One of the green-clad men released Hilmarc from the effects of Connel’s ninth shot and he stepped forward to stare straight into Connel’s eyes. “I know you can hear me, Major. I want to compliment you on your shooting. But your brave resistance now is as futile as the resistance of the entire Solar Guard in the near future.” Hilmarc smiled arrogantly and stepped back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will attend to the business I came here for—to take care of a weakling and an informer!” He turned and shouted to his men. “You have your orders! Get Sinclair and then burn everything in sight.”
* * * *
“Astro, Tom,” gasped Roger. “I—I can’t go on.”
The blond-haired cadet fell headlong to the ground, almost burying himself in the mud. Tom and Astro turned without a word, and gripping Roger under each arm, helped him to his feet. Behind them, the thunder of the stalking tyrannosaurus came closer, and they forced themselves to greater effort. For two days they had been running before the monster. It was a wild flight through a wild jungle that offered them little protection. And while their fears were centered on the brute behind them, their sleepy, weary eyes sought out other dangers that lay ahead. More than once they stopped to blast a hungry, frightened beast that barred their path, leaving it for the tyrannosaurus and giving themselves a momentary respite in their flight.
Astro led the way, tirelessly slashing at the vines and creepers with his jungle knife, opening the path for Roger and Tom. The Venusian cadet was sure that they were near the clearing around the Sinclair plantation. Since early morning he had seen the trail markers they had left when they started into the jungle. The cadets knew that if they didn’t reach the clearing soon they would have to stand and fight the terrible thing that trailed them. During the first wild night, they had stumbled into a sinkhole, and as Tom wallowed helplessly in the clinging, suffocating mud, Astro and Roger stood and fought the giant beast. The shock rifles cracked against the armorlike hide of the monster, momentarily stunning him, but in the darkness and rain, they were unable to get a clear head shot. When Tom finally pulled himself out of the mudhole, they struggled onward through the jungle, with only one shot left in each blaster.
“How much farther, Astro?” asked Tom, his voice weak with fatigue. “I’m starting to fold too.”
“Not too far now, Tom,” the big cadet assured him. “We should be hitting the clearing soon now.” He turned and looked back. “If we could only get a clear shot at that brute’s head!”
“Hang on, Roger,” said Tom. “Just a little more now.”
Roger didn’t answer, merely bobbing his head in acknowledgment.
Behind them, the crashing thunderous steps seemed to be getting closer and Astro drove himself harder, slashing at the vines and tangled underbrush, sometimes just bursting through by sheer driving strength. But the heavy-footed creature still stalked them ponderously.
Suddenly Astro stopped and sniffed the air. “Smoke!” he cried. “We’re almost there!”
Tom and Roger smiled wanly and they pushed on. A moment later the giant cadet pointed through the underbrush. “There! I see the clearing! And—by the stars—there’s a fire! The house is burning!”
Forgetting the danger behind them, the three boys raced toward the clearing. Just before they emerged from the jungle, they stopped and stood openmouthed with astonishment, staring at the scene before them.
“By the craters of Luna!” gasped Astro. “Look!”
The outbuildings of the plantation were burning furiously, sending up thick columns of smoke. The wind blew the dense fumes toward them and they began to cough and gag. Through the smoke they saw a strange array of jet craft in the clearing. Then suddenly their attention was jerked back to another danger. The tyrannosaurus was nearly upon them.
“Run!” roared Astro. He broke for the clearing, followed by Roger and Tom. Once in the open, the boys ran several hundred yards to the nearest jet craft, and safely in the hatch, turned to see the monster come to the edge of the clearing and stop. They saw the brute clearly for the first time.
It stood up on its hind legs, standing almost a hundred feet high. It moved its flat, triangular-shaped head in a slow arc, peering out over the clearing. The smoke billowed around it. It snorted several times in fear and anger. Astro looked at it, wide-eyed, and finally spoke in awed tones. “By the rings of Saturn, it is!”
“Is what?” asked Tom.
“The same tyranno I blasted when I was a kid, the one that trapped me in the cave!”
“Impossible!” snorted Roger. “How can you tell?”
“There on the head, the scars—and that eye. That’s the mark of a blaster!”
“Well, I’ll be a rocket-headed Earthworm!” said Tom.
The smoke thickened at the moment, and when it cleared again, the great beast was gone. “I guess the smoke chased him away,” said Astro. “Smoke!” He whirled around. With the threat of the tyrannosaurus gone, they could face the strange happenings around the clearing.
“Come on,” said Tom. He started for the burning buildings in back of the house.
Just at that moment a group of the green-clad men came around the side of the house. Astro grabbed Tom by the arm and pulled him back.
“What’s going on here? All these ships, buildings burning, and those men dressed in green. What is it?”
The three boys huddled behind the jet and studied the scene.
“I don’t get it,” said Tom. “Who are those men? They almost look as if they’re soldiers of some kind, but I don’t recognize the uniform.”
“Maybe it’s the fire department,” suggested Roger.
“Wait a minute!” roared Tom suddenly. “There on the porch! Major Connel!”
“Omigosh!” said Astro. “It is, but what’s the matter with him? Why is he standing there like that?”
“He’s been paralo-rayed!” exclaimed Roger. “See how still he is! Whatever these jokers in uniforms are, they’re not friendly!” He raised his shock rifle. “This last shot in my blaster should—”
“Wait a minute, Roger,” said Tom, “don’t go off half-cocked. We can’t do much with just three shots. We’d better take over one of these ships. There must be guns aboard.”
“Yeah,” said Astro. “How about that big one over there?” He pointed to the largest of the assembled crafts.
“O.K.,” said Tom. “Sneak around this side and make a dash for it.”
Gripping their rifles, they slipped around the stern of the small ship, and keeping a wary eye on the milling men around the front of the building, they dashed toward the bigger ship.
On the porch of the main house, Major Connel, every muscle in his body paralyzed, saw the three cadets dart across the field and his heart skipped a beat. Immediately before him, two of the green-clad men were holding Sinclair while Hilmarc addressed him arrogantly.
“This is just the beginning, Sinclair. Don’t try to cross us again. Neither you nor anyone else can stop us!” He whirled around and faced Connel. “And as for you and your Solar Guard, Major Connel, you can tell them—”
Hilmarc’s tirade was suddenly interrupted by a shrill whistle and the glare of a red flare overhead. There was a chorus of shouts as the men ducked for cover.
A voice, Connel recognized as Tom’s, boomed out over the loud-speaker of the large jet ship near the edge of the clearing. “Now hear this! You are covered by an atomic mortar. Drop your guns and raise your hands!”
The men stared at the ship, confused, but Hilmarc issued a curt command. “Return to the ships!”
“But—but he’ll blast us,” whined one of the men. “He’ll kill us all.”
“You fool!” roared Hilmarc. “It must be a friend of Connel’s or Sinclair’s. He won’t dare fire an atomic shell near this house, for fear of killing his friends! Now get aboard your ships and blast off!”
From their ship, Tom, Roger, and Astro saw the men scatter across the field, and realizing their bluff had failed, they opened fire with the p
aralo-ray guns. But their range was too far. In a few moments the clearing around the Sinclair home was alive with the coughing roar of the jets blasting off.
As soon as they were alone, Sinclair snatched up an abandoned ray gun and released the major from the charge. Connel immediately jumped for another gun. But then, as the jets started to take off, he saw that it would be useless to pursue the invaders. Thankful that the cadets had arrived in time, he trotted across the clearing to meet them as they climbed wearily from the remaining jet ship.
“By the craters of Luna,” he roared good-naturedly, “you three space-brained idiots had me scared! I thought you would really let go with that mortar!”
Tom and Roger grinned, relieved to find the spaceman unhurt, while Astro looked off at the disappearing fleet of ships.
“What’s happened, sir?” asked Tom. “What’s it all about?”
“Haven’t time to explain now,” said Connel. “I just want you three to know you got back here in time to save the rest of this man’s property.” He turned toward Sinclair, who was just approaching. “Did you recognize any of them?” he asked the planter.
Sinclair shook his head. “I thought I did—by their voices, I mean. But I couldn’t see anyone through that frosted headgear they were wearing.”
“Well, they left a ship. We’ll find out who that belongs to,” said Connel. “All right, Corbett, Manning, Astro. Stand by to blast off!”
“Blast off?” exclaimed Roger. “But we’re on leave, sir!”
“Not any more, you’re not!” snapped Connel. “You’re recalled as of now! Get this ship ready to blast off for Venusport in five minutes!”
CHAPTER 8
“Are you sure they went south, Astro?”
Major Connel was examining a map of the Southern Hemisphere of Venus. The three cadets were grouped around him in the small control room of the jet ship.
“I think so, sir,” replied Astro. “I watched them circle and then climb. There would be no reason to climb unless they were going over the mountains.”
“What do you think, Tom?” asked Connel.
“I don’t know, sir. The map doesn’t show anything but jungle for about a thousand square miles. Unless there’s a secret base somewhere between here and there”—he placed his fingers on the map where the Sharkey and Sinclair plantations were marked—“I don’t see where they could have gone.”
“Well, that must be the answer, then,” sighed the gruff spaceman. “Our alert to the patrol ships in this area narrows it down. Nothing was spotted in the air. And they couldn’t have blasted off into space. All their ships were low-flying stuff.”
Blasting off from the Sinclair plantation immediately, the three cadets and the major had hoped to find the operations base of the green-clad invaders, but the ships had disappeared. The ship they had captured proved to be a freighter with no name and all identifying marks removed. They had asked the Solar Guard ship registry in Venusport to check on the vessel’s title but so far had received no answer.
Now blasting back to Venusport at full speed, Connel told the boys the real nature of his mission to Venus. The boys were shocked, unable to believe that anyone, or any group of persons, would dare to buck the authority of the Solar Guard. Yet they had seen with their own eyes a demonstration of the strength of the Nationalists. Roger had sent a top-secret teleceiver message to Commander Walters at Space Academy, requesting an immediate conference with Connel, and had received confirmation within a half-hour.
“I think Captain Strong will be along too,” said Roger to Tom after Connel had retired to a compartment with a recorder to transcribe a report of the affair at Sinclair’s. “The message said we were to prepare a full report for consideration by Commander Walters, Professor Sykes, and Captain Strong.”
“Boy,” said the curly-haired cadet, “this thing is too big for me to swallow. Imagine a bunch of dopes dressing up in uniforms and burning a guy’s buildings because he wrote a letter to his delegate!”
“I’d hate to be a member of that organization when Commander Walters gets through with them,” said Roger in a slow drawl. “And particularly the guy that ordered Connel blasted with that ray gun. Ten shots at once! Wow! That guy must have nerves made of steel!”
Within an hour the jet freighter was circling Venusport and was given priority clearance for an immediate landing. Immediately upon landing, the ship swarmed with Solar Guardsmen, grim-faced men assigned to guard it, while technicians checked the ship for identification. The three boys were still wearing the jungle garb when they presented themselves to Major Connel with the request for a little sleep.
“Take an aspirin!” roared Connel. “We’ve got important work to do!”
“But, sir,” said Roger, his eyes half-closed, “we’re dead on our feet! We’ve been out in the jungle for three days and—”
“Manning,” interrupted the spaceman, “everything you saw during that business back at Sinclair’s might be valuable. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to insist that you talk to the Solar Guard security officers first. As tired as you are, you might forget something after a heavy sleep.”
There was little else the boys could do but follow the burly officer out of the ship to a well-guarded jet cab which took them through the streets of Venusport to the Solar Guard headquarters.
They rode the elevator to the conference room in silence, each boy feeling at any moment that he would collapse from exhaustion. In the long corridor they passed tough-looking enlisted guardsmen who were heavily armed, and before being allowed into the conference room, they were scrutinized by a burly officer. Finally inside, they were allowed to sit down in soft chairs and were given hot cups of tea to drink while precise, careful interrogators took down the story of their first meeting with the Venusian Nationalists. They were forced to repeat details many times, in the hope that something new might be added. Groggy after nearly two hours of this, the boys felt sure that the time had come for them to be allowed to get some sleep, but after the last question from the interrogators, they were ushered into the presence of Commander Walters, Major Connel, Professor Sykes, Captain Strong, and several recording secretaries. Before the conference began, Delegate E. Philips James arrived with his personal secretary. He offered his excuses for being late and took his place at the long table. Tom shot a glance at the secretary. The man looked vaguely familiar to him. The cadet tried to place him, but he was so tired that he could not think.
“Major Connel,” began Commander Walters abruptly, “what do you consider the best possible move for the Solar Guard to make? Under the present circumstances, do you think we should undertake a full-scale investigation? We talked to Al Sharkey, and while he admits being head of an organization known as the Venusian Nationalists, he denies any knowledge of any attack on Sinclair such as you describe. And he claims to have been in Venusport when the incident happened.”
Connel thought a moment. “I don’t know about Sharkey, but I don’t think a public investigation should be made yet. I think it would arouse a lot of speculation and achieve no results.”
“Then you think we should move against them merely on the basis of this encounter at the Sinclair plantation,” asked E. Philips James in his smoothest manner.
Connel shook his head. “I think our best bet is to locate their base. If we can nail them with solid evidence, we’ll have a good case to present before the Grand Council of the Solar Alliance.”
“I agree with you, Major.” James smiled. Behind him, his secretary was busy transcribing the conversational exchange on his audioscriber.
“What would you require to locate the base?” asked Walters.
“I haven’t worked out the details yet,” said Connel, “but a small expedition into the jungle would be better than sending a regiment of guardsmen, or a fleet of ships.”
“Do you have any idea where the base might be?” Sykes suddenly spoke up. “Most of those men were supposed to be planters who know the jungle well. Isn’t it possible that they
might have their base well hidden and a small party, such as you suggest, could cover too little ground?”
Connel turned to Astro. “Astro, do you know that section of the belt?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Astro. “I hunted all over that area when I was a boy.” The big cadet went on to explain how he had become so familiar with the jungle, and described briefly their experience with the tyrannosaurus. All of the men at the table were impressed by his knowledge of jungle lore.
“I gather you plan to take these cadets on your expedition, Major,” commented James.
“Yes, I do. They work well together and have already been in the jungle,” answered Connel.
“What do you three boys think of the idea?” asked Walters. “I don’t have to remind you that you’ll be up against two kinds of danger: the jungle itself, and the Nationalists.”
“We understand, sir,” replied Tom, without even waiting for his unit mates’ quick nods.
“There’s another factor,” Captain Strong broke in. “You’ll be giving up your leave. There won’t be any extra time off. Should this mission be completed before the next term at the Academy begins, fine. But if not, you’ll have to return to work immediately.”
“We understand that too, sir,” said Tom. “We’re willing to do anything we can. And if I might offer a personal opinion”—he glanced at Astro and Roger—“I think the Polaris unit appreciates the seriousness of the situation and we agree with the major. A small party, especially ours, since we’re already established as hunters, would be less suspect than a larger one.”
“I think we all agree that the Polaris unit is qualified for the mission, Corbett,” said Walters, who saw through Tom’s eagerness to be assigned to go with the major.
The Tom Corbett Space Cadet Megapack: 10 Classic Young Adult Sci-Fi Novels Page 75