Chapter 2

“All O.K. here on the relay circuit,” yelled Astro through the intercom from the power deck.

“O.K.,” answered Tom. “Now try out the automatic blowers for the main tubes!”

“Wanta give me a little juice for the radar antenna, Astro?” called Roger from the radar deck.

“In a minute, Manning, in a minute,” growled Astro. “Only got two hands, you know.”

“You should learn to use your feet,” quipped Roger. “Any normal Venusian can do just as much with his toes as he can with his fingers!”

Back and forth the bantering had gone for twelve hours, while the three members of the Polaris unit tested, checked, adjusted, and rechecked the many different circuits, relays, junction boxes, and terminals in the miles of delicate wiring woven through the ship. Now, as dawn began to creep pink and gray over the eastern horizon, they made their last-minute search through the cavernous spaceship for any doubtful connections. Satisfied there were none, the three weary cadets assembled on the control deck and sipped the hot tea that Manning had thoughtfully prepared.

[Illustration: The three weary cadets assembled on the control deck]

“You know, by the time we get out of the Academy I don’t think there’ll be a single inch of this space wagon that I haven’t inspected with my nose,” commented Roger in a tired voice.

“You know you love it, Manning,” said Astro, who, though as tired as Tom and Roger, could still continue to work if necessary. His love for the mighty atomic rocket motors, and his ability to repair anything mechanical, was already a legend around the Academy. He cared for the power deck of the Polaris as if it were a baby.

“Might as well pack in and grab some sleep before we report to Captain Strong,” said Tom. “He might have us blasting off right away, and I, for one, would like to sleep and sleep and then sleep some more!”

“I’ve been thinking about what Alfie had to say,” said Roger. “You know, about this being a great adventure.”

“What about it?” asked Astro.

“Well, you don’t give this kind of overhaul for just a plain, short hop upstairs.”

“You think it might be something deeper?” asked Astro softly.

“Whatever it is,” said Tom, getting up, “we’ll need sleep.” He rose, stretched, and walked wearily to the exit port. Astro and Roger followed him out, and once again they boarded the slidewalk for the trip back to the main dormitory and their quarters on the forty-second floor. A half hour later the three members of the Polaris were sound asleep.

Early morning found Captain Steve Strong in his quarters, standing at the window and staring blankly out over the quadrangle. In his left hand he clutched a sheaf of papers. He had just reread, for the fifth time, a petition for reinstatement of space papers for Al Mason and Bill Loring. It wasn’t easy, as Strong well knew, to deprive a man of his right to blast off and rocket through space, and the papers in question, issued only by the Solar Guard, comprised the only legal license to blast off.

Originally issued as a means of preventing overzealous Earthmen from blasting off without the proper training or necessary physical condition, which resulted in many deaths, space papers had gradually become the only effective means of controlling the vast expanding force of men who made space flight their life’s work. With the establishment of the Spaceman’s Code a hundred years before, firm rules and regulations for space flight had been instituted. Disobedience to any part of the code was punishable by suspension of papers and forfeiture of the right to blast off.

One of these rules stated that a spaceman was forbidden to blast off without authorization or clearance for a free orbit from a central traffic control. Bill Loring and Al Mason were guilty of having broken the regulation. Members of the crew of the recent expedition to Tara, a planet in orbit around the sun star Alpha Centauri, they had taken a rocket scout and blasted off without permission from Major Connel, the commander of the mission, who, in this case, was authorized traffic-control officer. Connel had recommended immediate suspension of their space papers. Mason and Loring had petitioned for a review, and, to assure impartial judgment, Commander Walters had sent the petition to one of his other officers to make a decision. The petition had landed on Strong’s desk.

Strong read the petition again and shook his head. The facts were too clear. There had been flagrant disregard for the rules and there was no evidence to support the suspended spacemen’s charge that they had been unjustly accused by Connel. Strong’s duty was clear. He had to uphold Major Connel’s action and suspend the men for a year.

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

To: CAPTAIN STEVE STRONG: Cadet Supervisor,

Polaris Unit

Upon receipt of this communication, you are ordered to

transfer the supervisory authority of the cadet unit

designated as POLARIS unit; i.e., Cadets Tom Corbett, Roger

Manning, and Astro, and the command of the rocket cruiser

Polaris, to the command and supervisory authority of Major

Connel for execution of mission as outlined herein:

1. To test range, life, and general performance of audio

communications transmitter, type X21.

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

deep space flight.

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

This communication and all subsequent information relative to

above-mentioned mission shall be classified as _topmost

secret_.

Signed: WALTERS,

Commandant, Space Academy

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

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

“Yes, Captain Strong?” he asked.

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

“Aye, aye, sir.”

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

“Oh--well--” Strong hesitated.

“They’re quite anxious to know if you’ve reached any decision regarding their petition for reinstatement.”

“Mmm--yes, of course. Very well, send them in.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

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

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

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

Loring finally broke the heavy silence.

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