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Treachery in Outer Space

<h2>CHAPTER 10</h2> " ... Chamber was cut open and Cadet Corbett was rushed to the spaceport's sick bay...." As the metallic voice of the Deimos tower operator continued his report of the tragic crash of the Space Lance, Strong and Walters sighed with relief. At least Tom was not dead! "He is still in a state of shock, but after a preliminary examination, the medical officer reports that he will recover. That is all the information I have at this time, Titan. End transmission." The loud-speaker was silent except for the continuous flow of static. "By the stars," breathed Strong, "I'm sure glad to hear that." Walters put his arm around the captain's shoulder. "I'm glad too, Steve. I know how you feel about those three boys." "And that Astro," said Strong, beaming. "Wouldn't you know he'd be the one to rescue Tom." He paused and then continued thoughtfully, "You know, sir, with the exception of Manning, I'd be willing to recommend Solar Guard commissions for the unit right now." Walters snorted. "Manning! By the stars, he could be the best astrogator in the universe, but—but he's so undisciplined." "Excuse me, sir," the enlisted spaceman interrupted. "Here is a transcript of the report from Deimos if you care to have it." "Thank you," said Walters, putting it into his pocket. "Well, Steve, I guess we'd better start to work here." He turned to the Titan senior officer who had been waiting respectfully. "Ready, Captain Howard?" "Yes, sir." "Lead on, then," said Walters. As the three officers turned to leave the control tower, they noticed Charley Brett sitting near the door. In the excitement of the news of Tom's narrow escape, they had forgotten the company owner was there. Strong stopped and looked at him coldly. "What are you doing on Titan, Brett?" "Came on ahead to welcome the winner," Brett replied easily, not even bothering to stand. "Pretty confident your man will win, eh?" "Most assuredly," said Brett with elaborate sarcasm. "I would never have entered a ship in the race if I didn't think I would win. Though, in all fairness, I think I should have received the contract to haul the crystal without this extra effort." "What kind of reactant is Quent Miles using in that ship of yours?" asked Walters sharply. Brett smiled. "The same as everyone else, Commander." "What about your feeders?" asked Strong. "With ordinary reactant, and no new cooling units aboard your ship, you must have oversized feeders to make such fantastic speeds." Brett shrugged and held out his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I don't even know myself, Captain Strong," he said blandly. "It's one reason why I have Quent Miles piloting for me. He has a few tricks that apparently are quite effective." "I hope they are legitimate tricks, Mr. Brett," said Walters. "Let's go, Steve." The three officers turned away and left Brett sitting there, smiling triumphantly. "I think we'd better start from the beginning in our inspection of the screens, Captain Howard," said Walters, as the three officers left the control tower and walked across the spaceport. "First of all, I want a twenty-four-hour watch placed on all operational centers, pump houses, and generator plants. I cannot discount the idea of sabotage. Why anyone would want to wreck the screens is beyond me, but we cannot ignore the possibility." "I already have men stationed at the main operational centers, sir," replied Howard. "Your Space Marines will help me cover the rest." "Steve," said Walters, turning to the Solar Guard officer, "if this is a natural phenomenon—some new element in Titan's atmosphere breaking down the force screens—the problem is bad enough. But if this is caused by man—if it really is sabotage—we'll have a doubly hard time. We can find the reason eventually, if it is natural, but man can conceal his reasons. And until we find out the motives behind this we must count on the situation getting worse. I want you to pursue that line of investigation. Find out if anyone has a good reason to force the abandonment of Titan." "It's a big order, sir," said Strong. "I'll do the best I can." "That's good enough for me," replied the commander, nodding his satisfaction. <hr style='width: 45%;' /> "Any word, sir?" asked Astro eagerly as the white-clad medical officer emerged from the room. The man smiled. "Thanks to you, Cadet Astro," he replied, "your friend will be able to leave as soon as he gets his pants on." "Yeow!" bawled Astro in his famous bull-like bellow. "Thanks, sir. Thanks a million!" He turned and wrenched open the sick-bay door, almost splintering it in his enthusiasm. Tom was just sitting up on the side of the bed. "Hiya, Astro!" called Tom with a weak grin. "The sawbones tells me I owe you a brand-new shiny credit piece for saving my life." His enthusiasm at high pitch, Astro was nevertheless unable to do more than smile broadly at his unit mate. "Only reason I did it," he said. "All right, here you are." Tom handed over a coin. "That's all I thought my chances were worth." At that moment the Solar Guard major in command of the Deimos spaceport entered, followed by Kit Barnard and Sid. After greeting Tom with enthusiasm that matched Astro's, Kit and Sid stood to one side quietly and listened while Tom gave his preliminary report to the major who held a recorder microphone in front of him. <div class='figcenter'> <ANTIMG src="images/112-1.jpg" alt="[Illustration]" /></div> <h5>"Yeow!" bawled Astro. "Thanks, sir. Thanks a million!"</h5> "I heard a terrific noise on the power deck as soon as we blasted off," Tom began. "And Captain Sticoon ordered me to go below and check on it. I saw the trouble right away. The lead baffles around the reactant chambers had become loose and the reactant was spilling out, starting to wildcat. I called Bill over the intercom right away and he ordered me to get into a space suit and wait for him in the air lock. I heard him shut off the generators—but that's all. The reactant blew and I must've been knocked cold, because the next thing I remember was this big ugly face bending over me ordering me to wake up." Tom grinned at Astro. "I see," mused the major aloud. "Now about the baffles. How could they have worked loose? Do you think the lock bolts gave way in the excessive heat due to the intense blast-off speed?" "No, sir," said Tom firmly. "Those bolts were loosened. I distinctly remember seeing one of them fall to the deck as I walked in." "Then you suspect that the ship was sabotaged?" "That's not for me to say, sir," said Tom after a moment's hesitation. "In all my experience, I have never seen one of those bolts work loose of its own accord or because of heat or vibration on the power deck." He glanced at Astro, who was hunched forward, listening intently. "Have you, Astro?" The big Venusian shook his head slowly. "Never," he said. "Well, thank you, Corbett, that will be all for now," said the major and then turned to Kit. "I want to congratulate you, sir, on your sacrifice in going to the aid of the Space Lance." "Wild Bill would have done the same thing for me," said Kit without emotion. "Do I have permission to continue the race now?" The major was startled. "You mean you still want to go on?" "Every cent I have is tied up in my ship and in this race, sir," said Kit. "I have my new reactor unit working properly now, and I believe that I still have a chance." "But you've lost hours, man," protested the major. "I can make them up, sir," said Kit. "Am I permitted to carry on?" The major was flustered, but nodded his head. "By all means. Yes, indeed! And spaceman's luck to you." "I'd like to make the trip with him if he'll have me, sir," said Tom, getting off the bed. "I'm all right. The doctor said so." "But—but—but you need rest, Cadet Corbett," said the major. "No, I can't permit it." Just at that moment the medical officer walked in. "So far as I'm concerned," he said, looking at Tom, "he's a lot healthier than you are, sir. With all due respect, sir." "Very well, then," shrugged the major. "Carry on! Do as you please!" Shaking his head in confusion, the major left the room. "Well," said Kit Barnard, stepping forward, a big smile on his face, "what are we waiting for?" <hr style='width: 45%;' /> "Minus five, four, three, two, one—zero!" The spaceship Good Company shot away from the small moon of Mars and thousands of eyes at the spaceport followed it into the heavens, watching its blazing track disappear into the depths of space. If sympathy and good wishes could decide the race to Titan, the spaceship Good Company was a certain winner. Aboard the sleek craft, Tom Corbett relaxed after the tremendous blast-off acceleration and turned to look at the tense face of Kit Barnard who was seated in the pilot's chair. "Why don't you get some sleep, Kit?" said Tom. "I can take this baby over. It's the least I can do for all you've done for me." "Thanks, Tom, but I'll stay with it awhile longer," replied the veteran spaceman. "At least until we find out where the Space Knight is." Tom suddenly remembered the trouble with Roger. "Has there been any news of them at all?" he asked. "The last thing we heard was that he was approaching Ganymede. And that was a few hours ago, when you were trapped in the air-lock chamber." "Ganymede!" Tom was thunderstruck. "But—but—how did he do it?" Kit shook his head. "I don't know, Tom, but he sure has some speed in that black ship of his." "Ganymede!" Tom repeated in bewilderment. It was beyond belief. The Polaris, using hyperdrive, could scarcely have made the flight any faster. Tom felt his heart sinking. The hope that Kit Barnard could catch the black Space Knight was faint now. "Shall I call Ganymede again and see if they have anything new?" Tom asked finally. "Yes, do that, Tom," Kit replied. The curly-haired cadet quickly climbed the ladder to the radar bridge and sat wearily in front of the teleceiver. "Spaceship Good Company to Ganymede spaceport," he called. "Come in, Ganymede." Seconds later, the voice of the Ganymede control operator crackled over the loud-speaker in reply. "Ganymede station to Good Company. Go ahead." "Can you give me any information on the departure time of Space Knight from Ganymede?" "She has not blasted off yet. She is having trouble in her after burners." "How long do you estimate it will take for her to effect repairs and blast off?" asked Tom, a note of rising hope in his voice. While the black ship had made it to Ganymede under full power without refueling, the strain might have damaged her seriously. Tom waited patiently for the reply, drumming his fingers on the table in his excitement. "Not more than sixteen hours, Good Company," the Ganymede operator finally answered. "Where are you now?" Tom quickly ascertained his position and relayed it to the tiny Jovian-moon station. "Space sector fourteen, chart B for baker." After the metallic voice had repeated the information, Tom asked for information on Roger Manning. "No such person has reported to this office, Cadet Corbett," came the negative reply. "End transmission." "End transmission," said Tom gloomily and slumped back into his chair. Something had happened to Roger, or he had completely blown his top. And in the light of past performances by the blond-haired radar expert, Tom could not decide which. Roger had threatened many times that if he should ever leave the Academy, he would do it quietly, without fanfare. There was no better place to drop out of sight than on Ganymede, for it was here that the deep spacers, gigantic spaceships that hauled supplies to the colonies of Alpha Centauri, Tara, and Roald made their last stop. If Roger had finally made good his threat to leave the Academy, Ganymede was the logical place to do it. But why? <div class='figcenter'> <ANTIMG src="images/032-1.jpg" alt="[Illustration]" /></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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