“Range one hundred miles,” reported Alfie over the intercom.
“Power deck, reduce thrust to absolute minimum!” ordered Tom. “I want as little sustaining power as you can give me without cutting out altogether, Astro.”
“Can do!” said Astro. The ship slowed even more, then suddenly picked up speed again as the gravity of Tara began to tug at the space traveler.
“Stand by to fire braking rockets!” yelled Tom. He was all nerves now, sensitive to the throbbing of the great ship’s motors, eyes fastened to the dials and meters on the control panel. There was no time to watch the scanner view of the onrushing planet now. He had to touch down blindly, using only his instruments. “Radar bridge, report!” snapped Tom.
“Range one thousand feet,” reported Alfie, his calm voice in striking contrast to the nervous excitement in Tom’s. “Seven hundred fifty—six hundred—five fifty—”
“Fire braking rockets!” rasped Tom into the intercom.
The great ship bucked under the sudden thrust of the huge braking rockets. The Polaris held steady for a moment, then gradually, as the pull of Tara began again, she settled back toward the dark-green jungles beneath her.
“Two hundred and fifty feet,” reported Alfie. “One hundred and seventy-five—one fifty—” he droned.
“Ease her up, Astro,” shouted Tom. “Easy! Ease her up, you Venusian clunk, we’re dropping too fast!”
Once again, from the heart of the Polaris, there came a roaring blast of the powerful motors. The ship steadied once more and then slipped back into her fall toward the new planet under more sure control.
“Fifty feet,” reported Alfie. “Forty—thirty—twenty—”
There was a brief pause, as if everything had stopped and they were held still by a giant hand, and then, suddenly, a rocking motion, a slight bump and rumble. Tom knew they were down.
“Touchdown!” he yelled at the top of his voice. “Touchdown! We made it—we made it!”
From the power deck, quiet except for the whining of the oxygen feed pump, Astro’s bellow could be heard vibrating through the passageways.
“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooowwwwwww!”
Tom began shutting off the many circuits and switches and made a quick last-minute check of the now dead ship. Satisfied, he glanced at the great solar clock, noted the time in the log, and stepped to the ladder leading to the radar bridge.
“Cadet Corbett reporting, sir,” said Tom, saluting smartly. “I wish to report, sir, that the Polaris made touchdown on the planet Tara at exactly seventeen fifty-nine, solar time!”
Connel, his great bulk bent over the tiny transmitter, was twirling the dials, his head encased in a vacuum earphone helmet to ensure perfect silence. He had acquired the knowledge of lip reading out of necessity on the power decks of the old chemical burners thirty years before, and while he couldn’t hear what Tom had said, he knew what the report was.
“Very well, Corbett,” he shouted, not being able to judge the volume of his voice. “Good job! Can’t seem to pick them up at the Academy again. Had them once, then lost them. Am placing you in command of an expedition for a quick look outside. Arm yourselves with paralo-ray guns and rifles. Take a jet boat and under no circumstances are you to land. Dismissed! Oh, yes, one more thing. Take Alfie Higgins along with you and keep your eye on him. Report back in one hour!”
Tom felt a tingle of excitement run up his backbone as he heard the tough skipper give him permission to explore the planet.
He saluted and turned away, Alfie trailing him down the ladder.
“Hey, Astrooooo!” yelled Tom. “Get number-one jet boat out of the hatch. We’re going for a look-see at this place!”
Tom went to the gun locker and took out three paralo-ray guns and rifles. He made sure each of them was fully loaded and then handed them to Alfie.
“Put these on the jet boat, Alfie. I’ll be along in a minute.”
Alfie took the guns and walked toward the jet-boat catapult deck. Tom returned to the radar bridge and stood before Connel.
“Would you see if there is any news of Roger, sir, when you make contact with the Academy?”
Connel read the cadet’s lips and nodded his head. Tom turned and went directly to the jet-boat deck. Astro and Alfie waited for him inside.
“Brought along three space suits, Tom,” said Astro. “You can never tell what we might run into.”
“Good idea,” said Tom.
The three cadets climbed into the jet boat, Tom taking the pilot’s seat. He pushed a release button, and a portion of the Polaris’ steel hull slid back. Tom pressed another button, gripped the wheel of the small space craft, and stepped on the acceleration pedal. The little red ship shot out of the open hatch and zoomed over the giant trees.
Traveling at a slow speed, Tom made a wide arc over the forest, checking his position against that of the Polaris before losing sight of it. He pulled the tiny ship up to one thousand feet, leveled off, set the automatic pilot, and took his first close look at Tara, four and a half light years from Earth.
From above, Tara seemed to be a quagmire of reptiles, dinosaurs, and dense vegetation reaching as high as the gleaming towers of Venusport and Atom City. Huge trees that spread their branches over an area of a thousand feet soared skyward, limbs and trunks wrapped in jungle creepers. Now and then Alfie would grasp Tom or Astro by the arm and point a wavering finger at a moving animal below, then gasp and fall back white-faced into his seat. While Tom was inclined to share Alfie’s reactions, Astro took it in stride, having been exposed to the dangers of wild jungles on his own Venus.
The tiny jet boat raced out across the blue-green sea that swept up in giant swells along the snow-white sandy beaches. It was a temptation to set the small craft down and enjoy the pleasure of a swim after the many days of cramped, tortured living on the Polaris. But Tom remembered Connel’s orders and also had a lot of respect for some of the things he had seen swimming in the water.
“Better get back,” said Tom. He flipped the audiophone switch in the jet boat and spoke into a small mike.
“Jet boat one to Polaris. Jet boat one to Polaris. Cadet Corbett to Major Connel.”
There was a crackle of static and then Connel’s voice, vibrant and clear, filled the small cabin.
“Corbett!” he roared. “By the craters of Luna, I couldn’t contact you. Return to the Polaris on the double!”
“Is there something wrong, sir?” asked Tom, apprehensive after seeing the wildness of the jungle below him.
“Wrong?” blared Connel. “News from Earth—from the Academy! Roger’s been cleared of all charges.”
“Cleared?” stammered Tom.
“Absolutely! When I sealed the radar bridge after the crash, a security officer examined the settings on the scanners and transmitting equipment. They showed that Roger had been on duty at the time—that he had been tracking the ship as he claimed.”
“Then what was the reason for the crash?”
“Security isn’t sure yet. An acceleration control lever is missing from the wreckage. And it wasn’t broken off as a result of the crash. Now Loring and Mason are wanted for further questioning.”
Tom looked at his unit-mate, Astro. The big Venusian had his head turned to one side; he seemed to be staring out over the vast writhing jungle.
“Astro, did you hear?” asked Tom softly.
“Yeah,” mumbled Astro in a small, choked voice. “Just don’t ask me to turn around.”
CHAPTER 12
“How much longer before we reach the atmosphere of Tara, Manning?” asked Loring.
Roger bent over the chart table and quickly measured the distance between his present position and that of Tara.
“About two hours,” he said, straightening up.
“Good!” said Loring. “Let me know soon as we get close.”
“O.K.,” replied the cadet.
“Hey, radar deck!” Mason’s voice came over the intercom from the power deck of the Spa
ce Devil. “Don’t forget to let me know when I have to cut down on thrust!”
“Take it easy, spaceboy,” snapped Roger. “You’ll know in plenty of time!” He turned back to the radar scanner and continued the never-ending sweep of space ahead.
After a week of checking and reconditioning the Space Devil in the wild Venusian jungles, Roger had become more and more disgusted with himself. Being a wanted spaceman had had its disadvantages on Spaceman’s Row, but working in the steaming jungles, fighting deadly reptiles and insects, with Loring and Mason on his neck every minute had soured his appetite for adventure. Several times, when Roger had suggested a certain part be replaced, Loring and he had argued violently, and Roger had threatened to quit. Now, after the long tedious trip through space, Roger’s relationship with the others was more strained than ever. The sure dependability of Tom on the control deck and Astro on the power deck made the work of Loring and Mason sloppy by comparison. Once, when Roger had been on radar watch, while the ship roared through the asteroid belt, collision with a small asteroid had threatened. Roger ordered a course change, but Mason, who had taken over the power deck, had been asleep. Luckily, Shinny had been near by, had made the course change, and saved the ship. Seething with anger, Roger had gone to the power deck and given the shiftless spaceman a terrific beating.
Over and over, conflicts had arisen among them as they blasted through deep space, and always, it seemed to Roger, he was in the middle of it. The only satisfaction he could find in the hazardous venture was the prospect of the five million credits. And even this had lost its excitement in the last few days, as his nerves stretched to the breaking point. Only the sly humor of Shinny had saved Roger from the monotony of the long haul through space.
Roger absently flipped the scanner to its farthest range. He had been observing the planet Tara for several hours and knew its shape fairly well. But he suddenly jerked to attention. His hands trembled slightly as he peered intently at the scope. Finally he slumped back. There was no doubt about it. On the scanner was a jet boat in flight.
“Hey, Loring! Shinny! Mason! Get up here on the double!” he yelled into the intercom.
“What’s up?” demanded Loring.
“Get up here!” shouted Roger. “We’re in for trouble—plenty of trouble!”
Presently the three spacemen were grouped around the scanner, staring at the unmistakable outline of a jet boat.
“By the rings of Saturn,” declared Loring, “it must be Connel and his crew!”
“What’re we going to do?” whined Mason.
Loring’s face darkened. “Only one thing we can do now,” he growled.
“What do you mean?” asked Roger.
“I mean that we’re going to blast them!” Loring snarled. “Connel and whoever else is with him!”
“But—but—” stammered Roger, “the Polaris crew is down there!”
“Listen, Manning!” Loring turned to the cadet. “Have you forgotten that you’re wanted by the Solar Guard? You give that bunch down there a chance and they’ll make you a space crawler on prison rock!”
“Why—I—” stammered Roger. He knew what Loring had said was the truth. If it was Connel, there would be no question what would happen to him. He faced Loring. “What will you do to them?”
“One well-placed reactant bomb, and they’ll never know a thing!” sneered Loring.
“But you don’t have any bombs aboard,” said Roger.
“A little of the fuel and I can build one easily enough,” replied Loring. He turned to Mason. “Go below and suit up to go into the reaction chamber,” he ordered. “Get an extra lead suit out. I’ll go in and help you. And find something we can use for a trigger and a fuse.” He smiled at Roger. “It might be a little crude, but it’ll be fancy enough for what we want. I’m going to blast the Polaris from here back to your sweet little Space Academy!”
Mason and Loring left the radar bridge while Shinny and Roger watched the white blip of the jet boat.
“That could be Tom and Astro in that jet boat,” said Roger softly to himself.
“I guess I’d better stand by the power deck while we maneuver,” said Shinny. “We wanta stay hidden until Loring and Mason get that thing ready.”
Roger nodded, and Shinny disappeared.
Maneuvering cautiously, Roger brought the Space Devil around to the night side of Tara opposite to the landing site of the Polaris.
Four hours later Loring and Mason came out of the reactant chamber carrying a small lead box. They placed it gently on the deck and began taking off their lead suits. Roger and Shinny stared at the box.
“There she is,” said Loring. “Not much to look at, but there’s enough juice in there to blast the Polaris into space junk!”
“Wait a minute, Loring!” said Roger. “There’ll be no killing! No one gets hurt!”
“Got a squeamish stomach, eh, kid?” Loring laughed. He slapped Mason on the back. “Our little Space Cadet is suddenly worrying about his friends. The same friends that wanted to send him away to the prison asteroid.”
“Blast the ship if you want,” said Roger coldly, “but don’t hurt the crew!”
“Listen, Manning!” snarled Loring. “If the crew gets hurt it ain’t my fault. If they’re in the ship, that’s tough. If not, then that’s O.K. with me. I ain’t sending them any letter telling them I’m going to blast their ship and then have them come up after me with a space torpedo!”
Roger didn’t answer. He turned away and climbed back to the radar bridge. Loring followed him up the ladder.
“Don’t get any ideas about warning your buddies, Manning, ‘cause if you do, I’ll blast you before I blast them!”
“Don’t worry,” replied Roger. “It’s daytime on the other side of Tara now, where the Polaris is. The crew might be out on a scouting mission or making observations away from the ship. There’s less chance of their being on the ship. If we’re going to do it, let’s get it over with!”
“O.K. with me,” said Loring. “Take this wagon up toward Alpha Centauri a little way. Coming out of the sun, they won’t see us. We’ll use one of the jet boats to deliver our little present. I’ll set the fuse, put the jet boat on automatic, and aim it right for the Polaris.”
“All right,” agreed Manning reluctantly. He turned to the chart table, plotted a course, and issued orders to Shinny at the controls and to Mason on the power deck. Soon the Space Devil was blasting away from the night side of the planet, heading toward the sun. When they reached an altitude of a thousand miles above the surface of the planet, Loring maneuvered the jet boat into position outside the ship and placed the crude reactant bomb inside. Ready, he gave Roger the signal to make the run out of the sun toward the Polaris. Roger relayed the orders to Shinny and Mason, and the Space Devil rocketed back toward the planet again.
Loring, sitting inside the jet boat, waited until they had reached an altitude of five hundred miles.
“All right, Manning,” said Loring, “give me the course!”
Roger calculated the rotational speed of the planet, the Space Devil’s altitude, and the speed of the jet boat. He drew a line between the Space Devil and Polaris, checked it on the astro compass, and reached for the intercom mike. He ran a dry tongue over his lips and called out the course.
“Course is one forty-three—” He caught himself and stared at the chart. Suppose Tom or Astro or anyone was near the ship? Even if he missed by several hundred yards, the bomb would certainly be fatal. If he only changed the course one degree, at a range of five hundred miles, it would miss the Polaris by several miles. And Loring wouldn’t be able to see anything because of the dust cloud.
“Course corrected,” said Roger. “New course is one forty-two!”
“One forty-two!” repeated Loring.
Roger sat back and waited for the small space craft to blast off from the ship. In his mind, he saw Loring setting the trigger on the bomb, adjusting the controls, setting the automatic pilot, and then pressing
the acceleration button. Roger gripped the sides of the chart table and stared at the radar scanner. A fast-moving blip was streaking across its surface. Loring had started the jet boat.
His eyes showing his great fear, Roger watched the blip as it sped down like a maddened hornet toward the Polaris resting on its directional fins in the green jungle. He could hear the hatch slam closed below as Loring re-entered the ship, but he continued to watch the rapidly moving blip.
Suddenly it disappeared, and Roger knew it had reached Tara. He slumped back in his chair. His eyes were glassy, his ears deaf to the roar of triumph from below as Loring and Mason, watching the flight of the jet boat on the control deck teleceiver screen, saw it explode. Roger couldn’t move. He had fired a reactant bomb at Tom and Astro.
* * * *
“By the craters of Luna,” roared Connel, “we’ve been attacked!”
The four Earthmen, exploring a valley several miles north of the Polaris, had been thrown to the ground when the bomb landed. Connel’s reaction was immediate and decisive.
“Get into the jet boat! All of you! We’ve got to get back to the Polaris! If our ship is smashed, we’ll spend the rest of our lives fighting this jungle!”
In a matter of seconds the four spacemen were rocketing over the jungle toward the Polaris. Presently they came to an enormous dust cloud that had mushroomed out over the trees. It was so thick Tom found it difficult to pilot the small craft.
“Any danger of radioactivity in this dust, sir?” asked Astro.
“Always that possibility, Astro,” answered Connel. “We’ll know soon enough!” He flipped on a built-in Geiger counter on the dashboard of the jet boat, and immediately the cabin was filled with a loud ticking that warned of danger.
“The count is up to seven fifty, sir,” said Astro. “Not enough to bother you unless you’re in it a long time.”
The Tom Corbett Space Cadet Megapack: 10 Classic Young Adult Sci-Fi Novels Page 28