Sabotage in Space Part 20

Cag saw the wild rage in Tom's eyes and began to stutter.

"The trucking outfit! Just find out who owns this trucking outfit and who would gain if the projectiles failed."

Tom was back in the cab in a flash. He started the mighty jets and began to engage the clutch.

Cag leaped up. "You can't leave me here in the desert! I'll die."

Tom looked at the man, threw out the rest of the food and water from the compartment, and gunned the huge truck down the highway.

Eight hours later Tom rolled into Marsport, stopping the big truck at the first Solar Guard substation he could find.

He raced inside without cutting the jets of the truck and reported to a sergeant seated behind the desk, reading.

"I'm Cadet Tom Corbett!" he shouted. "I've got to get in touch with Commander Walters at the Academy right away."

"Stand where you are, Corbett!" said the sergeant, jumping up and leveling a paralo-ray gun at him. "You're under arrest!"

Tom stared, and then, spinning on his heels, dashed out of the station, the guard's ray blasts spitting at his heels. Jumping into the truck, he gunned the jets and roared off into the dark Martian night.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER 12

"Aw, shut your big Venusian mouth!"

As Roger's voice roared over the intercom loud-speaker of the speedy rocket scout, down on the power deck Astro's face turned red.

"Manning," he growled into the intercom microphone, "if I didn't need you to get me back to Mother Earth, I'd come up there and take you apart!"

For four days the two cadets had been aboard the rocket scout, circling in an orbit between Mars and Earth, conducting equipment tests for Dave Barret. They had become bored with the routine work and spent most of their time needling each other, but as Roger said, at least they were in s.p.a.ce.

"O.K., let's knock off the s.p.a.ce gas!" called Roger over the intercom.

"It's time to run another test. Want to come up topside and take a hand?"

"Be right there, Roger!" said Astro. He set the power-deck controls on automatic, and then, with a quick look around to make sure everything was s.h.i.+pshape, he climbed the ladder to the control deck.

Roger was standing at the chart table, audiophones on his ears, listening for the automatic astral chronometer time-check broadcast on a suprahigh-frequency audio channel from the giant electronic clock in the Tower of Galileo. All s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p chronometers were checked against this huge clock regularly, in order to maintain constant uniform time so necessary for the delicate art of astrogation between celestial bodies.

Astro started to speak to the blond-haired cadet, but Roger waved him off, listening for the signal. Suddenly he looked up at their own chronometer above the control board and took off the audiophones, smiling his satisfaction.

"Right on the split second, Astro," he said.

"O.K.," replied the big Venusian. "Then let's run that test and get it over with."

"Right," said Roger, turning back to the control panel. "Do you want to go outside this time?"

"I might as well," replied Astro. "Give me a change of scenery."

The big Venusian turned to a locker, pulled out a bulky s.p.a.ce suit, and climbed into it quickly. Adjusting the s.p.a.ce helmet, he nodded at Roger and stepped into the air-lock chamber, pulling the hatch closed behind him. While waiting for the oxygen in the small chamber to be pumped back into the s.h.i.+p and the pressure to be equalized with the vacuum of s.p.a.ce outside, he checked his helmet intercom to insure a clear line of communication with Roger.

The red hand closed on the _zero_ of the gauge over the door and Astro moved to the outer hatch. He unlocked it, swung the door open, and slowly climbed out into the fantastic beauty of endless s.p.a.ce. No sooner was he outside than the synthetic gravity generators lost their pull on his body and he started into s.p.a.ce. Tightly grasping two metal handles in the hull, the big cadet performed a quick somersault and planted his feet firmly on the hull. His magnetic-soled s.p.a.ce boots held him fast and he called Roger over his helmet intercom.

"I'm outside, Roger," he reported. "On my way down to the exhaust."

"Right," came Roger's voice over the intercom. "Let me know when you're ready."

Without replying, Astro made his way slowly and carefully down the length of the rocket scout toward the main drive rocket a.s.sembly.

Stopping at the trailing edge of the hull, where it enclosed the four rockets, the big Venusian squatted on his heels, making certain the soles of his s.p.a.ce boots stayed in contact with the metal of the hull.

He peered over the edge and braced himself in a position where he could observe the individual rocket exhausts.

"O.K., Roger!" he called into his intercom. "Open up number one."

"Number one, aye," replied Roger. "And watch yourself, you big baboon.

Don't burn your nose!"

"Go ahead, go ahead!" growled Astro in reply.

A long tongue of flame shot out of the exhaust of the number one tube and, after drawing back momentarily, Astro watched the tube keenly.

"You know," he commented idly as he kept his eyes fixed on the tube, "I still can't figure out what's so different about these tubes. They're exactly the same as any others I've ever seen."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"That's how much you know, Astro," snorted Roger. "Dave Barret said they were using a new duralumin alloy in the tubes."

"Still doesn't look any different to me," persisted Astro. "And for us to spend four whole days out here testing them"--he paused and shook his head--"seems like an awful waste of time," he concluded.

"What do you care? We're out in s.p.a.ce, aren't we? Or would you rather be back on guard duty?"

"No, of course not," replied Astro. "But even s.p.a.ce gets dull after a while with nothing to do. Barret sure gave us an old crate. Not even a long-range receiver aboard."

"What do you want to listen to?" snorted Roger. "Flight orders and all the rest of that rocket wash?"

"Be a relief to listen to somebody else beside you for a change,"

snapped Astro. "Anyhow, suppose something important happened. Suppose our orders were changed. How would we know about it?"

"What difference does it make?" replied Roger. "We've got our orders--straight from Barret. As long as we follow them, we won't get into trouble."

"For a change," murmured Astro.

"Now cut the griping and finish up out there!"

"O.K.," sighed Astro. "That's enough on number one. Give me number two."

The s.h.i.+p bucked slightly as one rocket tube was cut out and another flared at full power, but Astro clung to the hull tightly, continuing his observations. With troubled eyes he watched all four rocket tubes in operation, unable to understand the difference between these tubes and the standard makes. Finally he shrugged his shoulders, and rising to his feet, called Roger again.