at the request of Commissioner Jessup to discuss the installation of new radar equipment on all Solar Guard rocket cruisers!"

Tom slammed the door closed behind him and turned to face the astonished Solar Guard officer.

"What in the star-blazing—?" Strong began angrily.

"It's me, Captain Strong!" Tom said quickly, pulling his hat off and lowering his collar.

"Corbett!" gasped Strong, taking an involuntary step back, his face mirroring his disbelief.

"Sh!" whispered the boy, motioning to the door. Recovering his composure, Strong swept past him, opened the door, and found the guard still standing there at attention.

"All right, Corporal," said Strong. "Resume your station."

"Yes, sir," replied the guard and walked down the hall. Strong watched him for a moment, then turned back into his room, closing and locking the door behind him. He faced the young cadet, who grinned back at him weakly.

"All right, spaceboy," said Strong, flopping in the nearest chair. "Start at the beginning and give it to me. All of it!"

Tom began his story with the incident of the runaway truck at Marsport, told of his abduction and escape from the two truckers, Cag and Monty, his efforts to reach Space Academy, and finally revealed the identity of the man he thought was responsible for the whole effort to stop the projectile operation.

At this, Strong jumped to his feet. "That's the most fantastic thing I've ever heard, Corbett!" he snapped. "What kind of proof do you have?"

"None, sir," replied Tom. "The only reason I came here tonight is to ask you to help me get that proof."

When Strong was silent, shaking his head, Tom tried again.

"Sir, you do believe me, don't you?" asked the boy with a sinking feeling in his heart. "What about all the things that have happened to me and to Roger and Astro?"

"I can explain them away just as easily as you can explain your theory," replied Strong. He walked over and patted the cadet on the shoulder sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Tom," he said gently. "Your story is just too fantastic and you haven't even the slightest shred of evidence. Just a few words an unreliable witness said under duress."

"I realize that, sir," replied the cadet. "But don't you see? This is the only way to clear my name."

Strong turned to the window, looked out thoughtfully for a moment, and then turned back to the boy. "How do you think I can help you?" he said, a more sympathetic note in his voice.

His eyes bright with hope again, Tom spoke quickly and eagerly. The Solar Guard captain calmly packed his pipe and lighted it, stopping the boy now and then to ask a question. Finally, when Tom was finished, Strong nodded and silently puffed at his pipe.

"Well, sir?" asked Tom eagerly.

"I don't know, Tom," replied Strong. "It's a pretty wild idea. And it leaves me way out on a limb."

"Only if we fail, sir," said Tom.

"Which is more than likely," Strong commented dryly.

"Captain Strong," said Tom, "if you really don't think it can work, then I suggest that you call the guard and turn me in. I've put you in enough trouble already." Tom moved to the door.

"Stop playing the hero, Corbett," said Strong. "I didn't say I wouldn't help you. But we have to think this thing out."

Tom sat down, eying Strong hopefully.

"Now, let me get this straight," said Strong. "First you want me to help Astro and Roger escape from the work gang. All right, that may work easily enough. But why?"

"So we can get aboard the projectile ship and go through her tests with her."

"I suppose you've heard that Connel, Professor Hemmingwell, and Dave Barret are going to take her up."

"Yes, sir," Tom replied, grinning. "That's why I want to go along. To make sure no more accidents happen."

"I could send a squad of Space Marines for that kind of job," mused Strong.

"But that would alert Barret," protested Tom. "He might not try anything. If he doesn't suspect he's being watched, we may be able to catch him in the act. And he certainly wouldn't think the three of us are aboard."

"Hum. Maybe you're right," nodded Strong. "Then after I get you three on the ship, I'm supposed to spend my time trailing your prize suspect, right?"

"Yes, sir," nodded the young cadet.

"I'll have to give it consideration, Tom," said Strong after a momentary pause. "As much as I admire your plan and as much as I want to help you, this places me in a highly untenable position. Have you stopped to think what would happen to me if it were ever known that I had sheltered you here in my quarters and aided in the escape of two convicted cadets from the work gang?"

"Yes, sir," replied Tom soberly. "And—all I can say is I'll do whatever you think is best."

"Well, get some sleep now," sighed Strong. "I've got to make a tour of the guard."

Without another word, Tom went into Captain Strong's bedroom and fell asleep thirty seconds after his head hit the pillow. His last waking thought was that if his plan had any merit Captain Strong would help him.

Steve Strong did not leave his quarters immediately. He sat in the easy chair and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe until there was nothing left in the burnt and charred bowl. Then he rose and left the room to make his rounds. He walked slowly through the hollow, empty hallways of the Tower building, riding up and down the slidestairs, speaking curtly to the guards, and finally walked out on the wide steps facing the grassy quadrangle.

Strong glanced up at the sky. He counted the stars he could see and he remembered that as a boy of eight he knew the names and positions of every one. He recalled his entrance to the Academy as a cadet and how his unit instructor had guided him and taught him the many things a spaceman must know. He thought of his long tour as a line officer in the Solar Guard fleet under Commander Walters, then a major, and he remembered his brother officers, many of whom were now dead. There was one thing they all had in common, one thing that overshadowed all personal differences. One thing that was almost like a religion. Comradeship. A feeling of belonging, a knowledge that there was always someone who would believe in you and your ideas.

One thing. Friendship.

Captain Strong spun on his heel, walked back into the Tower, and rode the slidestairs back to his quarters. He had made up his mind.



CHAPTER 17

"Stand by to raise ship!"

Connel's bull-throated roar blasted through the intercom of the gleaming projectile ship from the power deck where Dave Barret was stationed, up to the radar bridge where Professor Hemmingwell waited anxiously.

On the main deck, seated at the controls, Connel spoke rapidly into the audioceiver microphone. "Projectile vessel to spaceport traffic control," he called. "Request blast-off clearance!"

"Spaceport traffic control to Connel," came a voice in reply over the audioceiver. "You are cleared. Your time is two minutes to zero!"

Connel began snapping the many levers and switches on the control panel in proper sequence, keeping a wary eye on the astral chronometer over his head as one of its red hands ticked off the seconds to blast-off.

The teleceiver screen to his right showed a view of the stern of the vessel and Connel could see some of the ground crew slowly rolling away the boarding equipment. Flipping on the switch that opened a circuit to an outside loud-speaker, he bellowed an order for the area to be cleared. The crew scurried back behind the blast deflectors and watched the ship through the thick crystal viewports.

"Power deck," Connel called into the intercom, "check in!"

"Power deck, aye!" reported Barret.

"Radar deck, check in!"

"Radar deck, aye!" Professor Hemmingwell acknowledged in a thin voice.

"Feed reactant!" Connel ordered.

"Reactant feeding at D-9 rate," said Barret after a split-second pause.

"Energize cooling pumps!"

"Cooling pumps, aye!"

"Cut in take-off gyros!"

"Gyros on," repeated Barret.

"All clear forward and up!" replied the elderly man.

"Right!" bawled Major Connel. "Stand by!"

Tensely he watched the red hand crawl up the face of the chronometer and he gripped the intercom microphone tightly. "Blast off," he began, "minus five, four, three, two, one, zero!"

Connel slammed home the master control switch and in an instant the silver ship trembled under a tremendous surge of power. Flame and smoke poured out of its exhaust and slowly it began to reach for sky, straining as if to break invisible bonds holding it to Earth. Her jets shrieking torturously, the ship picked up speed and then suddenly, as though shot from a cannon, it blasted up through the atmosphere—spacebound.

A moment later, on the control deck of the ship, Major Connel swung forward in his chair, shook off the effects of the tremendous acceleration, and called into the intercom, "Switch on the gravity generators!"

As soon as the artificial gravity was in effect, the officer put the ship on standard cruising speed, changed course slightly to put them on a direct heading to Mars, and then ordered Barret and Hemmingwell to the control deck.

"Well, Professor," he said as he gave the old man a hearty handshake, "so far so good. She handles like a baby carriage. If the projectiles work half as well, you'll really have yourself something!"

Professor Hemmingwell smiled appreciatively and turned to Barret, who was just climbing through the hatch from the power deck. "You've done as much as anyone to help this ship get into space, Dave," he said. "Thank you!"

"Think nothing of it, Professor," replied Barret airily.

"Well, shall we begin the first series of tests?" asked Connel.

"By all means!" said the professor enthusiastically. "If you and Dave will check the firing stations, I'll take care of the paper work!"

"Right," replied Connel. "Let's go, Barret!"

"I'll work outside, Major," said Barret, turning toward the air lock. "You see that all the firing chambers are properly loaded."

"Anything you say, Barret."

The two men turned away from the smiling professor and left the control deck. They separated in the companionway, Connel hurrying to the starboard firing chambers and Barret going to the midships air lock where he put on a space suit for his task out on the hull.

In two minutes the young scientist was out on the odd-looking blisters that marked the exterior of the firing chambers ringing the hull.

At each blister Barret examined the hollow firing tube carefully. In several he made delicate adjustments to a small metallic ring extending from the opening of the tube. The ring was one of the most important parts of the firing unit, emitting the long-range electronic beam controlling the flight of the projectile.

Meanwhile, inside the ship, Connel checked the loading of each of the chambers, making certain that each of the ten-foot-long torpedolike projectiles was properly secured in its blasting cradle. After fifteen minutes and a complete trip around the ship, the major was satisfied that all was in readiness. He returned to the control deck, meeting Barret on the way, and they found Professor Hemmingwell just completing his calculations for the initial test. He turned to them, waving a paper in front of their eyes.

"Gentlemen," he said proudly, "we are almost ready. If you will adjust course fifteen degrees to port, we'll be in proper position for the test!"

"Right," nodded Connel. "Stand by below, Barret."

"On my way," replied Barret, disappearing through the hatch.

"Well, Professor," said Connel, walking to the controls, "this is the big moment!"

"Yes," nodded Hemmingwell. "If these rocket projectiles prove workable now, there's nothing to stop us from carrying on with our test of the ground receivers on Mars immediately."

"Power deck to control deck, check in!" Barret's voice suddenly crackled over the intercom.

"Control deck, aye," replied Connel. "Ready to blast?"

"All set!"

"Give me a ten-second burst on the starboard steering rockets," ordered Connel, gripping the steering vane control tightly.

"Coming up!"

There was a sudden, jolting blast from the stern and Connel and Hemmingwell hung on grimly as the mighty ship turned in space. Watching the control panel instruments carefully, Connel slammed home the switch that opened the powerful nose braking rockets and brought the ship to a dead stop in space.

"On course, Professor, ready to fire!" Connel announced triumphantly, and Hemmingwell took his station before the giant projectile control board.

"Stand by to fire one!" said the professor, making a minute adjustment on the panel. Behind him, Connel unconsciously crossed his fingers.

"Fire one!" shouted Hemmingwell.

Connel pressed a red button on the panel and waited, holding his breath. There was a distinct hissing and then the great ship lurched slightly. On the teleceiver overhead a white flash appeared, streaked across the screen, and then disappeared in the darkness of space.

"Fire two!"

Again there was a hissing sound and another white burst of light faded into the millions of other pinpoints of lights in the black void.

Over and over again, at one-minute intervals, the projectiles were fired, until all twelve of the firing chambers had discharged their fire-tailed missiles.

The professor sat back and smiled weakly at Connel. The gruff major winked encouragingly and they both turned to watch the teleceiver screen anxiously. The gyros on each projectile had been preset for a circular flight of fifteen minutes' duration. Soon they would be returning and the delicate job of bringing them safely aboard would begin.

"Here comes number one," shouted Connel, as a small pinpoint of light appeared on the screen.

"I'm ready!" said the professor. He watched the teleceiver screen carefully, made a minute adjustment of the dial controlling the directional beam emitted by the ring in the number-one firing chamber, and at the last possible moment, snapped the remote-control switch that cut the power in the approaching test projectile. It hung dead in space, immediately over the chamber. Gently the professor increased the power of the electro-magnetic ring and pulled the projectile back into the chamber as easily as slipping a hand in a glove.

"Success!" Connel shouted. "Professor, you've done it!"

"Congratulations, sir," Dave Barret called over the intercom from the power deck.

"Here comes number two," said Professor Hemmingwell excitedly, and began to repeat the process to draw the approaching projectiles back into the ship.

One after another, five projectiles were taken aboard successfully. Then, as he worked on the sixth, the professor began to frown. He rechecked his instruments and then shook his head, obviously disturbed.

"What's the trouble?" growled Connel, noticing Hemmingwell's growing nervousness.

"The homing ring on number six tube isn't working properly," replied Hemmingwell. "I can't control the projectile."

"Any idea what's wrong?" the Solar Guard officer asked.

"The settings on the ring must be wrong." The professor picked up the intercom mike. "Dave," he called, "check in!"

"Yes, sir?" replied Barret immediately.

"Did you check the settings on all the rings in the firing chambers?"

"Yes, sir," reported Barret. "They looked O.K. to me. Why don't you check with Connel? He supervised their installation."

"That's true," said the major. "I'll go outside and look them over."

Connel turned on his heel and hurried to the air-lock chamber. Moving with amazing speed for a big man, he donned the space suit in the chamber while the pressure was being equalized. As soon as the air-lock portal opened, he scrambled out on the hull and made his way forward to the bulging firing chambers. Stooping over the empty tube of number six, he examined the ring carefully and began to frown. Moving on to number seven, his frown deepened. By the time he checked the rings of eight and nine, his face was a grim mask of anger.

"Professor," he called into his helmet microphone, "check in."



"Yes, Major," replied Hemmingwell from the control deck. "Have you found the trouble?"

"I sure have," Connel growled. "It's sabotage! And now I think I know who—"

Connel never finished. There was a sudden burst of power from the great ship and the officer was hurled into space.

"Major!" cried Hemmingwell. "Barret! What have you done? Connel is outside!"

"I couldn't help it, Professor," replied Barret from the power deck. "My hand slipped and—"

"Don't talk!" shouted Hemmingwell. "Stop the ship!"

"I can't! The control is jammed!"

As the ship surged through space and the professor and Barret yelled at each other over the intercom, three Space Cadets rose from their hiding place in the hold of the ship.

Tom Corbett nudged Roger and Astro. "You hear that?" he said grimly.

"Yeah!" replied Roger.

"Let's go!" growled Astro.

Without another word, they opened the hatch and made their way quickly through the rocketing ship, each going to their separate stations, according to the prearranged plan. Roger climbed up to the radar bridge, Tom entered the control deck, and Astro burst into the power deck.

"You!" Barret cried out, his eyes wide with sudden fear as the huge Venusian advanced on him menacingly.

"Get away from those controls," growled the big cadet. "If you don't, so help me, I'll break you in two!"

Barret backed away, his face white, hands pawing the air frantically as if he were trying to push the big cadet back.

"Get over there," said Astro. "Sit down and keep your mouth shut!"

On the control deck, Tom was strapping himself into the pilot's chair and calling frantically into the intercom, "Give me a course, Roger!"

"One-seventy-degree turn to starboard," replied Roger, "and full ahead! I've got the major on my scanner."

"Pour on the power, Astro!" shouted Tom, gripping the controls firmly.

As the mighty ship blasted in a long, sweeping arc, Professor Hemmingwell sat numbly in his chair, aware only that the three cadets were taking the vessel back into the area where the remaining projectiles, completely out of control, were buzzing around in space like maddened hornets.



CHAPTER 18

"There he is!"

Roger's voice rose to a triumphant shout on the intercom. "Put the brakes on this wagon!"

"Check!" retorted Astro from the power deck, his fingers flying over the switches of the control panel and bringing the ship to a sudden blasting stop.

On the control deck, Tom turned to Professor Hemmingwell. "I'm going outside to get Major Connel, sir," he said. "Do you think you'll be all right?"

The old man nodded absently, still dazed by the sudden turn of events. Tom hurried past him and met Roger coming down from the radar bridge. "I'm going too!" the blond-haired cadet announced.

"You tell Astro?"

"Yeah. He's got Barret locked in the power-deck storeroom and he'll take over the control deck. Wonder if they have a jet boat aboard?"

"I doubt it. Not on a test flight."

"We'll have to hurry," said Roger as they reached the air lock and began to scramble into space suits.

"Yes," replied Tom. "He probably doesn't have much oxygen."

"There's another reason," grunted Roger.

"What?"

"Those projectiles. We're right back in the middle of them. Any one of them could wreck the ship."

"I see what you mean," said Tom. "Guess it's up to Astro to keep dodging them."

"Never thought I'd be out in space ducking hot projectiles to save old Blast-off Connel's hide."

"Neither did I," said Tom. "But here we are."

Stepping into the air lock, they quickly equalized the pressure and a moment later climbed out on the hull.

"See him, Roger?" asked Tom over the helmet intercom.

"Not yet," replied Roger.

"I see him," called Astro from the control deck. "I got him spotted on the teleceiver. Go aft, about a thousand, maybe fifteen hundred yards. I'll direct you from there."

"Right!" snapped Roger. "And listen, you Venusian bonehead! Make it good. I don't like being a clay pigeon for this crazy shooting gallery out here!"

"Aw, damp your tubes and get to work," drawled Astro. "Honestly, Tom, did you ever hear him not complain?"

Tom did not answer. He was busy fastening two oxygen tanks to the front of his space suit and Roger's. When he had finished, he checked the pressure and, satisfied, nodded to his unit mate.

Opening the nozzles of the bottles, they shot away from the ship into the nothingness of space.

"You have to go about fifteen degrees to your starboard and five degrees up on the ecliptic," called Astro from the control deck. "You'll hit Connel right on the nose!"

"Right!" replied Tom, turning the nozzle of the oxygen bottle to the left and immediately shooting off in the indicated direction. Roger followed quickly and expertly.

"See him?" called Tom.

"No," replied Roger. "Are you sure, you big clunk?"

"He's right above you!" snorted Astro over the intercom. Then his voice rose in alarm. "No! That isn't—"

"Duck, Tom!" cried Roger.

Tom opened the nozzle of his oxygen bottle wide and turned it. As he shot away, a projectile roared through the area he had just left.

Roger had done the same thing, flipping over and shooting up and away from the moving object.

"Whew!" exclaimed Tom. "That was close!"

"You blockhead!" roared Roger. "What are you trying to do to us? Set us up for coffins?"

"For you, that's not a bad idea, Manning!" snorted Astro. "Just damp your tubes. I made a mistake."

"Some mistake!" growled Roger.

Tom and Roger maneuvered back together, and locking arms so they would not drift apart, scanned the void around them for Connel. Suddenly Tom jerked free. "Roger!" he cried.

"What is it?" replied the cadet. "Do you see him?"

"There!" Tom pointed back to the ship. "On the stern! He's hanging on to the cleat over the main tubes!"



"Astro," Roger called, "we're coming back in. We've spotted him."

"I heard you!" said Astro. "Must've come back on his own steam. Go get him, quick!"

Turning the nozzles of their oxygen tanks, the two cadets shot toward the ship. They quickly clambered onto the stern where Connel lay stretched out on the side of the hull, arms extended, his gloved hands gripping the small cleat on the side of the hull.

In a matter of minutes, the two boys had the Solar Guard officer safely inside the air-lock chamber and had removed his space helmet and suit. His eyes were closed, and his face was deathly white. Tom immediately clapped an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, while Roger applied heating units to the wrists and neck.

Astro burst into the chamber, followed by the professor. "Will he be all right?" Hemmingwell asked anxiously.

"Think nothing of it, Professor Hummingbird," said Roger. "The old major will come around any second, and when he does, stand back. The first thing he'll do is yell."

"Roger, the name is Hemmingwell," hissed Tom.

"Oh, yeah, sure," nodded Roger, and then turned to Astro. "Is Barret still locked up?"

"Yeah," replied the Venusian. "And I hid the key, so Connel can't get to him until he cools off."

"The major is coming around," said Tom.

As they watched, Connel stirred, coughed several times, and then opened his eyes. He stared in amazement at Tom, then turned to blink unbelievingly at Roger and Astro. "What in the star-blazing—?"

"It's us all right, sir!" Tom assured him.

"Yeah," chimed in Roger. "And you're not in heaven or—er—any place else either."

As Connel suddenly flushed with anger and sat up, Hemmingwell spoke quickly. "They saved your life, Major," he said.

"They did?" Connel's face clouded in confusion. "I don't understand. How did you three get aboard, anyway?"

"It's a long story, sir," said Tom. "Right now, maybe we'd better—"

Before the cadet could finish, there was a loud crashing and a series of jolting bumps as the ship lurched.

"What the blue blazes!" roared Connel, jumping to his feet in alarm.

"The projectiles!" exclaimed Roger. "We've got to get out of here!"

"By the craters of Luna!" cried Astro. "I forgot all about them!"

Tom, Roger, Astro, Hemmingwell, and Connel raced out of the air lock to their stations. Astro poured on the power without waiting for an order from the control deck and soon they were rocketing into the safety of space.

Watching the wildly flying missiles on the teleceiver screen, Connel breathed a sigh of relief.

"Wow!" he snorted. "Glad we're out of that mess."

"But what are we going to do about them, sir," asked Tom, a worried frown wrinkling his forehead as he watched the screen. "We can't just leave those things there. Some other ship may—"

"Don't worry about it," Connel broke in brusquely. "The projectiles will run out of fuel in a few minutes and they'll just drift. They can be fished out any time."

"We can go back and get them ourselves," said the young cadet eagerly. "Roger and I can—"

"We've got more important things to do now!" thundered Connel. Switching on the intercom, he ordered Roger and Astro to report to the control deck. They appeared within seconds of his order and he faced the three cadets grimly.

"Well, boys," he asked, "what's the story?"

"I guess we'd better explain, sir," said Tom.

"I guess you'd better," nodded Connel.

Tom quickly ran over the chain of events, beginning with his abduction on Mars to their appearance on the ship, including the part Barret had played in tricking Roger and Astro into taking the scout. As he spoke, Connel looked more and more amazed, and when Tom finally uttered the name of the man he thought was responsible for all the sabotage, Connel jumped out of his chair.

"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed.

"You were nearly killed a few minutes ago, sir," said Tom. "And who sabotaged the rings? Barret! Who was around every time something happened? Who incited the crew to keep from taking this ship into space? Who spread the rumor that it was jinxed? The answer to every one of those questions, sir, is Barret. And Dave Barret is working for—"

"Let me at that sniveling space pup!" interrupted Connel, snarling his rage. "I'll tear him apart and throw him to the buzzards!"

The enraged major jumped to the hatch but Astro and Tom barred his way, with Roger stepping quickly in back of him, a heavy wrench in his hand, ready to assist in any manner necessary to subdue the howling officer.

"Try to kill me!" Connel howled. "Why, I'll—I'll—"

"No, Major!" shouted Tom. "He's the only one that can help us convict Carter Devers!"

Connel stopped. He stared at Astro's bulk and then turned to see Roger trying to hide the wrench. "Were you going to hit me with that thing, Manning?" he growled.

Roger gulped. "Yes, sir," he said. "If it was necessary to keep you away from Barret, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

Connel spun back to face Tom. "Corbett, you must have a plan," he said. "Let's have it quick."

Tom grinned. "All right, sir," he began. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Professor Hemmingwell slump to the deck.

Hurriedly they picked up the old man and eased him gently to the nearby acceleration couch. After gulping some water that Roger poured for him, the old man smiled weakly. "I'm afraid I don't have the strength to withstand all this excitement," he said. "But now I understand why things were never easy for me. Carter Devers—he did this to me. He blocked the proposals every time that they were submitted to the Solar delegations. He—" Hemmingwell's head fell back. Roger had put a sedative into the water and the old man was now unconscious.

"It's just fatigue," said Connel. "He'll be all right in a little while." He turned to Tom. "All right, Corbett, carry on!"

Tom hurriedly concluded his story of the events leading up to their startling appearance on the ship, and as he spoke, he saw the major's frown change to a glowing grin. When Tom finished, Connel suddenly extended his hand in a gesture of friendship.

"I have to admit it, Corbett," he said. "You've done a good job. And," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "by going along with you, I am an accomplice with Captain Strong in the aiding of three fugitives from the Solar Guard."

Tom, Astro, and Roger grinned. "Now, let's get Barret up here and ask him a few questions," continued Connel. "And, Manning, if I can't restrain myself, you have my permission to hit me with that wrench! But so help me, if you belt me before the time comes, I'll bend that wrench over your skull!"

While Astro and Roger went below to get Barret, Connel and Tom reviewed their plan.

"Better keep the news quiet for a while," said Connel. "If we telecast it back to the Academy, Devers might get wise."

"Good idea, sir," acknowledged Tom.

"But I can't understand Devers' motive," said Connel. "What does he stand to gain if this project is a failure?"

"He'll lose plenty if it's a success," Tom asserted.

"Devers owns Jilolo Spaceways, the parent company of Universal Jet Trucking and Surface Transportation! If the projectiles worked, surface cargo delivery would be wiped out."

Before Connel could comment on Tom's startling revelation, they heard the sound of angry voices just outside the control-deck hatch.

"That must be Astro and Roger bringing in Barret," said Tom with a grin.

The hatch clanked open and Astro appeared, carrying Roger under one arm and Barret under the other. He dropped them both unceremoniously on the deck, but when they jumped to their feet, Roger charged forward quickly and landed a stinging right to Barret's jaw. The man dropped to the deck again like a stone.

"Manning!" roared Connel. "What was the idea?"

"I wanted to make sure I got in my licks before the Solar Guard got hold of him," replied Roger, rubbing his knuckles and looking down at Barret's inert form.

Astro grinned sheepishly. "I tried to stop him, sir!" he said.

"I'll just bet you tried to stop him!" bellowed Connel. "Cadet Manning, you put that man to sleep, now you wake him up!"

"Yes, sir!" said Roger, and while Connel, Astro, and Tom roared with laughter, he poured an entire bottle of water on Barret's face.



CHAPTER 19

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Shouting angrily, Barret sat in one of the pilot's chairs, flanked by Roger and Astro, while Connel and Tom stood in front of him firing questions.

"Barret," said Connel, "I have enough evidence on you now to send you to a prison asteroid for ten years at least!"

"On what charge?" demanded the young man.

"Trying to kill an officer of the Solar Guard."

"Where is your proof?" demanded Barret.

"Right there!" snorted Major Connel, pointing to the sleeping figure of Professor Hemmingwell.

"What do you mean?" demanded Barret.

"He'll swear that you deliberately sent this ship into full drive while I was out on the hull checking the rings."

"He can't," protested Barret. "He was on the bridge! He couldn't have seen a thing!"

Tom shook his head gently. "Barret, after what you've done to his ship and the projectile operation," he said, "Hemmingwell will swear to anything."

"It's a frame-up!" shouted Barret.

"And what do you think you did to us?" snarled Roger.

Barret flushed and turned away. "You can't scare me," he muttered. "Go ahead. Let him swear to whatever he wants."

Connel stepped back grimly and turned to Astro and Roger. "All right, boys," he said. "Take him below and see if you can't get some different answers out of him." The hardened spaceman turned his back and walked to the viewport.

"Why, you dirty space rat!" screamed Barret. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, wouldn't he!" retorted Roger. "Listen, pal, he figures we owe you plenty for what you did to us, and he's just giving us a chance to pay you back!" He faced Barret grimly. "Mister, you're going to get the works! Come on, Astro!"

As the giant Venusian advanced on Barret, the man shrank back in his chair, eyes widening in sudden fear. When Astro stretched out his huge hand and grabbed him by the front of his jacket, he screamed in fright.

"All right, all right!" he cried out. "I'll talk! Devers did it! He made me do it! He's responsible for the whole thing!"

"Turn on that audiograph, Corbett!" shouted Connel.

Tom snapped on the machine and brought the microphone over to Barret, holding it in front of his trembling mouth.

"All right, talk!" Connel growled. "And tell it all."

Barret had hardly uttered the first stumbling words when Roger let out a shout of alarm. "Hey! The scanner!" he cried.

They all turned to the teleceiver screen. To their horror, they saw a menacing shape blasting toward them. They recognized it instantly—a space torpedo!

Astro dove through the power-deck hatch while Roger raced for the radar-bridge ladder. Tom hurled himself into the copilot's chair, and with Connel beside him in the command position, he waited for Astro to supply power. Suddenly the ship trembled violently and then shot forward as, far below, the jet exhausts screamed under the full thrust of all the atomic reactors. Tom rode the controls hard and kept his eye on the scanner screen.

"It's a magnetic gyrofish!" he cried as he saw the torpedo curve after them. "Roger, can you plot her for me?"

"Working on it now, Tom!" yelled Roger over the intercom.

"How in blazes did that thing get out here?" muttered Connel.

"We'll have to worry about that later, I'm afraid, sir," replied Tom. "We're going to have our hands full getting away from her. With that magnetic warhead, she'll follow us all over space unless we can throw her off."

"Which will take some doing!" grunted Connel, frowning in deep concern.

"Hey, Tom!" Roger's voice called over the intercom. "It's blasting on maximum thrust now. We have a pretty good chance. Use that idea we worked out. Make a series of left turns and always on the up-plane of the ecliptic!"

"Right!" said Tom, clutching the master manual-control lever and beginning to fly the giant ship through space by "feel."

"What in blazes are you doing, Corbett?" shouted Connel in sudden alarm.

"Just hang on and watch, sir," replied Tom, keeping his eyes on the scanner where he could see the space torpedo trailing them. Over and over, Tom kept slamming the ship into sharp left turns, while the torpedo followed in an ever-narrowing circle.

"All right, Tom!" yelled Roger again. "Give it the same thing on the right and the down-plane of the ecliptic!"

"Check!" answered Tom, reversing his controls and sending the ship corkscrewing through space on an opposite course.

Connel grabbed the arms of his chair and gasped, "You kids are space happy!"

"Those gyros are so perfect, sir," said Tom, working the controls quickly and smoothly, "that the only way you can throw them off balance is to confuse them."

"Confuse them!" exclaimed Connel.

"Yes, sir," said Tom. "It's a theory Roger and I worked out together. No gyro is perfect, and if you can get it bouncing back and forth in extreme turns, it will be thrown out of balance. Then all we have to do is make the torpedo miss once and it won't come back."

"Heaven help us all!" was Connel's groaning reply.

"On the ball, Tom!" cried Roger. "She's closing in on us!"

"I see her," replied Tom calmly. "Hang on, everybody. I'm going to turn this ship inside out!"

Jerking the controls, Tom threw the ship into a mad, whirling spin, subjecting the vessel to the most severe strain tests it would ever undergo. The hull groaned and creaked, and badly fitted equipment tore loose and clattered across the deck. Suddenly the young cadet leveled the ship.

"Nose braking rockets, Astro!" he called.

"Braking rockets, aye!" acknowledged the Venusian over the intercom.

On the power deck, Astro jammed the forward drive closed and slammed open the nose rockets. The ship trembled, bucked, and finally came to a shuddering stop before it started a reverse course, accelerating quickly.

"Here it comes!" yelled Roger.

As Connel and Tom watched tensely, the space torpedo loomed large and menacing on the scanner, and then, as they held their breaths, it whistled past the silvery hull of the ship, with less than two feet to spare!

Sighing deeply, Tom brought the ship back to level flight. "We're O.K. now, sir," he said. "Her gyros are out. She won't come back."

"By the craters of Luna!" Connel suddenly exploded. "The Solar Guard spends a fortune to develop a foolproof space torpedo and two hot-shot cadets come along and get away from the blasted thing! Why haven't you told this to anyone before?"

"Why—er—" stammered Tom, "we've never had the chance to prove it, sir."

Behind them, the power-deck hatch suddenly opened and Astro stepped in. "Nice work, Tom!" he called.

"And as for you, you Venusian ape," roared Connel, "don't you realize that you can blow a reactor tube by throwing so much power into a ship without energizing the cooling pumps first?"

Astro smiled. "Not if you open the by-pass, sir," he said, "and feed directly off the pump reservoir. The gas cools the tube and at the same time expands itself and adds to the power thrust."

At Astro's easy reply Connel could only stand openmouthed in amazement. Again, one of the three cadets of the Polaris unit had developed a revolutionary procedure that even top rocket scientists would be proud to call their own.

Winking at Tom, Astro turned away and suddenly noticed Barret sprawled on the deck, unconscious.

"What happened to him?" asked the big Venusian.

"Oh, I forgot all about him," said Tom. "Guess he didn't get into an acceleration chair in time. Better get some more water."

"We haven't time for him now!" snapped Connel. "Strap him in good and tight. We've got to find out where that torpedo came from."

As though in answer to the major's order, there was a sudden call over the ship's intercom.

"Radar bridge to control deck, check in!" There was a note of alarm in Roger's voice.

Tom jumped to the control panel to reply.

"Control deck, aye!" he snapped into the microphone.

"There's a spaceship to starboard!" called Roger. "Distance twenty miles, fifteen degrees up on the plane of the ecliptic. And I swear she's maneuvering to fire another torpedo!"

"Stand by action stations!" roared Connel, diving into his chair before the control panel. Tom strapped in next to him, while Astro made a headlong dash for the power deck.

"Yes!" shouted Roger. "She's fired a torpedo!"

"Raise her! Raise her!" bellowed Connel. "Tell them who we are!" He turned to Tom. "Go into your act, Corbett," he said, "and make it good!"

As Tom manipulated the controls again, the silver ship plunged through space, turning and gyrating in the same series of maneuvers it had performed to escape the first torpedo. But this time the distance separating them was not as great and the torpedo closed in quickly.

"Can't you raise that ship yet, Manning?" Connel roared into the intercom.

"I just have, sir," replied Roger in a strained voice. "But it's—"

"Let me talk to that lame brain of a skipper," interrupted Connel. "By the stars, I'll teach him to—"

"It's no use, Connel," said a gruff voice over the control-deck loud-speaker. "Even if you duck this torpedo, I've got ten more!"

"Who is this?" roared Connel.

"Don't you know, Connel? Why, I'm surprised!"

The teleceiver screen glowed into life and Tom and Connel stared in horror as they recognized the images of three men. The one in the foreground smiled mockingly and said, "Remember me, Connel?"

"Devers!" Connel roared.

"And the other two behind him—" stuttered Tom. "Cag and Monty!"

"Why, you dirty space crawler," cried Connel, "I'll get you if it's the last thing I do!"



"No, you won't, Major." Devers laughed. "The last thing you'll do is kiss a space torpedo. Then no more Major Blast-off Connel, no more whimpering Professor Hemmingwell, and most important, no more projectile ship!"

And as Devers laughed loudly, Tom threw the ship into another violent turn and cried, "It's no use, Major. I can't duck this one!"

"All hands brace for torpedo!" warned Connel.

Suddenly there was an explosion aft. The ship lurched and shuddered violently, spinning through space, and as Tom fought the controls, everything went black. The ship drifted helplessly, out of control.



CHAPTER 20

"Turn on the lights! Cut in the emergency batteries!"

Connel's bull-throated roar carried through the ship as he stood on the power deck with Astro and shouted to Tom on the control deck. The space torpedo had destroyed the stern of the vessel, and if it hadn't been for Astro's quick action in sealing off the aftersection of the ship, all the air might have been lost and the crew dead of suffocation.

A moment later the emergency lights glowed weakly and Connel and the big Venusian cadet began a quick inspection of the ship. The power deck was a total loss. The ship would never get under way again.

Up on the radar bridge, Roger was about to turn on the radar scanner when Tom appeared and stopped him.

"Wait a while, Roger," he said. "We may need the power for something else."

"What, for instance?" snorted Roger.

"That ship is still out there, probably closing in for the kill."

"A blasted lot we can do about it," Roger growled.

"I've got a plan that might work," said Tom half-heartedly. "It's about the only thing I can think of, unless Connel and Astro have a better idea."

"What is it? Whatever it is, it's better than sitting here like a dead duck, waiting for that rat to come in and finish us off!" said Roger. "Look, I've just got to see what he's doing out there." He flipped on the scanner switch and while he waited for the set to warm up he turned back to Tom. "What's your idea?"

"Well," began Tom, "the only thing we've got on board that we can use to fight back with are those projectiles."

"How can we fight with projectiles?" demanded Roger. "They don't carry warheads!"

"No," agreed Tom. "But they're big and heavy. They pack a wallop if they hit anything."

Roger's eyes brightened suddenly. "Say, I think—"

The scanner began to beep and Roger turned his attention to the screen. Tom leaned over his shoulder and watched eagerly. They both saw Devers' ship flying in a slow circle around them.

"Probably looking to see which would be the best way to let us have it!" snarled Roger.

At that moment Major Connel climbed into the radar bridge, followed by Astro.

"Time to go," announced the officer.

"Go where?" demanded Roger.

"We have to abandon ship," declared Connel. "The power deck is shot. We'll never get under way, and we're just sitting ducks if we stay aboard."

"What's to prevent Devers from picking us off while we're outside?" asked Roger.

"Nothing," said Connel. "But he'll have a harder job and maybe he won't get all of us."

"Then, sir," said Tom with a glance at Roger, "I have an idea."

"Let's have it," said Connel.

"The projectiles, sir," replied Tom.

"What about them?"

"We can still fire them off the emergency batteries, sir."

"Will you get to the point, Corbett?" growled Connel. "Devers is liable to send another torpedo our way any second and—" Connel suddenly stopped and his eyes widened. "A torpedo!" he gasped.

"Exactly, sir!" exclaimed Tom. "We have five projectiles! We can use them as torpedoes!"

"Jumping Jupiter!" exclaimed Astro. "What a terrific idea!"

"What a terrific pipe dream!" snapped Connel. "Those projectiles don't have any warheads!"

"They could still do a lot of damage if they hit that ship," asserted Tom.

"And how do you expect to aim them?" demanded Connel. "There's not enough juice in the batteries to steer them!"

"We'll just fire them straight ahead, sir," broke in Roger. "Look!" he continued, pointing to the scanner screen. "Devers' ship is just circling us now. And he's on the same plane of the ecliptic. If he holds that course—"

"He'll cross our bow!" exclaimed Astro excitedly. "A perfect shot!"

"Ridiculous!" shouted Connel. "Preposterous! It'll never work in a million light years! He'll fire another torpedo and we'll be blasted into space dust!"

"But we can try it, can't we, sir?" asked Tom, grinning.

"Of course we can!" roared Connel. "I've never given up a battle yet and, by the stars, I'm not going to now!"

Forgetting rank and protocol, the three cadets danced around the major, slapping him on the back and howling their enthusiasm. Connel could not restrain a momentary grin and then his features assumed his usual bulldog look.

"Knock it off!" he shouted. "We've got work to do. Manning!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Keep your eyes nailed to that scanner!" Connel bellowed. "Sing out if Devers changes course by so much as a hair!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Astro!"

"Sir?"

"Put space suits on Professor Hemmingwell and Barret and stand by with them on the control deck."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Corbett, you and I will check the projectiles. Make sure they're in firing order!"

Spinning on his heel, Connel left the radar bridge. Alone for just an instant, the three cadets of the Polaris unit clasped hands in silent determination and then plunged into their various assignments.

Five minutes later, Connel and Tom returned to the control deck to find Astro waiting for them. Professor Hemmingwell and Barret, both in space suits, were seated on acceleration couches. As Connel walked up to him, Hemmingwell raised his head slowly, still under the effects of the sedative.

"What's—what's happening, Major?" he asked haltingly.

"Professor," said Connel, "one of two things is going to happen. Either your ship will be blown to space dust or Carter Devers will be finished and we'll bring your ship back to Earth!"

"Good, good," murmured Hemmingwell.

"And as for you, Barret"—Connel turned toward the man angrily—"now you can see what kind of thanks you get for your dirty work! Your boss is just as willing to get rid of you as he is to destroy this project!"

Barret flushed under Connel's glare and turned away.

At the control panel, Tom opened the circuits to the five loaded firing chambers and then turned to Connel. "All set to fire, sir!" he called.

"Any word from Manning?" asked Connel.

"Not while I've been here," replied Astro.

Connel picked up the intercom microphone. "Hello, Manning!" he shouted. "What's the story?"

"Coming up to the last chapter," replied Roger over the intercom. "Devers is holding course. Should cross our bow in two minutes!"

"Good," replied Connel. "Keep us posted!"

Replacing the microphone, he turned to Tom. "Stupid fool!" he snorted. "He should've fired another torpedo and wiped us out. What's the matter with him?" Connel abhorred stupidity, even in an adversary.

"Maybe he thinks we've already had it," suggested Astro. "With our stern blasted away, he might figure all the air's gone out of the ship."

"Let's hope he keeps on figuring that way," said Connel. "Everything ready to fire, Corbett?"

"All set, sir," the young cadet replied. "I've hooked up all circuits to this button." He pointed to a button on the control panel. "We'll blast in salvo."

"Oh, we will, will we?" exclaimed Connel.

"If you think it's advisable," Tom amended hurriedly.

"Of course it's advisable!" snorted Connel. "We're almost aiming blind as it is. A salvo will give us a bigger spread. Besides," he added, "with a whole barrel of luck, we might hit him with two of the projectiles. That would really do some damage."

"I'd like just a little potful of luck," murmured Astro, "and be able to land one."

"Heads up, down there!" Roger's voice suddenly sang out on the intercom.

"Devers crossing our bow yet?" asked Tom.

"He's still holding course," said Roger. "But he's training his number one starboard tube this way. He's going to blast us again!"

"How long do we have to wait for that bow shot?" demanded Connel.

"Another forty-five seconds at least!" came Roger's reply.

"Blast it!" muttered Connel. "Plenty of time for him to fire."

Barret suddenly rose from his acceleration couch, screaming, "You can't keep me here! Let me go!"

Astro grabbed him quickly and threw him back down. "Stay put," he growled.

"No," cried Barret, frantic with fear. "It's murder! Let me go!"

"Relax and enjoy it, Barret," snorted Connel. "It's your boss who's doing it!"

"What about Professor Hemmingwell, sir?" asked Tom. "Shouldn't we—?"

"No," Hemmingwell spoke up from his daze. "I want to stay with my ship."

"Hey!" Roger cried over the intercom. "We're getting company!"

"Company?" exclaimed Tom. "What're you talking about?"

"A Solar Guard cruiser," replied Roger. "Coming up to port. About five hundred miles away. Hey! It's the Polaris!"

"It must be Captain Strong!" shouted Tom.

"He won't do us much good now," muttered Connel. "How much time do we have, Roger?"

"Get set down there. Only another ten seconds and Devers will be right on our bow."

"On the ball, Tom!" ordered Connel.

"Ready, sir."

The seconds ticked by slowly. One—two—three—four—Beads of sweat appeared on Connel's brow. Astro clenched and unclenched his fists. Hemmingwell closed his eyes calmly and waited. Barret slumped back in his couch, almost paralyzed with fear.

"Coming up, Tom!" cried Roger.

Tom didn't reply. He kept his fingers poised on the firing button. And the seconds ticked off slowly, maddeningly. Seven—eight—nine—!

"They've fired," Roger shouted. "Point-blank! We're going to get it!"

"Fire, Tom!" shouted Connel.

Even as Connel spoke, Tom's finger pressed down hard on the firing button. The ship quivered as five projectiles blasted from the firing chambers and winged their deadly way through space. The control room of the ship was silent, everyone waiting for the impact of the torpedo and praying that somehow, someway, they could know whether their own attack had succeeded even if they lost their own lives in the attempt to destroy Devers' ship.

There was a sudden, blasting roar and a brilliant white flash of light filled the cabin. The deck heaved violently, then dropped sickeningly. Under the force of the explosion, everyone was thrown to the deck and lay deathly still.

* * * * *

In the wardroom of the rocket cruiser Polaris, Captain Strong, Major Connel, Professor Hemmingwell, and Roger and Astro were sipping tea and calmly discussing the events of the past hour.

"Your ship wasn't too badly damaged, Professor," said Strong. "We'll take her in tow and bring her back to Space Academy. She'll be good as new."

"I'm afraid you'll have to do without the services of Dave Barret though, sir," commented Connel dryly. "He's got a previous engagement on a prison asteroid and it's going to take him a long time."

"I can do very well without him," said Hemmingwell. "As a matter of fact, I would have done extremely well without him before." He paused and shook his head. "I feel so ashamed of myself when I think of the things I said to those boys." He nodded toward Astro and Roger. "And all the time they were right."

Astro grinned shyly. Roger was about to open his mouth and make a typically flip remark when the hatch opened and Tom appeared, a bandage covering his head. The two cadets jumped toward him and snowed him under with affectionate slaps on the back.

"Wait a minute!" cried Tom. "I'm injured. Look at my head!"

"You couldn't have hit the control panel with anything better!" snorted Connel.

"But what happened?" asked Tom.

"Two of the projectiles hit Devers' ship," said Roger. "One of them on the power deck. Must've smashed the reaction tanks and made the stuff wildcat, because it blew him into rocket dust!"



"But his torpedo! He fired at the same time!" said Tom.

"This unit is the luckiest in the universe," said Roger proudly. "One of the other projectiles smacked the torpedo and exploded the warhead. We were bounced around by the shock wave but that's all!"

"Well, I'll be a Martian mouse," sighed Tom. "Then everything is O.K. now?"

"So far as you three are concerned, it's perfect," said Strong. "Barret has spilled everything. You're cleared of all charges!"

"What about Pat Troy?" asked Tom.

"He's in the clear, too," said Strong. "You may remember that he refused to tell us who he was working for besides Professor Hemmingwell and that made us suspicious of him. Well, we found out, when he regained consciousness a short time ago, that he is a security agent for the Solar Alliance Council. He had been assigned to work with the professor and to help protect him. Barret has admitted that he tried to murder Troy."

"Humph!" snorted Connel, suddenly rising.

The room was intensely quiet and Tom, Astro, and Roger felt that there was something coming. Strong could hardly suppress a grin as Connel took a paper from his tunic.

"This message was received just fifteen minutes ago," he said. "It reads, quote, Major Connel, Solar Guard. With reference to Operation Space Projectile, information has come to us that the Space Cadet unit, known as the Polaris unit, has contributed in an outstanding and extraordinary way to the successful completion of this highly valuable project. As Senior Line Officer of the Academy, it is hereby requested that you bestow upon this unit some form of expression of the gratitude of this Council for their remarkable and inspired behavior in the face of relentless odds. Signed, Secretary General, Solar Council, Venusport, Venus. Fourteenth of June, 2354, end quote."

Connel slipped the paper inside his tunic and faced the three cadets.

"All right, you heard it!" he growled. "And you deserve it. You have three weeks' leave. But when you come back," he added, "watch out!"

"Oh, for the life of a Space Cadet!" said Tom, grinning at his unit mates. "It's wonderful!"



Transcriber's Notes The following typos have been corrected. particularly particular stomach. That stomach that I"ll I'll an attempt at murder," "an attempt at murder,"

THE END