Quickly Roger, Connel, and Tom spread out over the trampled area, searching the underbrush for Astro’s paralo-ray pistol or shock rifle. Connel examined the underbrush and vines closely for scorch marks made by the blaster. Finding none, he rejoined the boys.
“Well?” he asked.
“Nothing, sir,” replied Roger.
“Can’t find them, Major,” said Tom.
Connel smacked his fists together and spoke excitedly. “I’m sure Astro wouldn’t be caught unawares by a couple of things like a snake or a tyrannosaurus without putting up a fight. If he was attacked suddenly, he would have fired at least one shot, and if it went wild, it would have burned the vines and brush around here. You didn’t find his weapons, and there are no scorched areas. I’ll stake my life on it, Astro’s alive!”
Roger’s and Tom’s faces brightened. They knew Connel had no proof, but they were willing to believe anything that would keep their hopes for their giant unit mate alive.
“Now,” said Connel, “assuming he is not dead, and that he is somewhere in the jungle, we have to figure out what he would do.”
Roger was thoughtful a moment. “How long would he last without his jungle suit, sir?”
“What do you mean?” asked Connel.
Tom’s eyes lit up. “If he’s alive, sir, then he’s probably following a path or trail that would keep him away from heavy underbrush,” he said.
Connel thought a moment. “There’s only one trail away from here.” He turned and pointed to the trail made by the tyrannosaurus. “That one.”
The three spacemen stared at the wide path left by the huge beast. Connel hesitated. “It’s due north,” he said finally. “We’ve come a full day west and should be making a turn north. We’ll follow the tyrannosaurus’s trail for a full day.”
Roger and Tom grinned. They knew Connel was making every effort to find Astro, while still keeping his mission in mind.
The three spacemen moved along the trail quickly, eyes alert for any sign Astro might have left. Connel saw the great bloodstains left by the tyrannosaurus and cautioned the two cadets. “This tyranno is wounded pretty badly. It might be heading back for its lair, but it might not make it, and stop along the way. Be careful and keep your eyes open for any sign that he might have—”
Connel was stopped by Tom’s sudden cry. “Major! Look!”
Connel turned and stared. A thousand yards ahead of them on the broken trail they saw the monstrous bulk of a tyrannosaurus emerge from the gloom.
“By the rings of Saturn,” breathed Connel, “that’s the one!”
The great beast spotted the three Earthmen at the same instant. It raised itself on its hind legs, and shaking its massive head in anger, started to charge down its own trail toward them.
“Disperse!” cried Connel. “Take cover!”
Tom and Roger darted to one side of the trail while Connel dived for the other. Taking cover behind a tree, the boys turned and pointed their rifles down the trail. They saw that the tyrannosaurus had already covered half the distance between them.
“Aim for the legs!” shouted Connel, from his place of concealment. “Don’t try for a head shot! He’s moving too fast! Give it to him in the legs. Try to cut him down!”
Roger and Tom lay flat on the ground and trained their rifles on the approaching beast.
“I’ll take the right leg,” said Roger. “You take the left, Tom.”
“On target!” replied Tom, squinting through the sight.
“Ready!” Connel’s voice roared across the trail.
Only a hundred and fifty feet away the tyrannosaurus, hearing Connel’s voice, suddenly stopped. Its head weaved back and forth as though it suspected a trap.
“Fire!” roared Connel.
Tom and Roger fired together, but at the same moment the monster lunged toward Connel’s position. Both shots missed, the energy charges merely scorching its sides.
The tyrannosaurus roared with anger and turned toward the boys, head down and the claws of its short forelegs extended.
At that moment Connel opened fire, aiming for the monster’s vulnerable neck. But it was well protected behind its shoulders and the spaceman only succeeded in drawing the beast’s attention back to himself.
At this instant Tom and Roger opened fire again, sending violent shock charges into the beast’s hide. Caught in the withering cross fire, it turned blindly on the boys and charged at them. The two cadets fired coolly, rapidly, unable to miss the great bulk. The air became acrid with the sharp odor of ionized air. Maddened now beyond the limits of its endurance, hit at least twenty times and wild with pain, the great king of the Venusian jungle bore down on the two cadets.
Roger and Tom saw that their fire was not going to stop the tyrannosaurus’s charge. They were pouring a nearly steady stream of fire into the monster now, while on the other side of the trail Connel was doing the same, raking the monstrous hulk from the forelegs to the hindquarters.
The boys jumped back, Tom still facing the beast and firing his rifle from the waist. But Roger stumbled in the tangle of the underbrush and fell backward, dropping his rifle. The beast’s head swooped low, jaws open.
Seeing Roger’s danger, Tom jumped downward again without hesitation and fired point-blank at the beast’s scaly head, only ten feet away.
The monster roared in sudden agony and pulled back, jerking his head up against a thick branch of the tree overhead. The limb tore loose under the impact and fell crashing to the ground on top of Roger.
From behind, Connel stepped closer to the tyrannosaurus and fired from a twenty-five-foot range. It wavered and stumbled back, obviously mortally wounded. From both sides Tom and Connel poured their weapons’ power into the giant beast. Blinded, near death, the monster wavered uncertainly. Bellowing in fear and pain, it turned and lumbered back down the trail.
Connel and Tom watched it until they were certain it could not attack them without warning again, and then they hurried to Roger. The heavy tree limb had landed across his back, pinning him to the ground.
“Roger!” yelled Tom. “Roger, are you all right?”
The blond-haired cadet didn’t answer. Grabbing a stout branch lying on the ground near by, Connel and Tom worked it beneath the limb which lay across Roger’s body and pried it up.
“I’ve got it,” said Connel, holding the weight of the limb on his shoulder. “Pull him out!”
Tom quickly pulled the unconscious cadet clear and laid him on the ground. Dropping the limb, Connel bent down to examine the boy. He ran his fingers along Roger’s spine, feeling the bones one by one through the skin-tight jungle suit. Finally he straightened and shook his head. “I can’t tell anything,” he said. “We’ll have to take him back to Sinclair’s right away.” He stood up. “I’ll make a stretcher for him. Meanwhile, you go after that tyranno and finish him off. He’s pretty far gone, but you never can tell.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Tom. He picked up his rifle and reloaded it, checking it carefully. He repeated the precaution with Roger’s blaster.
“Hurry up,” urged Connel, already reaching for a suitable branch. “Time means everything now.”
“Be right back, sir,” replied Tom. And as he walked away, he looked back at the unconscious form of his unit mate. He could not help reflecting on the bitter fact that already two members of the expedition were in danger, and they were no closer to their goal of finding the Nationalists’ hidden base.
Moving carefully, one of the two rifles slung over his shoulder, the other in his hand ready for use, Tom followed the trail of the tyrannosaurus. Two thousand yards farther along he saw a place where the monster had fallen and then struggled back to its feet to stagger on. Rounding a turn in the trail, Tom stopped abruptly. Before him, not a hundred feet away, the beast lay sprawled on the ground. The area all around was devoid of any vegetation. It was trampled down to the black soil. Tom deduced that it was the beast’s lair. He pressed forward cautiously until he was a scant thirt
y feet away, and crouched between the roots of a huge tree where he would be protected should the monster be able to rise and fight again.
Sighting carefully on the base of the monster’s neck, he squeezed the trigger of the shock rifle. A full energy charge hit the tyrannosaurus in its most vulnerable spot. It jerked under the sudden blast, involuntarily tried to rise to its feet, and then fell back, the ground shaking under the impact of its thirty tons. Then, after one convulsive kick with its hind legs that uprooted a near-by tree, the beast stiffened and lay still.
Tom waited, watching the beast for signs of life. After five minutes he stepped forward cautiously, his rifle ready. He circled the tyrannosaurus slowly. The great bulk towered above him, and the cadet’s eyes widened in amazement at the size of the fallen giant. Stopping at its head, which was as wide as he was tall, Tom looked at the jaws and teeth that had torn so many foes into bloody bits, and shook his head. He had come to the jungle to kill just such a beast. But with Astro missing and Roger unconscious the thrill of victory was somehow missing. He turned and headed back down the trail.
Connel had finished the litter by the time Tom returned, and the officer was leaning over the blond-haired cadet, examining his back again.
“We’d better move out right away, Tom,” said Connel. “I still can’t tell what’s wrong. It may be serious, and then it may be nothing more than just shock. But we can’t take a chance.”
Tom nodded. “Very well, sir.” He adjusted his shoulder pack, slung both rifles over his shoulder, and started to pick up his end of the litter when suddenly the jungle silence was shattered by a deafening roar. Connel jumped to his feet!
“Corbett!” he cried. “That’s a rocket ship blasting off!”
“It sure sounded like it, sir,” replied Tom.
“And I’ll stake my life it’s not more than a half mile away!”
The two men jumped out into the trail and scanned the sky. The unmistakable roar of a spaceship echoed through the jungle. The ship was accelerating, and the reverberations of the rocket exhaust rolled over the treetops. Suddenly a flash of gleaming metal streaked across the sky and Connel roared.
“We’ve found it, Corbett!” He slapped the cadet on the back. “The Nationalists’ base! We’ve found it!”
Tom nodded, a half-smile on his face. “We sure have, Major.” He hesitated a moment. “You know, sir, if Roger is really badly hurt we might not make it back to Sinclair’s in time, so—” He stopped.
“I know what you’re thinking, Tom,” said the officer, “and I agree. But one of us has to go back with the information.”
“You go, sir,” said Tom. “I’ll take Roger and—”
“You can’t carry him alone—”
“I can make it somehow,” protested Tom.
Connel shook his head. “I’ll help you.”
“You mean, you’re going to allow yourself to be captured too?” spluttered Tom.
“Not quite.” Connel smiled. “But a good intelligence agent gets as much information as he can. And he gets correct information! I’ll help you get him to the base and you can take him on in for medical attention. I’ll get back to Sinclair’s later.”
Tom tried to protest, but the burly spaceman had turned away.
CHAPTER 13
“Stand where you are!”
Tom and Major Connel stiffened and looked around, the unconscious form of Roger stretched between them on the litter. From the jungle around them, green-clad Nationalists suddenly emerged, brandishing their guns.
“Put Roger down,” muttered Connel quietly. “Don’t try anything.”
“Very well, sir,” replied Tom, and they lowered the litter to the ground gently.
“Raise your hands!” came the second command from a man who appeared directly in front of them.
Standing squarely in front of them, the little man said something in the Venusian dialect and waited, but Connel and Tom remained silent.
“I guess you don’t speak the Venusian tongue,” he sneered. “So I’ll have to use the disgusting language of Earth!” He looked down at the unconscious form of Roger. “What happened to him?”
“He was injured in a fight with a tyrannosaurus,” replied Connel. “May I remind you that you and these men are holding guns on an officer of the Solar Guard. Such a crime is punishable by two years on a prison asteroid!”
“You’ll be the one to go to prison, my stout friend!” The man laughed. “A little work in the shops will take some of that waistline off you!”
“Are you taking us prisoner?”
“What do you think?”
“I see.” Connel seemed to consider for a moment. “Who are you?” he asked.
“I am Drifi, squad officer of the jungle patrol.”
“Connel, Senior Officer, Solar Guard,” acknowledged Connel. “If we are being held prisoner, I wish to make a request.”
“Prisoners don’t make requests,” said Drifi, and then added suspiciously, “What is it?”
“See that this man”—Connel indicated Roger—“is given medical attention at once.”
Drifi eyed the major cautiously.
“I make this request as one officer to another,” said Connel. “A point of honor between opponents.”
Drifi’s eyes gleamed visibly at the word officer, and Tom almost grinned at Connel’s subtle flattery.
“You—and you,” snapped Drifi at the green-clad men around them, “see that this man is taken to the medical center immediately!” Two men jumped to pick up the litter.
“Thank you,” said Connel. “Now will you be so kind as to tell me what this is all about?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. We have a special way of treating spies.”
“Spies!” roared Connel. The officer sounded so indignant that Tom was almost fooled by his tone. “We’re hunters! One of our party is lost here in the jungle. We were searching for him when we were attacked by a tyrannosaurus. During the fight, this man was injured. We’re not spies!”
Drifi shrugged his shoulders, and barking a command to his men, turned into the jungle. Connel and Tom were forced to follow.
They were taken to the giant teakwood that Astro had seen, and Tom and Connel watched silently as the door opened, revealing the vacuum tube. The men crowded into the car and it dropped to the lower level.
Following the same twisting turns in the tunnels, Tom and Connel were brought to the armory and saw the men surrender their weapons and change their helmets and shoes. They tried desperately to get a look at the faces of the men around them while the headgear was being changed, but, as before, the men were careful to keep their faces averted.
Continuing down the tunnel, Connel tried to speak to Drifi again. “I would appreciate it greatly, sir,” he said in his most formal military manner, “if you could give me any news about the other man of our party. Have you seen him?”
Drifi did not answer. He marched stiffly ahead, not even bothering to look at Connel.
As they neared the exit, Connel drifted imperceptibly closer to Tom and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Keep your eyes open for ships. Count as many as you can. How many are armed, their size, and so on. Look for ammunition dumps. Check radar and communications installations. Get as much information as you can, in case only one of us can escape.”
“Yes, sir,” whispered Tom. “Do you think they might have Astro?”
“It’s a good guess. We were following the tyrannosaurus’s trail when they caught us, and I’m pretty sure Astro had been doing the same thing.”
“Stop that talking!” snapped Drifi, suddenly whirling on them. “You,” he shouted at one of the guards, “get up here and keep them apart!”
A guard stepped quickly between Tom and Connel, and the conversation ended.
At the exit Connel and Tom stopped involuntarily at the sight before them. Astro had entered the canyon near twilight, but the two spacemen got a view of the Nationalists’ base under the full noon sun. Connel gaspe
d and muttered a space oath. Tom turned halfway to his superior and was starting to speak when both were shoved rudely ahead. “Keep moving,” a guard growled.
As they walked, their eyes flicked over the canyon, alert for details. Tom counted the ships arrayed neatly on the spaceport some distance away, then counted others outside repair shops with men scurrying over them like so many ants. Near the center of the canyon the bare trunk of a giant teakwood soared skyward, a gigantic communications tower. Tom scanned the revolving antenna, and from its shape and size deduced the power and type of radar being used at the base. He admitted to himself that the Nationalists had the latest and best. Connel was busy too, noting buildings of identical design scattered around the canyon floor that were too small to be spaceship hangars or storage depots. He guessed that they were housings for vacuum-tube elevator shafts that led to underground caves.
The canyon echoed with the splutter of arc welders, the slow banging of iron workers, the cough and hissing of jet sleds, the roar of activity that meant deadly danger to the Solar Alliance. Connel noticed as he moved across the canyon floor that the workers were in good spirits. The morale of the rebels, thought the space officer, was good! Too good!
At a momentary halt in their march, when Drifi stopped to speak with a sentry, Tom and Connel found an opportunity to speak again.
“I’ve counted a dozen big converted freighters on the blast ramps, sir,” whispered Tom hurriedly. “Three more being repaired, nearly finished, and there are about fifty smaller ships, all heavily armed.”
“That checks with my count, Tom,” replied Connel hurriedly. “What do you make of the radar?”
“At least as good as we have!”
“I thought so, too! If a Solar Guard squadron tried to attack this base now, they’d be spotted and blasted out of space!”
“What about stores, sir?” asked Tom. “I didn’t see anything like a supply depot.”
Connel told him of the small buildings which he believed housed the elevator shafts to underground storerooms. “Only one thing is missing!” he concluded.
The Tom Corbett Space Cadet Megapack: 10 Classic Young Adult Sci-Fi Novels Page 79