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Treachery in Outer Space

<h2>CHAPTER 8</h2> "All clear ahead, Bill!" Tom Corbett stood at the radarscope and watched the thin white line sweep around the face of the instrument. "Nothing in space but us!" he announced. The veteran spaceman grunted and grinned at the curly-haired cadet he had grown to like and respect in the short time they had been together. Not only did Tom know how to handle a ship, spelling the pilot for a few moments to have a walk around the control deck, but he was good company as well. More than once, Tom had surprised the Martian spaceman with his sober judgment of the minor decisions Sticoon had to make in flight. "Why don't you try to contact Manning again, Tom?" Sticoon suggested. "He might be awake now." Tom grinned, but in his heart he did not think it very funny. It was no joke that Captain Strong had called him to contact Roger. And Tom was worried. So far, he had not been able to reach the blond-haired cadet. He settled himself in front of the communicator and began calling the black ship again. "Rocket ship Space Lance to rocket ship Space Knight! Come in!" He waited. Nothing but static and silence greeted him. "Space Knight, come in!" He waited again as the sleek white ship plummeted deeper into space toward the first refueling stop on Deimos, one of the small twin moons of Mars. Still there was no acknowledging reply from the black ship that had streaked ahead of them after the blast-off. "I'm going to try to contact Kit Barnard," said Tom. "Maybe he can pick up Miles' blip on his radar." Tom made the necessary adjustment on the audioceiver and broadcast the call for the owner-pilot of the Good Company. Finally, after repeated tries, he heard a faint signal and recognized the voice of his unit mate Astro. "What's the matter, Astro?" asked Tom. "I can hardly hear you." "We're having trouble with the by-pass lines to the generators," replied Astro. "We've cut down to standard space speed, and Sid and Kit are making repairs now." "Have you heard from Roger?" asked Tom across the vast abyss of space separating them. "I've been trying to contact the Space Knight for the last six hours and can't get any acknowledgment." "Haven't seen it," replied Astro. "Lost contact with her a long time ago. She moved ahead at emergency space speed and we lost her on our radar an hour after we blasted off." "O.K., Astro. Hope Kit gets his wagon going again. We've got to make a race of this, or the people throughout the system will be disappointed." He turned and winked at Wild Bill. "Listen, you curly-haired twerp!" roared Astro, and it seemed to Tom that he could hear his friend without the loud-speaker. "We're going to give you the hottest run of your lives when we get going!" "O.K., Astro," said Tom. "If you can contact Roger, tell him to get in touch with Captain Strong right away. He's probably blasted off on the Polaris by now." "Right, Tom. End transmission." "End transmission." Tom turned back to the skipper of the Space Lance with a feeling of despair. "I can't figure it out, Bill," he said. "Roger's pulled some boners before, real rocket blasters, but refusing to answer a call from Strong—" He shook his head. The audioceiver suddenly crackled into life. "Space Knight to Space Lance, check in!" Quent Miles' voice was harsh and clear. Tom jumped back to the microphone. "Space Lance, Cadet Corbett here!" he shouted eagerly. "Go ahead, Space Knight! Where's Manning?" "Still asleep!" replied Miles. "Just wanted to tell you boys good-by. I'm not stopping to refuel at Deimos! I'm going right on through to Ganymede! End transmission!" Only static filled the control deck of the Space Lance as Tom clutched the microphone and pleaded desperately for Quent Miles to answer him. "Come in, Miles! This is Corbett on the Space Lance to Quent Miles on the Space Knight! Come in, Miles! Come in!" Bill Sticoon shook his head. "Miles must be nuts trying to get to Ganymede without refueling," he muttered. "Traveling at emergency space speed, he'll eat up his fuel before he gets one third of the way to Jupiter!" Tom looked at Sticoon. "And Roger's with him." Sticoon nodded grimly. "They'll wind up drifting around in space halfway between Mars and Jupiter. Finding them will be about as easy as looking for a pebble in the Martian desert." <hr style='width: 45%;' /> "Have you found the Space Lance yet, Astro?" asked Kit Barnard, glancing over his shoulder at the giant Venusian, standing at the radarscope. "I think I'm getting it now," said Astro. "Either that or I've picked up an asteroid." "Not likely," said Kit. "We're too far from the belt to have anything that big drifting around without being charted. It must be Sticoon." "Boy!" chuckled Astro. "This reactor really packs a load of power!" "How are we doing on fuel, Sid?" Kit called into the intercom. "We lost a lot trying to prime the pumps," replied the young crew chief. "We have to touch down on Deimos and refuel." "That's all right," replied Kit with a smile. "We're gaining on Sticoon fast. We should make Deimos about the same time. I wonder where Quent Miles is by now." "Probably wishing he had stopped for fuel!" interjected Astro with a sour look on his face. "See if you can pick up Sticoon on the audioceiver, Astro," said Kit. "Ask him for an estimated time of arrival on Deimos. One of us will have to come in first." Astro flipped the switch on the panel and began his call "Good Company to Space Lance, come in!" "Right here, Astro," replied Tom immediately. "Boy, you certainly are burning up space! What have you got in your fuel tanks? Light speed?" "Just a little thing we whipped up," said Astro with a grin. "What is your ETA on Deimos, Tom?" "Less than five minutes. Four minutes and thirty seconds, to be exact. Think you can beat that?" "If we can't beat it, we can equal it!" said Astro. "See you on the Martian moon, buddy! End transmission!" Steadily, the Good Company rocketed through space, eating up the miles and gaining on the Space Lance. Both ships now made contact with the control tower on Deimos and received landing instructions. "Space Lance will touch down on Ramp Three, Good Company on Ramp Six," crackled the voice of the Deimos tower operator, "and don't forget your approach orbits!" "Have you heard from the Space Knight?" called Tom. "Sorry, Space Lance," came the reply, "there has been no contact with Space Knight." Tom began to feel the fingers of fear creeping up and down his spine. Quent Miles had carried out his plan of going on to Ganymede without refueling, threatening not only his own life, but Roger's as well. Sticoon completed the three circling passes around Deimos and shouted to Tom over his shoulder. "Stand by, Corbett. We're ready to go in!" Tom strapped himself into his acceleration chair and, watching the atmospheric altimeter, a delicate instrument that recorded their height above the surface of a heavenly body, began to call off the indicated figures. "Five thousand feet, four, three—dropping too fast—compensate for lesser gravity—two thousand, one, five hundred, two hundred—" Tom braced himself and seconds later felt the impact of the ship settling stern first on the concrete ramp. "Touchdown," he sang out in a clear voice. While Sticoon secured the control deck, closing the many switches and circuits on the master panel, Tom opened the air lock. Almost immediately, special-trained crews swarmed into the ship to refuel her and prepare her for the next lap of the race. Tom and Sticoon stepped out onto the spaceport of the tiny moon of Mars and gazed up at the red planet that loomed large over the horizon. As a transfer point for the great passenger liners that rocketed between Venusport, Atom City, and Marsopolis, the refueling station at Deimos was well staffed and expertly manned. Standing at the air lock, Tom and Sticoon heard the blasting roar of the Good Company coming down in a fast, expert touchdown, and they hurried across the spaceport to greet their rivals. When the air lock opened, Tom immediately began to kid Astro and Sid, while Sticoon and Kit Barnard compared flight notes. A Universal Stereo reporter rushed up with a small portable camera and conducted an interview that was to be telecast back to Earth. Both spacemen were reluctant to voice any predictions of the outcome of the race, but Tom noticed that Kit was smiling and seemed in good spirits. Tom, with all his worries about Roger, could not help but feel happy that the independent spaceman was proving his reactor. A man in the uniform of a Solar Guard major appeared. He introduced himself as an official monitor of the race, appointed by Commander Walters, and asked them for a report. "Captain Sticoon has followed all regulations, sir," said Tom. "And Captain Barnard, Cadet Astro?" asked the officer. "Same thing, sir," replied Astro. "Captain Barnard has followed the rules of the race exactly." "Thank you," replied the officer and started to turn away. "Any word from the Space Knight, sir?" Tom asked quickly. "Nothing, Corbett," the officer replied. "We received the same message that Captain Miles would attempt to go on through to Ganymede without stopping here at Deimos for refueling." "And you've heard nothing from him since, sir?" asked Astro. "Nothing, why?" The officer looked at both of the boys sharply. "Anything wrong?" "No, sir," said Tom. "It's just that Cadet Roger Manning is monitor on the Space Knight and we haven't been able to talk to him since we blasted off from Space Academy." "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, Cadet Corbett," snapped the major. "I've heard of Cadet Manning's reluctance to stick to regulations. I suspect you will be hearing from him soon enough, when the ship runs out of fuel and starts drifting around in the asteroid belt. Those individualists always scream for help when they get in trouble." "Yes, sir," said Tom stiffly. "I already have a squadron of ships standing by to go to their assistance when they do send out a distress alert." "Yes, sir," said Tom. "Will that be all, sir? Cadet Astro and I would like to have a bite to eat before we blast off again." "Yes, that will be all, Corbett. Don't wander off too far." The major turned and walked toward the ships without another word. "Wonder what's eating him?" said Tom. "Never mind," said Astro. "Come on. Let's grab a bite while we have the chance." They headed for the restaurant in the control building of the spaceport, but were recognized by the reporter of the stereo company who badgered them into stepping before the camera and making statements about the race. He tried to get the boys to commit themselves as to who they hoped would win, and to offer an opinion on what had happened to the Space Knight. But neither Tom nor Astro said anything but that the best man would win. There were the usual eager spectators too, thousands from the large cities on Mars who had taken the ferry rocket up to the spaceport to see the ships come in for refueling. As soon as Tom and Astro could tear away from the stereo reporter, they were mobbed by the onlookers who clamored for autographs. Finally the two cadets had to forego their meal and return to their respective ships to escape the wild demonstration. Seated in his acceleration chair on the control deck of the Space Lance, waiting for Bill Sticoon to come aboard, Tom found his concern for Roger overriding his enthusiasm for the race. When Sticoon appeared and began to prepare the ship for blast-off, Tom went through the motions mechanically. The Space Lance was scheduled to leave first, with Kit Barnard following at the exact time interval of their arrivals. The Deimos tower operator's voice droned over the loud-speaker on the control deck of the Space Lance " ... minus five, four, three, two, one"—then the breath-taking pause before the climactic—"zero!" <div class='figcenter'> <ANTIMG src="images/094-1.jpg" alt="[Illustration]" /></div> The ship shot spaceward, rockets roaring loudly in the thin atmosphere of the small satellite. The next moment, before the horrified eyes of thousands of people, the Space Lance exploded a few miles above the ground. Astro stood frozen at the viewport of the Good Company, his eyes glazed with shock as he watched the Martian ship disintegrate far above him. All he could do was mutter brokenly, "Tom ... Tom ..." <div class='figcenter'> <ANTIMG src="images/095-1.jpg" alt="[Illustration]" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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