Chapter 6

A thousand spaceships, freighters, converted luxury liners, auxiliary supply vessels, rocket cruisers, destroyers and scouts, all led by the Polaris, blasted in even formation through the last charted regions of the solar system. Inside the gleaming ships the colonists had settled down for the long voyage to the new satellite of Roald. Their quarters were cramped and uncomfortable. There was very little to do and their only entertainment was the shipboard stereos. Many spent endless hours at the long-range telescanners watching the sun star Wolf 359, seeing it come closer and closer.

Aboard the Polaris, Tom, Roger, and Astro worked an endless tour of duty, maneuvering the great fleet of ships into ordered formation so that any vessel could be found without difficulty. Now that the fleet was in position, and the early confusion of forming up was over, they had hoped for a little rest, but were disappointed when Vidac suddenly ordered them to report to his quarters.

Standing at the hatch outside of Vidac’s room, Tom and Roger waited for Astro as he climbed up the ladder to join them. The big cadet finally made the top and stood breathing heavily.

“By the rings of Saturn,” he grumbled, “I’m so tired I could sleep right here. Right now!”

“Yeah,” growled Roger. “You’d think Vidac would give us a break after what we’ve done.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to rest on this trip,” said Tom. “This is just the beginning. I’ll bet by the time we reach Roald we’ll be wishing we had something to do to pass away the time.”

He turned and pressed the annunciator button and the hatch slid open. The three cadets entered the room and snapped to attention.

“Polaris unit reporting as ordered, sir,” said Tom.

Vidac swung around in his chair and stared up at the three cadets, a hint of a smile curling his lips.

“You’ve done a fine job, boys,” he said. “The fleet is in good formation.” He paused as he settled back in his chair. “But I’m not the one who believes in idle hands. I’ve assigned you to Professor Sykes. He needs help in charting the unexplored regions of space we’re approaching. And you three need that kind of training. Report to him in one hour.”

“One hour,” gasped Roger. “But we’re completely blasted out!”

“Yes, sir,” agreed Astro. “Couldn’t we log some sack time before we start another assignment?”

Vidac stood up and faced them. “You might as well learn right now,” he said sharply, “that when I give an order I expect it to be carried out without suggestions, complaints, or whining excuses!”

“But--!” stammered Roger.

Tom quickly stepped forward. His back ramrod straight, he saluted the lieutenant governor. “We understand, sir.”

He executed a perfect about-face and, followed by Astro and Roger, he left the lieutenant governor’s quarters.

Outside, the three cadets walked wearily toward the messroom just off the control deck. After preparing a hasty cup of tea, they sat about the table silently, each thinking about the long trip ahead of them and the difficulties they were sure to encounter with Vidac. They all three jumped when Jeff Marshall, Professor Sykes’s aide, entered and boomed a cheerful greeting.

“Hi, fellas!”

“Hiya,” muttered Tom. Astro and Roger merely nodded.

“Say!” cried Jeff, his usually cheerful face showing concern. “What’s the matter with you three guys? You look as though someone told you there isn’t any Moon!”

“Worse than that,” said Roger. “Vidac just assigned us to work with Professor Sykes on charting the new space regions.”

Jeff smiled. “Nothing wrong with that. The old professor isn’t so bad. He sounds worse than he really is.”

“Listen,” growled Astro, “you don’t have to tell me what Professor Sykes is like. I had a class with him at the Academy. That guy is so sour, vinegar is sweet by comparison.”

Astro’s outburst was said with such fierce conviction that Tom, Roger, and Jeff burst out laughing.

“It isn’t that we mind working with Professor Sykes,” said Tom. “He’s a real brain and we could learn a lot from him, but--”

“But what?” asked Jeff.

“It’s the way Vidac has suddenly--well, taken over around here. We’re supposed to be under the direct orders of Governor Hardy.”

“Well, Vidac is Hardy’s executive officer,” said Jeff.

“Yeah,” muttered Roger. “We’re finding that out, the hard way.”

“I still can’t understand why Governor Hardy would make him lieutenant governor, with his background,” mused Tom.

Jeff grinned. “You three guys have been jockeying with so many space crawlers since you came to the Academy, you’re suspicious of everyone you meet. I’m surprised you haven’t decided that I’m an arch space criminal myself!”

The three cadets smiled. Jeff Marshall was so gentle and mild, his manner so quietly humorous, it was impossible to picture him as any kind of a criminal.

During the few minutes they had left, they casually discussed the chances of the senior space cadets against the enlisted guardsmen in a forthcoming mercuryball game, and then went up to the forward compartment of the Polaris, which served as a temporary observatory for Professor Sykes.

The Chief Astrophysicist of Space Academy, Professor Barnard Sykes, was a man of great talent and even greater temper. Referred to as Barney by the cadet corps, he was held in high regard and downright fear. There were few cadets who had escaped his scathing tongue when they had made a mistake and practically the entire student body had, at one time or another, singly and in unison, devoutly wished that a yawning hole would open up and swallow them when he began one of his infamous tirades. Even perfection in studies and execution by a cadet would receive a mere grunt from the cantankerous professor. Such temperament was permissible at the Academy by an instructor only because of his genius and for no other reason. And Professor Sykes fitted the bill. It was by sheer devotion to his work and single-mindedness of purpose that he was able to become a leading scientist in his field. Professor Sykes had been assigned, at his request, to the Roald expedition. As the leading scientist, it was his job to evaluate every new discovery made during the trip out to the distant satellite, and later make observations on the colony itself. Scientifically, and in a sense ultimately, the success or failure of the Roald expedition would rest on his round hunched shoulders.

When the three cadets and Jeff Marshall entered the observatory, they found Professor Sykes bending over a calculating machine checking some figures. Apparently finding a mistake, he muttered to himself angrily and started over again. Roger stepped forward.

“I can handle a calculator pretty well, sir,” Roger said. “You want me to do it for you?”

Sykes whirled around and glared at the blond-haired cadet. “What’s your name?” he snapped.

“Why--Cadet Manning, sir,” replied Roger.

“Cadet Manning, do you see this calculator?” Sykes pointed to the delicate instrument that could add, subtract, divide, and multiply, in fractions and whole numbers, as well as measure the light years in sidereal time.

“Yes, sir,” said Roger.

“Cadet Manning,” continued Sykes, “I perfected that machine. Built the first one myself. Now offhand, wouldn’t you say I would know how to operate it?”

“Yes, sir,” stammered Roger. “But I just wanted to help, sir.”

“When I need your help I’ll ask for it!” snorted the little professor. He turned to Jeff. “What are they doing here? You know I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m making observations!”

Jeff smiled slowly. “They’ve been assigned to work with you, sir. They’re your new assistants.”

“My assistants!” screamed Sykes. “What space-blasting idiot got the idea that I needed any assistants?”