Tom Corbett Space Cadet

by Carey Rockwell

  The three weary cadets were quartered in the finest hotel in Venusport and had just stumbled into bed when the room teleceiver signal buzzed. Tom shuffled over to the screen near the table where the remains of a huge supper gave mute evidence of their hunger. Switching on the machine, he saw Strong's face come into focus.

  "I hope you boys aren't too comfortable," announced Strong. "I'm afraid the sleep you're so hungry for will have to wait. This is an emergency!"

  "Oh, no!" groaned Roger. "I can't understand why emergencies come up every time I try to pound the pillow!"

  Astro fell back onto his bed with the look of a martyred saint and groaned.

  "What is it, sir?" asked Tom, who was as tired as the others. Nonetheless he felt the urgency in Strong's voice.

  "You blast off in half an hour," said the Solar Guard captain. "The Polaris has been refitted and you're to check her over before returning to Sinclair's. Everything has been prepared for you. Get dressed and you'll find a jet cab waiting for you in front of the hotel. I had hoped to see you again before you left, but I've been ordered back to the Academy with Commander Walters. We've got to report to the Solar Council, personally."

  "O.K., sir," said Tom, then smiled and added, "We're sorry your fishing was interrupted."

  "I wasn't catching anything, anyway." Strong laughed. "I've got to go. See you back at the Academy. Spaceman's luck!"

  "Same to you, sir," replied Tom. The screen blurred and the image faded as the connection was broken. Tom turned to face his sleepy-eyed unit mates. "Well, I guess we'd better take another aspirin. It looks like a hard night!"

  Hastily donning fresh jungle gear supplied the night before in anticipation of the mission, the three cadets trouped wearily out of their rooms and rode down to the lobby in the vacuum elevator. They walked across the deserted lobby as though in a trance and outside to the quiet street. A jet cab stood at the curb, the driver watching them. He whistled sharply and waved at them. "Hey, cadets! Over here!"

  Still in a fog, the three cadets climbed into the back seat, flopping into the soft cushions with audible groans as the cab shot away from the hotel and sped into the main highway which led to the spaceport.

  The traffic was light and the cab zoomed along at a smooth, fast clip, lulling the boys into a fitful doze. But they were rudely awakened when the car spun into a small country lane and the driver slammed on the brakes. He whirled around and grinned at them over a paralo-ray pistol. "Sorry, boys, the ride ends here. Now climb out and start stripping."

  The three sleepy cadets came alive instantly. Without a word they moved in three different directions simultaneously. Tom dived for one door, Astro the other, while Roger flopped to the floor. The driver fired, missing all of them, and before he could fire again he was jerked out of his seat and held in a viselike grip by Astro. Tom quickly wrenched the paralo-ray gun from his hand.

  "All right, you little space crawler," growled Astro, "start talking!"

  "Take it easy, Astro," said Tom. "How do you expect him to talk when you've got him around the Adam's apple!"

  "Yeah, you big ape," said Roger in a slow drawl. "Find out what he has to say before you twist his head off!"

  Astro released the man, pushing him against the cab door and pinning him there.

  "Now let's have it," he growled. "What's this all about?"

  "I didn't mean any harm," whined the cab driver. "A guy calls me and says for me to meet three Space Cadets."

  "What guy?" snapped Tom.

  "A guy I once knew when I was working the fields in the jungle belt. I worked on a plantation as a digger."

  "What's his name?" asked Roger.

  "I don't know his name. He's just a guy. He calls me and says it's worth a hundred credits to pick up three Space Cadets from the hotel and hold 'em for an hour. I figured the best way to hold you would be to make you take your clothes off."

  "What did he look like?" asked Roger.

  "A little guy, with a bald head and a limp. That's all I know—honest."

  "A limp, eh?" asked Tom. "A little fellow?"

  "How little?" asked Astro, getting the drift of Tom's question.

  "Real little. About five feet maybe, not much more'n that!"

  The three boys looked at each other and nodded.

  "The guy we bought our jungle gear from in the pawnshop!" exclaimed Astro.

  "Yeah," said Tom. "It sure sounds like him. But why would he want to stop us? And more important, who told him that Captain Strong was sending a cab for us?"

  They turned back to the cab driver for further explanation, but the man was now actually crying with fright.

  "We won't get anything more out of this little creep," said Astro. "Let's just turn him over to the Solar Guard at the spaceport. They'll know how to handle him."

  "Right," Tom agreed. "We've lost enough time as it is."

  "No, no—please!" moaned the cabman. "Lemme go! Take the cab. Drive it to the spaceport and just leave it, but please don't turn me over to the Solar Guard. If I'm seen with them, I'll be—" Suddenly the man darted to one side, eluded Astro's lunge, and scampered away. In a moment he was swallowed up in the darkness.

  "Boy," breathed Astro, "he was sure scared of something!"

  "Yes," said Tom. "And I'm beginning to get a little scared myself!"

  The cadets climbed into the cab and roared off toward the spaceport, each boy with the feeling that he was sitting on a smoldering volcano that was suddenly starting to erupt around him.

  CHAPTER 9

  "Rocket cruiser Polaris to Solar Guard Venusport! Request emergency relay circuit to Commander Walters en route Earth!"

  On the radar bridge of the Polaris, Roger Manning spoke quickly into the teleceiver microphone. Just a few minutes before the giant spaceship had blasted off from Venusport, heading for the Sinclair plantation, Major Connel had ordered Roger to get in touch with Walters to report the latest security leak. On the control deck the major paced back and forth restlessly as Tom guided the Polaris on its short flight.

  "I'll find the spy in the Solar Guard if I have to tear Venusport apart piece by piece!" fumed Connel.

  "What about that jet freighter we took away from the Nationalists, sir?" asked Tom. "Did you ever find out where it came from?"

  Connel nodded. "It was an old bucket on the Southern Colonial run. She was reported lost last year. Somehow those jokers got hold of her and armed her to the teeth."

  "You think maybe the crew could have mutinied, sir?"

  "It's highly possible, Corbett," answered Connel, and glanced around. "If they have any other ships of that size, the Polaris will be able to handle them."

  "Yes, sir." Tom smiled. "The repair crew did a good job on her." The cadet paused. "Do you suppose one of the Nationalists planted that bomb on her fin?"

  "No doubt of it," replied Connel. "And it seems to tie in with a rather strange thing that happened in the Venusian Delegate's office the day before it happened."

  "What was that, sir?" asked Tom.

  "Three priority orders for seats aboard a Venusport—Atom City express were stolen. Before a check could be made, the ship had made its run and the people using the priorities were gone. They must have been the ones that bumped you off your seats."

  "How do you think that ties in with the bomb on the Polaris, sir?"

  "We're trying to figure that out now," said Connel. "If only we knew what they looked like it would help. The girl at the ticket office doesn't remember them and neither does the ship's stewardess."

  "But we saw them, sir!" exclaimed Tom.

  "You what!" roared Connel.

  "Yes, sir. We were standing there at the ticket counter when they called for their tickets."

  "Do you think you'd recognize them again?"

  "I'll say!" asserted Tom. "And I'm sure Astro and Roger would, too. We were so mad, we could have blasted them on the spot."

  Connel turned to the intercom and shouted, "Manning, haven't you got that circuit through
yet?"

  "Working on it, sir." Roger's voice was smooth and unruffled over the intercom. "I'm in contact with the commander's ship now. They're calling him to the radar bridge now."

  Tom suddenly jumped out of his seat as though stung. "Say! I saw one of the fellows again too!"

  Connel whirled quickly to face the young cadet. "Where?" he demanded. "Where did you see him?"

  "I—I'm trying to remember." Tom began pacing the deck, snapping his fingers impatiently. "It was sometime during the past few days—I know it was!"

  "In Venusport?" demanded Connel, following Tom around the deck.

  "Yes, sir—"

  "Before or after your trip into the jungle?"

  "Uhh—before, I think," Tom replied hesitantly. "No. No. It was after we came back."

  "Well, out with it, Corbett!" exploded the major. "When? Where? You didn't do that much visiting! You were too tired to move!"

  "That's just it, sir," said Tom, shaking his head. "I was so tired everything was a blur. Faces are all mixed up. I—I—" The boy stopped and put his hands to his head as though trying to squeeze the one vital face out of his hazy memory.

  Connel kept after him like a hungry, stalking animal. "Where, Corbett? When?" he shouted. "You've got to remember. This is important! Think, blast you!"

  "I'm trying, sir," replied the cadet. "But it just won't come to me."

  The buzz of the intercom suddenly sounded and Connel reluctantly left Tom to answer it. Roger's voice crackled over the speaker. "I have Commander Walters now, sir. Feeding him down to the control-deck teleceiver."

  "Oh, all right," replied Connel and turned to Tom. "Come on, Corbett. I want you to report to the commander personally."

  "Yes, sir," replied Tom, walking slowly to the teleceiver. "I'm sorry I can't remember where I saw that man."

  "Forget it," Connel said gruffly. "It'll come to you again sometime." He paused and then added as gently as he could, "Sorry I blasted you like that."

  When Commander Walters' face appeared on the teleceiver screen, Connel reported the incident of the cab driver and the news that Tom, Roger, and Astro had seen the three men who had taken the priorities on the Venus Lark.

  "Just a minute," said Walters. "I'll have a recorder take down the descriptions."

  Connel motioned to Tom, who stepped before the screen. When he saw Walters nod, he gave a complete description of the three men he had seen in the Atom City spaceport.

  "Let's see, now," said Walters, after Tom had concluded his report. "The man who asked for the tickets was young, about twenty-two, dressed in Venusian clothing, dark, six feet tall, weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds. Right?"

  "Yes, sir," replied Tom.

  Connel suddenly stepped before the screen to interject, "And Corbett saw him in Venusport again sometime during the last two days."

  "Really? Where?"

  Connel glanced at Tom and then replied hurriedly, "Well, he can't be sure, sir. We rushed him around pretty fast and he saw a lot of people. But at least we know he's in Venusport somewhere."

  "Yes," nodded Walters. "That's something to work on, at least. And you have nothing more to add to the descriptions of the other two, Corbett?"

  "Not anything particular, sir," said Tom. "They were dressed in Venusian-type clothes also, but we didn't get a close look at them."

  "Very well," said Walters. "Proceed with your mission, Major. I'll have an alert sent out for the cab driver, and I'll have the owner of the pawnshop picked up. There must be someone on the Solar Delegate's staff who stole those priorities. We'll start searching there first, and if we come up with anyone who can't explain his absence from Venusport at the time the priorities were used, and fits Corbett's description, we'll contact you. End transmission!"

  "End transmission!" repeated Connel. The screen blanked out and Roger's voice came over the intercom immediately. "We'll be over Sinclair's in three minutes," he called. "Stand by."

  Tom turned to the controls and in exactly two minutes and fifty seconds the clearing surrounding Sinclair's home and the burned outbuildings came into view. Working effortlessly, with almost casual teamwork, the three cadets brought the giant spaceship to rest in the middle of the clearing. As the power was cut, the cadets saw George and Mrs. Hill jumping into a jet car and speeding out to greet them.

  After Tom introduced Connel to the couple, the major questioned them closely about their absence during the attack by the shock troops.

  "Mr. Sinclair often gives us time off for a trip into Venusport," explained Hill. "It gets pretty lonely out here."

  "Is Mr. Sinclair in now?" asked Connel.

  "No, he isn't," replied the plantation foreman. "He's on his weekly trip around the outer fields. I don't expect him back for another day or two."

  "For goodness sakes," exclaimed Mrs. Hill, "you can ask your questions just as easily and a darn sight more comfortably in the house! Come on. Let's get out of the sun."

  The small group climbed into the jet car and roared off across the clearing toward the house. The lone building left standing by the Nationalists looked strange amid the charred ruins of the other buildings. In the house, the three cadets busied themselves with home-baked apple pie which the housekeeper had brought out, while Connel was telling George of the attack on the plantation.

  "I've known about them all along, of course," said the foreman. "But I never paid any attention to them. I just quit, like Mr. Sinclair, when they started all that tomfoolery about wearing uniforms and stuff."

  "Well," said Connel, accepting a wedge of pie at Mrs. Hill's insistence, "now they've made the wrong move. Burning Sinclair's property and attacking an officer of the Solar Guard is going too far."

  "What are you going to do about it?" asked George.

  "I'm not at liberty to say, Mr. Hill," replied Connel. "But I can tell you this. When any person, or group of persons, tries to dictate to the Alliance, the Solar Guard steps in and puts a stop to it!"

  Suddenly the silence of the jungle clearing was shattered by the roar of a single jet craft coming in for a landing. Without looking out the window, George smiled and said, "There's Mr. Sinclair now! I know the sound of his jets."

  The group crowded out onto the front porch while George took the jet car and drove off to pick up his employer. A few moments later Sinclair was seated before Connel, wiping his sweating brow and accepting a cool drink from Mrs. Hill.

  "I was on my way to the north boundary when I saw your ship landing," explained Sinclair. "At first I thought it might be those devils coming back, but then I saw the Solar Guard insigne on the ship and figured it might be you." He looked at Connel closely. "Anything new, Major?"

  "Not yet," replied Connel. "But you can rest assured that you won't be bothered by them again."

  Sinclair paused, eying the major speculatively. "You know, as soon as you left, I went over to talk to Al Sharkey. I was plenty mad and really blasted him, but he swears that he was in Venusport at the time and doesn't know a thing about the raid."

  Connel nodded. "That's true. We checked on him. But while he might not have been in on the raid itself, there's nothing that says he didn't order it done!"

  "I doubt it," said Sinclair, with a queer apologetic note in his voice. "I'm inclined to believe that it was nothing more than a bunch of the younger, more hotheaded kids in the organization. As a matter of fact, Sharkey told me he was quitting as president. Seems you fellows in Venusport scared him plenty. Not only that, but I heard him calling up the other planters telling them what happened and every one of them is chipping in to rebuild my plantation."

  Connel looked at the planter steely-eyed. "So you think it was done by a bunch of kids, huh?"

  Sinclair nodded. "Wouldn't be surprised if they're not scared too!"

  "Well, you are entitled to your opinion, Mr. Sinclair. And if the other planters are going to rebuild your buildings, that's fine and charitable of them." Suddenly Connel's voice became harsh. "That does not, however, erase the
fact that a group of uniformed men, armed with paralo-ray guns and with ships equipped with blasters, attacked you! Atomic blasters, Mr. Sinclair, are not bought at the local credit exchange. They are made exclusively for the Solar Guard! That bunch of hotheaded kids, as you call them, are capable of attacking any community—even ships of the Solar Guard itself! That is a threat to the peace of the solar system and must be stopped!"

  Sinclair nodded quickly. "Oh, I agree, Major, I agree. I'm just saying that—"

  Connel stopped him. "I understand, Mr. Sinclair. You're a peaceful man and want to keep your life peaceful. But my job is to ensure that peace. As long as a group of militant toughs like we had here are on the loose, you won't have peace. You'll have pieces!"

  Tom, Roger, and Astro, sitting quietly and listening, felt like standing up and cheering as the major finished.

  "I know you can't tell me what you're going to do, Major Connel," said the planter, "but I hope that you'll allow me to help in any way I can."

  Connel hesitated before answering. "Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. But I'm not here officially now." And then he added, "Nor in regard to the Nationalists."

  Sinclair's eyes lit up slightly. "Oh?"

  "No. As you know, the cadets had quite a time with a tyrannosaurus. They wounded it and it might still be dangerous. That is, more dangerous than normally. I've got orders to track him down and finish him off."

  "But I thought you said you were going to put a stop to this business with the Nationalists," said the planter.

  "I said the Solar Guard would, Sinclair."

  "Oh, yes," mumbled Sinclair, "the Solar Guard. Of course."

  Connel got up abruptly. "I would appreciate it if you would look after our ship, though," he said. "I don't think we'll be longer than a week. Shouldn't be hard to track a tyrannosaurus, especially if it's wounded."

  "I suppose you have all the equipment you need," said Sinclair.

  "Yes, thank you," replied Connel. Then, thanking Mrs. Hill for the refreshments, the burly spaceman and the three cadets said good-by and left the house.