Читать книгу The Tom Corbett Space Cadet Megapack - Carey Rockwell - Страница 42

CHAPTER 16

“Well, fellows,” said Tom, stifling a yawn, “it looks like we did it. But I could use some more sleep. That five hours was just enough to get started on!”

“Yeah,” agreed Roger sourly, “but where does this Venusian lummox get off grabbing all the credit.” He looked at Astro. “If I hadn’t built the fuses for your little firecrackers—”

“Firecrackers!” yelped Astro. “Why, you skinny space fake! If I hadn’t built those nuclear reactors, you wouldn’t have anything to set off!”

Connel appeared in the small messroom of the Polaris, his hands full of papers and drawings. “When you’ve finished congratulating each other, I’d like to say a few things!” he snapped.

“Congratulate him?” exclaimed Roger. “Skipper, his head’s so thick, the noise on the power deck can’t even reach his eardrums!”

“Just one more word, Manning,” growled Astro, “and I’ll take a deep breath and blow you away!”

“One more word out of either of you,” roared Connel, “and I’ll throw you both in the brig with Mason and Loring!”

Suddenly he glared at the five spacemen. “Who’s on prisoner watch today?” he asked.

The four cadets and Mr. Shinny looked at each other then at Roger.

“Uhhh—I am, sir,” Roger confessed.

“I had a sneaking suspicion you would be!” said Connel. “Cadet Manning, one of the first things an officer of the Solar Guard learns is to care for the needs of his men and prisoners before himself. Did you know that, Cadet Manning?”

“Uhhh—yes, sir. I was just going to—” mumbled Roger.

“Then go below and see that Mason and Loring get their rations!”

“Yes, sir,” said Roger. He got up and collected a tray of food.

“All of you report to the control deck in five minutes for briefing,” said Connel and followed Roger out of the door.

“How do you like that?” said Astro. “We break our backs for the guy and we’re no sooner finished then he starts the old routine again!”

“That has nothing to do with it, Astro,” said Tom. “Put yourself in his position. We’ve only got one or two things to think about. He’s responsible for it all.”

“Just like he was when I sailed with him twenty-five years ago,” said Shinny. He swallowed the remains of his tea and reached for a plug of tobacco. “He’s all spaceman from the top of his head to the bottom of his space boots.”

“I’m rather inclined to agree with you, Tom,” said Alfie mildly. “Leadership carries with it the greatest of all burdens—responsibility for other peoples’ lives. You, Corbett, as a control-deck cadet, would do well to mark Major Connel’s pattern of behavior.”

“Listen,” growled Astro, “if Tom ever turned out to be a rocket buster like Connel—I’d—I’d—”

“Don’t worry, Astro,” Tom said, laughing. “I don’t think there’ll be another Major Connel in a million light years!”

Shinny laughed silently, his small frame shaking slightly. “Say it again, Tommy. Not in the whole universe will there ever be another like old ‘Blast-off’ Connel!”

On the deck below the messroom, Roger, balancing a tray carefully on one hand, opened the electronic lock of the brig and then stepped back quickly, leveling a paralo-ray gun.

“All right, Mason, Loring,” he yelled, “come and get it!” The door slid open, and Loring stuck his head out. “Any funny business,” Roger warned, “and I’ll stiffen you so fast, you won’t know what hit you!”

“It’s about time you showed up!” growled Loring. “Whaddaya trying to do, starve us to death?”

“That’s not a bad idea!” said Roger. Loring took the tray. Roger motioned him back inside the brig and slammed the door shut. He locked it and leaned against the grille.

“Better eat it while you can,” he said. “They don’t serve it so fancy on a prison asteroid.”

“You’ll never get us on a prison asteroid,” whined Mason.

“Don’t kid yourself,” said Roger. “As soon as we get the reactor units set, we’re going to send this hunk of copper back to Earth and then take you back. They’ll bury you!”

“Who’s going to do all that?” snapped Loring. “A bunch of punk kids and a loudmouthed Solar Guard officer?”

“Yeah,” retorted Roger.

“Cadet Manning!” Connel’s voice roared over the intercom. “You were ordered to report to the control deck in five minutes! You are already one minute late! Report to the control deck on the double and I mean double!”

Loring and Mason laughed. “Old ‘Blast-off’ Connel’s really got your number, eh, kid?”

“Ah, rocket off, you pinheaded piece of space junk! It didn’t take him long to dampen your tubes!”

Connel roared again. “Blast your hide, Manning, report!”

“Better raise ship, Manning,” said Loring, “you might get another nasty demerit!”

Roger turned away and raced to the control deck. He entered breathlessly and stood beside his unit-mates while Connel eyed him coldly.

“Thank you, Cadet Manning,” said Connel. “We appreciate your being here!”

“Yes, sir,” mumbled Roger.

“All right,” barked Connel, “you know your assignments. We’ll take the jet boats as before and go out in pairs. Tom and myself, Astro and Roger, and Shinny and Alfie. We’ll set up the reaction charges on Junior at the points marked on the chart screen here.” He indicated the chart on the projection. “Copy them down on your own charts. Each team will take three of the reaction units. My team will set up at points one, two, and three. Astro and Roger at four, five, and six. Alfie and Shinny at seven, eight, and nine. After you’ve set up the charges, attach the triggers for the fuses and return to the ship. Watch your timing! If we fail, it’ll be more than a year before Junior will be in the same orbital position again. How much time do we have left, Corbett?”

Tom glanced at the clock. “Exactly two hours, sir,” he said.

“Not much,” said Connel, “but enough. It shouldn’t take more than an hour and a half to set up the units and get back to the ship to blast off. All clear? Any questions?”

There were no questions.

“All right,” said the officer, “put on your space gear and move out!”

Handling the lead-encased charges carefully, the six spacemen loaded the jet boats and, one by one, blasted off from the Polaris to positions marked on the map.

Working rapidly, each of the teams of two moved from one position to another on the surface of the desolate satellite. Connel, referring constantly to his watch, counted the minutes as one by one the teams reported the installation of a reactor unit.

“This is Shinny. Just finished installing reaction charge one at point seven…”

“This is Manning. Just finished installing reaction charge at point four…”

One after the other, the teams reported. Connel, with Tom piloting the jet boat, finished setting up their units at points one, two, and three and headed back to the Polaris.

“How much time, sir?” asked Tom as he slowed the small craft for a landing.

“Less than a half hour, Corbett,” said Connel nervously. “I’d better check on Shinny and Alfie.” He called into the audiophone. “Major Connel to Shinny and Higgins, come in Shinny—Higgins!”

“Shinny here!” came the reply. “We’re just finishing up the last unit. Should be back in five minutes.”

“Make it snappy!” said Connel. “Less than a half hour left!”

“We’ll make it,” snorted Shinny.

“Coming in for a touchdown,” said Tom. “Better strap in, sir!”

Connel nodded. He laced several straps across his lap and chest, gripping the sides of the seat. Tom sent the jet boat in a swooping dive, cut the acceleration, and brought the small ship smoothly inside the huge air lock in the side of the Polaris.

“I’d better get right up on the control deck and start warming up the circuits, sir,” said Tom.

“Good idea, Tom,” said Connel. “I’ll try and pick up Manning and Astro.”

Tom left the officer huddling over the communicator in the jet boat.

“Major Connel to Manning and Astro, come in!” called Connel. He waited for a moment and then repeated. “Manning—Astro, come in! By the rings of Saturn, come in!” There was the loud roar of an approaching jet boat. Shinny guided the ship into the Polaris with a quick violent blast of the braking rockets. The noise was deafening.

“Belay that noise, you blasted space-brained idiot!” roared Connel. “Cut that acceleration!”

Shinny grinned and cut the rockets. The jet-boat catapult deck was quiet, and Connel turned back to the communicator.

“Come in, Manning—Astro! This is Major Connel. Come in!”

On the opposite side of the airless satellite, Roger and Astro were busy digging a hole in the hard surface. Near by lay the last of the explosive units to be installed. Connel’s voice thundered through their headset phones.

“Boy, is he blasting his jets!” commented Roger.

“Yeah,” grunted Astro. “He should have to dig this blasted hole!”

“Well, this is where it’s got to go. If the ground is hard, then it’s our tough luck,” said Roger. “If we stick it anywhere else, it might mess up the whole operation.”

Astro nodded and continued to dig. He held a small spade and jabbed at the ground. “How much—time—have we got left?” he gasped.

“Twenty minutes,” replied Roger. “You’d better hurry.”

“Finished now,” said Astro. “Get the reactor unit over here and set the fuse.”

Roger picked up the heavy lead box and placed it gently inside the hole.

“Remember,” Astro cautioned, “set the fuse for two hours.”

“No, you’re wrong,” replied Roger. “I’ve set the fuses each time, subtracting the amount of time since we left the Polaris. I set this one for twenty minutes.”

“You’re wrong, Roger,” said Astro. “It’s maximum time is two hours.”

“Listen, you Venusian clunk,” exploded Roger, “I built this thing, so I know what I’m doing!”

“But, Roger—” protested Astro.

“Twenty minutes!” said Roger, and twisted the set-screw in the fuse. “O.K., it’s all set. Let’s get out of here!”

The two cadets raced back to the jet boat and blasted off immediately. Once in space, Astro turned to Roger.

“Better check in with Major Connel before he tears himself to pieces!”

“Yeah,” agreed Roger. “I guess you’re right.” He flipped on the audio communicator. “Attention! Attention! Manning to Major Connel. Am making flight back to Polaris. All installations complete.”

“What took you so long, Manning?” barked Connel in reply. “And why didn’t you answer me?”

“Couldn’t, sir,” said Roger. “We had a tough time digging a hole for the last unit.”

“Come back to the Polaris immediately,” said Connel. “We’re blasting off in fifteen minutes.”

“Very well, sir,” said Roger.

Presently the jet boat circled the Polaris and made a landing run for the open port. Roger braked the small craft and brought it to rest alongside the others.

“That’s it, spaceboy,” he said to Astro. “All out for the Polaris express back home!”

“Just be sure you give me a good course, Manning,” grunted Astro, heaving his huge frame out of the small cabin of the jet boat, “and I’ll give you all the thrust you want!”

Astro secured the jet boats while Roger closed the air-lock hatch, shutting out the last view of the rugged little planetoid. Roger threw the landscape a mocking kiss.

“So long, Junior! See you back home!” The two cadets climbed the ladder leading to the control deck.

Seated in front of the control panel, Tom watched the sweeping hand of the solar clock. Connel paced nervously up and down behind him. Shinny and Alfie stood to one side also watching the great clock.

“How much time, Corbett?” asked Connel for the dozenth time.

“Junior gets his kick in the pants in ten minutes, sir,” replied Tom.

“Fine,” said Connel. “That gives me just enough time to notify Space Academy to get ready to receive Junior’s signal. You know what to do?”

“I don’t have to do anything, sir,” answered Tom, nodding to the solar clock over his head. “In nine minutes and twenty seconds, the reactor units go off automatically at one-second intervals.”

Roger and Astro entered the control deck and came to attention. Connel returned their salute and put them at ease.

“All right, our work here is done,” said Connel. “No point in hanging around any longer. Tom, you can blast off immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Tom.

Connel climbed the ladder to the radar bridge to contact Space Academy. Astro, Roger, Shinny, and Alfie went to their posts and began quick preparations for the blast-off. One by one, they checked in to Tom on the control deck.

“Power deck, ready to blast off!” reported Astro.

“Radar bridge, all set. Clear trajectory forward and up,” said Roger.

“Energize the cooling pumps!” bawled Tom into the intercom.

The great pumps began to wheeze under the strain of Astro’s sudden switch to full load without the usual slow build-up. Tom watched the pressure needle rise slowly in front of him and finally reached out and gripped the master switch.

“Stand by to raise ship!” he yelled. “Blast off minus five—four—three—two—one—zeroooooo!”

He threw the switch. The great ship shivered, vibrated, and then suddenly shot away from the precious satellite. Tom quickly adjusted for free fall by switching on the synthetic-gravity gyro generators and then announced over the intercom,

“Major Connel! Cadet Corbett reporting. Ship space-borne at exactly thirty-one, sir!”

“Very well, Corbett,” replied Connel. “Space Academy sends the crew a ‘well done!’ Everything’s set back home to take over the beam as soon as Junior starts on his way back. How much time until zero blast-off on the satellite?”

Tom glanced at the clock. “Less than two minutes, sir!”

“All right,” said Connel over the intercom, “everybody to the control deck if you want to see Junior do his stuff!”

In a moment the six spacemen were gathered around the magnascope waiting for the final act of their great effort. Breathlessly, their eyes flicking back and forth from the solar clock to the magnascope, they waited for the red hand to sweep around.

“Here it comes,” said Tom excitedly. “One second—two seconds—three—four—five!”

On the surface of the planetoid, giant mushrooming clouds appeared climbing into the airless void. One by one the reactor units exploded. Connel counted them as they blew up.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—” he paused. Junior began moving away from them. “Nine!” shouted Connel. “What happened to nine?”

“Roger,” shouted Astro, “you made a mistake on the timer!”

“But I couldn’t. I—I—”

Connel spun around, his eyes blazing, breathing hard. “What time did you set the last one for, Roger?” he demanded.

“Why, twenty minutes to blast-off time, sir,” answered the blond-headed cadet.

“Then it won’t go off for another forty minutes,” said Connel.

“But, sir—” began Roger, and then fell silent. The room was quiet. Everyone looked at Roger and then at Connel. “Honestly, sir, I didn’t mean to make a mistake. I—” pleaded Roger.

Connel turned around. His face suddenly looked very tired. “That’s all right, Roger,” he said quietly. “We’ve all been working pretty hard. One little mistake is bound to show up in an operation like this.” He paused. “It’s my fault. I should have checked those fuses myself.”

“Does it make so much difference, sir?” asked Astro.

“A lot of difference, Astro,” said Connel. He sat down heavily.

“But how, sir?” asked Tom.

“It’s very simple, Tom,” answered Connel. His voice was strangely quiet. “Junior spins on its axis in two hours, just as Earth spins in twenty-four hours. I thought we had the explosions timed so at the proper moment we’d push Junior out of his orbit around Tara, and the greater orbit around Alpha Centauri, by utilizing both speeds, plus the initial thrust. But by being one blast short, forty minutes late, the explosion will take place when Junior is forty minutes out of position”—he paused and calculated rapidly in his mind—“that’s about forty-eight thousand miles out of position. When it goes off, instead of sending Junior out into space, it’ll blast it right into its own sun!”

“Isn’t there something we can do, sir?” asked Tom.

“Nothing, Corbett,” answered Connel wearily. “Instead of supplying the Solar Alliance with copper, in another week Junior will be hardly more than a molten piece of space junk.” He looked at the teleceiver screen. All ready, Junior was falling away.

“Stand by for full acceleration, hyperdrive,” said the big officer in a hoarse whisper. “We’re heading home!”