Miles paled for an instant and then grinned uneasily. "Don't worry about it, Strong. They're pretty tough kids."
Kit Barnard suddenly burst into the control room. "I've searched the cargo holds, Commander," he said. "Nothing there but lead boxes. Didn't find the boys—" Barnard stopped suddenly at the sight of the two unconscious cadets. "Tom! Roger!" he cried.
"They were slugged, Kit," said Strong. "You go back to the Polaris and send out an emergency call. Find the closest ship with a medical officer aboard and arrange for a meeting out here in space. We'll be ready to blast in five minutes."
"O.K., Steve," replied Kit, turning to the door and then stopping to glare at Miles. "And save a piece of that space rat for me!"
Under Barnard's steely look, Miles rose to his feet and stepped back hesitantly. Then, suddenly, he jumped up on the chair, scrambled to the top of the master control panel, and crouched there tensely.
Strong, Walters, and Kit were momentarily stunned by his strange action. It seemed like a senseless and futile effort to get away. There was no way Miles could get out of the control deck or off the ship.
Beyond the reach of anyone on the control deck, Miles began to laugh.
Walters turned beet red with anger. "This is stupid, Miles!" he roared. "You can't get away and you know it!"
"That all depends on where you're standing, Walters!" said a voice from the hatch.
The three spacemen whirled at the sound of the voice and were dumfounded by the appearance of Quent Miles, standing to one side of the hatch, holding an automatic paralo-ray rifle, trained on them.
"Stay right where you are," he said softly. "The first man that moves gets frozen solid!"
Walters, Strong, and Kit were too stunned to make a move. They could only stare in open disbelief at Quent Miles.
"Come on down, Ross!" called Quent. "And if anyone tries to stop him, I'll let all three of you have it!"
Ross climbed down from the control panel and stripped the three helpless spacemen of their weapons. He threw them out of the hatch and then went to stand by his brother. As they stood side by side, Strong and Walters couldn't help but gasp at the identical features of the two men.
"You can never hope to get away, either of you," growled Walters, when he finally regained his composure.
Quent laughed. "We're doing more than just hope, Walters."
"Just for your information," Ross chimed in, "we're changing ships and taking the cargo with us." He backed toward the hatch slowly. "Come on, Quent." The two brothers stepped back through the doorway, Ross keeping his rifle leveled at the three men.
Safely outside, Quent slammed the heavy door closed. Then, with a rocket wrench, he worked on the outer nuts of the door used in emergency to seal off the ship by compartments.
"All set!" said Quent, stepping back. "They can't get out now until someone comes and loosens up those nuts."
"Get down below and start transferring that cargo to the Polaris," ordered Ross, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. "I'll get on the audioceiver and tell that cruiser squadron to go back."
Quent laughed. "You know, Ross, this is terrific," he chortled. "We not only get away, but we get ourselves a Solar Guard rocket cruiser. Nobody'll be able to touch us in that ship."
"Nobody but me, Miles!" said a voice behind them. The two brothers spun around to see Astro, stripped to the waist, a heavy lug wrench in his hand, legs spread apart, ready to spring.
"Had me fooled there for a while, Ross!" he growled. "I saw your brother back at the Academy and thought it was you. But he didn't have the split ear lobe, the one I gave you. Remember?"
Ross slowly reached for the rifle that was slung over his shoulder.
"Don't do it, Ross!" warned Astro. "Get your hands off that rifle or I'll ram this wrench down your throat!"
Ross lowered his hand again slowly.
"Who is this guy, Ross?" asked Quent, licking his lips nervously. "How does he know about us?"
Ross kept his eyes on Astro, glaring at the cadet in hot fury. "I met him on a deep spacer, five years ago, when you were laid up in the hospital," he said between his teeth. "This punk was a wiper on the power deck. I was his petty officer."
"We got into a fight," snarled Astro, "when he wanted to send me into a firing chamber without letting it cool off first."
"There are two of us now, Astro!" said Ross.
Astro nodded slowly. "That's right. Two of you!" Suddenly he dove toward the two men, arms outstretched. With one mighty swipe of the wrench he knocked Quent unconscious. Ross was hurled against the bulkhead by the impact but managed to stay on his feet. Desperately he tore the paralo-ray rifle from his shoulder, but before he could level it, Astro was upon him, wrenching it out of his grasp. Pushing Ross away, he calmly broke it in two and threw the pieces to one side. Then he faced the black-clad spaceman squarely.
"I was a kid when I first saw you, Ross," he said between his teeth. "So you had me fooled like everyone else. When your brother showed up at the Academy with his ears in good shape, I thought it was a curious coincidence two guys should look so much alike. And on Titan, when you had me hauling up those boxes, you wore your hat all the time, along with the oxygen mask, so I didn't think anything of it. But now I know!"
All the while Astro talked, the two men circled each other like two wrestlers, each waiting for his opponent to make a mistake.
"So you know!" sneered Ross. "All right, wiper, come on!"
The black-suited spaceman suddenly dove straight at Astro and the cadet caught the full force of his body in his stomach. He sprawled on the deck, gasping. Miles was on top of him in a second, hands at Astro's throat.
Fire danced in the cadet's brain as Ross Miles' steely fingers closed around his windpipe. Slowly, with every ounce of strength he had in his body, Astro grasped Miles' wrists in his hands and began squeezing. The fingers around the muscular wrists were the fingers of a boy filled with hate and revenge. Slowly, very slowly, as the seconds ticked away and the wind whistled raggedly in his throat, Astro increased the enormous pressure.
Now he felt the fingers around his throat begin to relax a little, and then a little more, and he kept tightening the pressure of his mighty hands. Expressions of surprise and then pain spread across Miles' face and he finally relaxed his grip around Astro's throat. He struggled to free himself from the viselike grip but it was hopeless.
Astro continued to apply pressure. He forced Miles up from his chest and then up on his feet, never relenting. Miles' face was now twisted in agony.
They stood on the deck, face to face, for almost a minute in silent struggle. There seemed to be no end to the power in the cadet's hands.
Suddenly Ross Miles slumped to his knees and sprawled on the deck as Astro let him go. The black-clad spaceman had fainted.
* * * * *
"They got a couple of hard bumps, but they'll be all right," announced the medical officer, straightening up. "But that man outside, Ross Miles, is going to stand trial with a broken wrist!" He turned to Strong. "What do you feed these cadets?"
Strong smiled and replied, "These are special types we train to take care of space rats!"
Tom and Roger lay stretched out on emergency cots set up on the control deck of the Polaris. They grinned weakly at Astro, who hovered over them solicitously.
"This is the first time we've ever wound up an assignment on our backs, you big Venusian hick!" said Roger. "And I suppose I'll have to thank you for saving my life!"
Astro grinned. "Wasn't much to save, Roger."
"Listen you!" Roger rose on one elbow, but the medical officer pressed him gently back on the cot.
"Did you ever find out how Bill Sticoon's ship was sabotaged, Captain Strong?" asked Tom.
"We sure did, Tom," said Strong. "One of Brett's confederates slugged the Solar Guard officer in charge of monitoring the race on Deimos and took his place. If it hadn't been for a brash stereo reporter that kept taking pictures of everything and everyone, the i
mpersonator wouldn't have been caught."
"And to think that I wanted to give that reporter a few lumps!" Tom exclaimed.
"Did you find out anything about the crash of Gigi Duarte's ship, sir?" asked Roger.
"Yes. Ross confessed that he was in Luna City and planted a time bomb on Gigi's ship when the French Chicken came in for refueling."
"Say," exclaimed Roger, "I just happened to think! With Miles disqualified, Kit wins the race!"
Seated in the pilot's chair, Kit turned to Roger and waved a paper. "Here's the contract, Roger. Signed, sealed, and with only the crystal to be delivered."
"There's only one thing bothering me now," sighed Tom.
"What's that, Tom?" asked Strong.
"Do you think I could get a three-day pass before we go back to class at the Academy?"
Strong and Kit looked at each other, puzzled. "With sick leave, you'll have plenty of time," said Strong. "Why a three-day pass especially?"
Tom settled deeper into the cot. "Well, sir," he said, grinning, "I figure it'll take just about three days for Astro and Roger to argue it out about who did the most to catch Ross and Quent Miles. And I don't want to have to listen to it!"
THE END
Sabotage in Space
First Published 1955
A TOM CORBETT Space Cadet Adventure
SABOTAGE IN SPACE
By CAREY ROCKWELL
WILLY LEY Technical Adviser
GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers New York
COPYRIGHT, 1955, BY
ROCKHILL RADIO
©ROCKHILL RADIO 1955
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
ILLUSTRATIONS BY LOUIS GLANZMAN
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 1
"Bong-g-g! Bong-g-g! Bong-g-g!—"
With a hollow booming sound reminiscent of old eighteenth-and nineteenth-century clock towers, the electronic time tone rang out from the Tower of Galileo, chiming the hour of nine. As the notes reverberated over the vast expanse of Space Academy, U.S.A., the lights in the windows of the cadet dormitories began to wink out and the slidewalks that crisscrossed the campus, connecting the various buildings, rumbled to a halt. When the last mournful note had rolled away to die in the distant hills, the school was dark and still. The only movement to be seen was the slow pacing of the cadet watch officers, patrolling their beats; the only sound, the measured clicking of their boots on the metal strips of the slidewalks.
On the north side of the quadrangle near the Tower, a young watch officer paused in front of one of the dormitories and scanned the darkened windows of the durasteel and crystal building. Satisfied that all was in order, he continued on his lonely way. A moment later a shadowy figure rose out of the bushes opposite the dormitory entrance and stepped forward quickly and cautiously. Pausing on the slidewalk to stare after the disappearing watch officer, the figure was illuminated by the dim light from the entrance hall. He was a young man wearing the royal-blue uniform of a Space Cadet. Tall and wiry, with square features topped by a shock of close-cropped blond hair, he stood poised on the balls of his feet, ready to move quickly should another watch officer appear.
After a quick glance at his wrist chronometer, the young cadet darted across the slidewalk toward the transparent crystal portal of the dormitory. Hesitating only long enough to make certain that the inner hallway was clear, he slid the portal open, ducked inside, and sprinted down the hall toward a large black panel on the wall near the foot of the slidestairs. On the panel, in five long columns, were the name plates of every cadet quartered in the dormitory and beside each plate were two words, IN and OUT, with a small tab that fitted over one of the words.
Out of the one hundred and fifty cadets in the dormitory, one hundred and forty-nine were marked IN. The slender, blond-haired cadet quickly made it unanimous, reaching up to the tab next to the name of Roger Manning and sliding it over to cover the word OUT. With a last final look around, he raced up the slidestairs, smiling in secret triumph.
In Room 512 on the fifth floor of the dormitory, Tom Corbett and Astro, the two other cadets who, with Roger Manning, made up the famed Polaris unit of the Space Cadet Corps, were deep in their studies. Though the lights-out order had been given over the dormitory loud-speaker system, the desk lamp burned brightly and there was a blanket thrown over the window. The boys of the Polaris unit weren't alone in their disobedience. All over the dormitory, lights were on and cadets were studying secretly. But they all felt fairly safe, for the cadet watch officers on each floor were anxious to study themselves and turned a blind eye. Even the Solar Guard officer of the day, in charge of the entire dormitory, was sympathetic to their efforts and made a great deal of unnecessary noise while on his evening rounds.
His brown curly hair falling over his forehead, Tom Corbett frowned in concentration as he kept the earphones of his study machine clamped tightly to his ears and listened to a recorded lecture on astrophysics as it unreeled from the spinning study spool. As command cadet of the Polaris unit, Tom was required to know more than merely his particular duty as pilot of a rocket ship. He had to be familiar with every phase of space travel, with a working knowledge of the duties of all his unit mates.
Astro, the power-deck officer of the unit, paced back and forth between the bunks like a huge, hulking bear, muttering to himself as he tried to memorize the table of reaction times for rocket motors. Though the huge Venusian cadet was a genius at all mechanical tasks, and able to work with tools the way a surgeon worked with instruments, he had great difficulty in learning the theories and scientific reasons for all the things he did instinctively. Suddenly Astro stopped, looked at his chronometer, then turned to Tom.
"Hey, Tom!" he called. "Where's that jerk, Manning?"
"Huh?" replied Tom, lifting one of the earphones from his ears. "What did you say, Astro?"
"Where's Manning?" reiterated Astro. "It's ten minutes after lights out."
"He was going to get those study spools for us, wasn't he?" mused Tom.
"He should've been back by now," grunted the Venusian. "The library closed an hour ago. Besides, he couldn't have gotten those spools. Every other cadet in the Academy is after them."
"Well, he's a pretty resourceful joker," sighed Tom, turning back to the study machine. "When he goes after something, he gets it by hook or crook."
"It's the crook part that bothers me," grumbled Astro. "Besides, if the O.D. catches him out of quarters, he'll be doing his studying while he's polishing up the mess hall."
Suddenly the door to the room burst open and slammed closed. Tom and Astro whirled to see their missing unit mate lounging against the doorframe, grinning broadly.
"Roger!"
"Where've you been, blast you?"
Tom and Astro both jumped forward and spoke at the same time. The blond-haired cadet merely looked at them lazily and then sauntered forward, pulling six small study spools from his pockets.
"You wanted these study spools, didn't you?" he drawled, giving his unit mates three apiece. "Be my guest and study like mad."
Tom and Astro quickly read the titles of the spools and then looked at Roger in amazement. They were the ones the unit needed for their end-term exams, the ones all the cadets needed.
"Roger," Tom demanded, "how did you get these spools? The library was out of them this afternoon. Did you take them from another unit's quarters?"
"I did not!" said Roger stoutly. "And
I don't like your insinuations that I would." He grinned. "Relax! We have them and we can breeze through them in the morning and have them back where they belong by noon tomorrow."
"Where they belong!" Tom exclaimed. "Then you have no right to them."
"Listen, hot-shot!" growled Astro. "I want to know where you got these spools and how."
"Well, if that isn't gratitude for you!" muttered Roger. "I go out and risk my neck for my dear beloved unit mates and they stand around arguing instead of buckling down to study."
"This is no joke, Roger," said Tom seriously. "Now for the last time, will you tell us how you got them?"
Roger thought a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. "All right," he said finally. "When I went down to the library to see if it was our turn for them yet, I found that we were still twenty-seventh in line."
"Twenty-seventh?" gasped Astro.
"That's right, spaceboy!" snorted Roger. "So I tried to con that little space doll of a librarian into moving our names up on the list, but just then an Earthworm cadet came in with an order from Tony Richards of the Capella unit, an order for the very spools we needed."
"You mean, you took them from an Earthworm?" queried Tom.
"Well, I didn't take them exactly," replied Roger. "I waited for him out on the quadrangle and I told him he was wanted in the cadet dispatcher's office right away and that I would take the spools on up to Tony."
"And you brought them here!" howled Astro.
"Yup." Roger grinned. "Do you think that squirt will know who I am? Not in a million years. And by the time Tony and the others do find out who has them, we'll be finished. Get it?"
"I get it, all right, you crummy little chiseler," growled Astro. "Tom, we gotta give these back to Tony."
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