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!”

[Illustration: “He’s hanging on to the cleat over the main tube!”]

“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!”