Danger in Deep Space

CHAPTER 6

"That kind," said Loring. He pointed to a distant figure emerging from a space freighter. "There's our answer!" said Loring, a note of triumph in his voice. "Come on. Let's get outta here. I don't want to be recognized."

"But—but—what's up? What's that guy and the space freighter Annie Jones got to do with us?"

Loring didn't answer but stepped quickly to the nearest jet cab and hopped into the back seat. Mason tumbled in after him.

"Spaceman's Row," Loring directed, "and make it quick!"

The driver stepped on the accelerator and the red teardrop-shaped vehicle shot away from the curb into the crowd of cars racing along Premier Highway Number One. In the back seat of the jet cab, Loring turned to his spacemate and slapped him on the back.

"Soon's we get into the Row, you go and pack our gear, see! Then meet me at the Café Cosmos in half an hour."

"Pack our gear?" asked Mason with alarm. "Are we going some place?"

Loring shot a glance at the driver. "Just do as I tell you!" he growled. "In a few hours we'll be on our way to Tara, and then—" He dropped his voice to a whisper. Mason listened and smiled.

The jet cab slid along the arrow-straight highway toward the heart of the city of Venusport. Soon it reached the outskirts. On both sides of the highway rose low, flat-roofed dwellings, built on a revolving wheel to follow the precious sun, and constructed of pure Titan crystal. Farther ahead and looming magnificent in the late afternoon sun was the first and largest of Venusian cities, Venusport. Like a fantastically large diamond, the startling towers of the young city shot upward into the misty atmosphere, catching the light and reflecting it in every color of the spectrum.

Loring and Mason did not appreciate the beauty of the city as they rode swiftly through the busy streets. Loring, in particular, thought as he had never thought before. He was busily putting a plot together in his mind—a plot as dangerous as it was criminal.

The jet cab slammed to a stop at a busy intersection of the city. This was Spaceman's Row, and it dated back to Venusport's first rough and tough pioneering days.

For two blocks on either side of the street, in building after building, cafés, pawnshops, cheap restaurants above and below the street level, supplied the needs of countless shadowy figures who came and went as silently as ghosts. Spaceman's Row was where suspended spacemen and space rats, prospectors of the asteroids for uranium and pitchblende, gathered and found short-lived and rowdy fun. Here, skippers of rocket ships, bound for destinations in deep space, could find hands willing to sign on their dirty freighters despite low pay and poor working conditions. No questions were asked here. Along Spaceman's Row, hard men played a grim game of survival.

Loring and Mason paid the driver, got out, and walked down the busy street. Here and there, nuaniam signs began to flick on, their garish blues, reds, and whites bathing the street in a glow of synthetic light. It was early evening, but already Spaceman's Row was getting ready for the coming night.

Presently, Mason left Loring, climbing up a long narrow flight of stairs leading to a dingy back hall bedroom to pack their few remaining bits of gear.

Loring walked on amid the noise and laughter that echoed from cheap restaurants and saloons. Stopping before Café Cosmos, he surveyed the street quickly before entering the wide doors. Many years before, the Cosmos had been a sedate dining spot, a place where respectable family parties came to enjoy good food and the gentle breezes of a near-by lake. Now, with the lake polluted by industry and with the gradual influx of shiftless spacemen, the Cosmos had been given over to the most basic, simple need of its new patrons—rocket juice!

The large room that Loring entered still retained some of the features of its more genteel beginnings, but the huge blaring teleceiver screen was filled with the pouting face of a popular singer. He advanced to the bar that occupied one entire wall.

"Rocket juice!" he said, slamming down his fist on the wooden bar. "Double!" He was served a glass of the harsh bluish liquid, paid his credits, and downed the drink. Then he turned slowly and glanced around the half-filled room. Almost immediately he spotted a small wizened man limping toward him.

"Been waiting for you," said the man.

"Well," demanded Loring, "did'ja get anything set up, Shinny?"

"Mr. Shinny!" growled the little man, with surprising vigor. "I'm old enough to be your father!"

"Awright—awright—Mr. Shinny!" sneered Loring. "Did'ja get it?"

The little man shook his head. "Nothing on the market, Billy boy." He paused and aimed a stream of tobacco juice at a near-by cuspidor.

Loring looked relieved. "Just as well. I've got something else lined up, anyway."

Shinny's eyes sharpened. "You must have a pretty big strike, Billy boy, if you're so hot to buy a spaceship!"

"Only want to take a little ride upstairs, Mr. Shinny," said Loring.

"Don't hand me that space gas!" snapped Shinny. "A man who's lost his space papers ain't going to take a chance at getting caught by the Solar Guard, busting the void with a rocket ship and no papers." He stopped, and his small gray eyes twinkled. "Unless," he added, "you've got quite a strike lined up!"

"Hey, Loring!" yelled Mason, entering the café. He carried two spaceman's traveling bags, small black plastic containers with glass zippers.

"So you've got Al Mason in with you," mused Shinny. "Pretty good man, Al. Let's see now, I saw you two just before you blasted off for Tara!" He paused. "Couldn't be that you've got anything lined up in deep space, now could it?"

"You're an old fool!" snarled Loring.

"Heh—heh—heh," chuckled Shinny. A toothless smile spread across his wrinkled face. "Coming close, am I?"

Al Mason looked at Shinny and back at Loring. "Say! What is this?" he demanded.

"O.K., O.K.," said Loring between clenched teeth. "So we've got a strike out in the deep, but one word outta line from you and I'll blast you with my heater!"

"Not a word," said Shinny, "not a word. I'll only charge you a little to keep your secret."

Mason looked at Loring. "How much?" he demanded.

"A twentieth of the take," said Shinny. "And that's dirt cheap."

"It's robbery," said Loring, "but O.K. We've got no choice!"

"Loring, wait a minute!" objected Mason. "One twentieth! Why, that could add up to a million credits!"

Shinny's eyes opened wide. "Twenty million! Hey, there hasn't been a uranium strike that big since the old seventeenth moon of Jupiter back in 2294!"

Loring motioned to them to sit down at a table. He ordered a bottle of rocket juice and filled three glasses.

"This ain't uranium, Mr. Shinny!" he said.

Shinny's eyes opened wider still. "What then?"

"What's the most precious metal in the system today?" Loring asked.

"Why—gold, I guess."

"Next to gold?"

Shinny thought for a moment. "Couldn't be silver any more, since they're making the artificial stuff cheaper'n it costs to mine it." The little man's jaw dropped and he stared at Loring. "You mean—?"

"That's right," said Loring, "copper!"

Shinny's mind raced. In this year of 2353, all major copper deposits had long since been exhausted and only small new deposits were being found, not nearly enough for the needs of the expanding system. In an age of electronics, lack of copper had become a serious bottleneck in the production of electrical and scientific equipment. Search parties were out constantly, all over the solar system, trying to find more of the precious stuff. So a deposit of the kind Loring and Mason were talking about was a prize indeed.

Shinny's greedy fingers twitched with anticipation.

"So that's why you want to buy a spaceship, eh?"

"Wanted," replied Loring. "I don't want to buy one now. The way things look, we'll get what we want for nothing!"

Mason, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly jumped up. "So that's your angle! Well, I don't want any part of it," he shouted.

Loring and Shinny looked up in surprise.

"What're you talking about?" demanded Loring.

"All of a sudden it's come to me. Now I know why you've been hanging around the spaceport for the last two weeks. And what you meant when you saw the spaceman get out of that freighter today!"

"Sit down!" barked Loring. "If you weren't so dumb, you'd have caught on long ago." He eyed the shorter man from between half-closed lids. "It's the only way we can get out of here!"

"Not me. I ain't pulling anything like that!" whined Mason.

"What's going on here?" demanded Shinny. "What're you two space bums talking about?"

"I'll tell you what! He's going to try—"

Loring suddenly stood up and slapped the shorter spaceman across the mouth. Mason sat down, a dazed look on his face.

"You space-crawling rat!" hissed Loring. "You'll do what I tell you to do, see?"

"Yeah—yeah, sure," bleated Mason. "O.K. Anything you say. Anything."

"What is this?" demanded Shinny.

"You shut up!" growled Loring.

"I won't!" said Shinny, as he also rose from the table. "You may be tough, Billy Loring, but not as tough as me!"

The two men stared at each other for a moment. Finally Loring smiled and patted Mason's shoulder. "Sorry, Al. I guess I got a little hot for a moment."

"Quit talking riddles," pleaded Shinny. "What's this all about?"

"Sit down," said Loring.

They sank back into their chairs.

"It's simple," said Mason fearfully. "Loring wants to steal a spaceship."

"A pirate job!" said Shinny. He drew in his breath sharply. "You must be outta your mind!"

"You've called yourself in on this," Loring reminded him. "And you're staying in."

"Oh, no!" Shinny's voice dropped to a husky, frightened whisper. "Deal's off. I ain't gonna spend the rest of my life on a prison asteroid!"

"Shinny, you know too much!" Loring's hand darted toward the blaster he wore at his belt.

"Your secret's safe with me. I give you my spaceman's word on it," said Shinny, pushing back his chair. Abruptly getting to his feet, he scrambled rapidly out the door of the Café Cosmos.

"Loring," said Mason, "get him. You can't let him ..."

"Forget it," shot back the other. "He won't break his spaceman's oath. Not Shinny." He got up. "Come on, Mason. We haven't got much time before the Annie Jones blasts off."

"What are we gonna do?" the shorter man wanted to know.

"Stow away on the cargo deck. Then, when we get out into space, we dump the pilots and head for Tara, for our first load of copper."

"But a job like this'll take money!"

"We'll make enough to go ahead on the first load."

Mason began to get up, hesitated, and then sat down again.

"Come on," snapped Loring. His hand dropped toward his belt. "I'm going to make you rich, Mason," he said quietly. "I'm going to make you one of the richest men in the universe—even if I have to kill you first."

CHAPTER 7

"Nothing could be worse," groaned Roger. "But nothing. Think of that lovely space doll Helen Ashton alone on earth—and me stuck here on a space station."

"Well, we're doing an important job, Roger," replied Tom. "And doing it well, or Major Connel wouldn't leave us alone so much. How're you making out with the new equipment?"

"That toy?" sneered Roger. "I gave it a look, checked the circuits once, and knew it inside out. It's so simple a child could have built one!"

"Oh, sure," scoffed Tom. "That's why the top scientists worked for years on something small, compact, powerful enough to reach through deep space—and still be easy to repair."

"Quit heckling me, Junior," retorted Roger, "I'm thinking. Trying to figure out some way of getting to the teleceiver set on board the Polaris."

"Why can't you get on the Polaris?" asked Tom.

"They're jazzing up the power deck with a new hyperdrive unit for the big hop to Tara. So many guys buzzing around you can't get near it."

"What do you need a teleceiver for?" asked Tom.

"To give me company," replied Roger sourly. "Say!" He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Maybe if I just changed the frequency—"

"What frequency? What are you talking about?"

"Spaceboy, I'm getting a real hot-rocket idea! See ya later!" And the blond cadet ran for the door.

Tom watched his unit-mate disappear and shook his head in amused despair. Roger, he told himself, might be difficult, but he was certainly never dull.

Then his attention was brought back to the monitors by the warning of another approaching spaceship.

"... jet liner San Francisco to Venus space-station traffic control ..." the metallic voice crackled over the speaker.

"Jet liner San Francisco, this is Venus space-station traffic control," replied Tom. "You are cleared for landing at port eleven—repeat—eleven. Make standard check for approach orbit to station landing. End transmission!"

From one side of the circular dais, Tom saw Major Connel enter the room. He snapped to attention and saluted smartly.

"Morning, Corbett," said Connel, returning Tom's salute. "Getting into the swing of the operation?"

"Yes, sir," said Tom. "I've handled about twenty approaches since Captain Stefens left me alone, and about fifty departures." Tom brought his fist up, with the thumb extended and wiped it across his chest in the traditional spaceman's signal that all was clear. "I didn't scratch one of 'em, sir," he said, smiling.

"Good enough," said Connel. "Keep it that way." He watched the monitor screen as the liner San Francisco settled into landing-port eleven.

When she was cradled and secure, he grunted his satisfaction and turned to leave. At the door he suddenly paused. "By the way, isn't Manning on radar watch?"

"Yes, sir," replied Tom.

"Well, it's one forty-eight. How about his standard check-in with traffic control?"

Tom stammered, "He—uh—he may be plotting some space junk, sir."

"He still must report, regardless of what he's doing!"

"I—uh—ah—yes, sir!" gulped Tom. Blast Roger anyway, he thought, forgetting the all-important quarter-hour check-in.

"I'd better go up and find out if anything's wrong," said Connel.

"Gosh, sir," suggested Tom, desperately seeking an excuse for his shipmate. "I'm sure Roger would have notified us if anything had happened."

"Knowing Manning as I do, I'm not so sure!" And the irascible officer thundered through the door like a jet-propelled tank!

"Come on, Mason. Hurry and put on that space suit," barked Loring.

"Take it easy," grumbled Mason. "I'm working as fast as I can!"

"Of all the rotten luck," growled Loring. "Who'd ever figure the Annie Jones would blast off from Venus—and then stop at the space station!"

"Shows you ain't so smart," retorted Mason. "Lots of ships do that. They carry just enough fuel to get 'em off the surface, so they'll be light while they're blasting out of Venus' gravity. Then they stop at the space station to refuel for the long haul."

"All right," barked Loring, "lay off the lecture! Just get that space suit on in a hurry!"

"Listen, wise guy," challenged Mason, "just tell me one thing. If we bail out of this tub in space suits, who's going to pick us up?"

"We're not bailing out!" said Loring.

"We're not? Then what are we suiting up for?"

"Just in case," said Loring. "Now listen to me. In a few minutes the Annie Jones'll make contact with traffic control. Only instead of talking to the pilot—they'll be talking to us. Because we'll have taken over."

"But unless we land they'll be suspicious. And if we land ..."

Loring interrupted. "Nobody's going to suspect a thing. I'll tell traffic control we've got an extra-heavy load. Then they won't let us land. We follow their orders and blast off into space—find an emergency fuel station—head for Tara—and nobody suspects anything."

Mason twisted his face into a scowl. "Sounds awful risky to me," he muttered.

"Sure it's risky," sneered Loring, "but you don't hit the jackpot without ever taking a chance!"

The two men, huddled against a jumble of packing cases in the cargo hold of the Annie Jones, made careful preparations. Checking their weapons, they opened their way toward the freighter's control deck. Just outside the hatch they stopped, paralo-ray guns ready, and listened.

Inside, Pilot James Jardine and Leland Bangs, his first officer, were preparing for the landing at the space station.

"Ought to be picking up the approach radar signal pretty soon," said Bangs. "Better take her off automatic control, Jardine. Use the manual for close maneuvering."

"Right," answered his spacemate. "Send out a radar blip for them to pick up. I'll check the cargo and make sure it's lashed down for landing. Captain Stefens is tough when it comes to being shipshape."

The freighter blasted evenly, smoothly onward through the darkness of space in a straight line for the man-made satellite. Jardine got up from the freighter's dual-control board, picked up a portable light, and headed for the hatch leading to the cargo deck.

"He's coming," hissed Loring. "We'll take him soon's he reaches us." There was a sharp clank as the hatch opened, and Jardine's head came into view.

"Now!" yelled Loring. He swung the heavy paralo-ray gun at Jardine's head.

"What the—" exclaimed the startled spaceman. "Bangs, look out!"

He tried to avoid the blow, but Loring's gun landed on the side of his head. Jardine crumpled to the deck.

Bangs was out of his seat in a moment, at his pilot's call. The burly redheaded spaceman saw at a glance what was wrong and lunged for the hatch.

Loring stepped toward him, holding his paralo-ray.

"All right, spaceboy!" he grated. "Hold it or I'll freeze you stiff!"

Bangs stopped and stared at the gun and at Jardine who was slumped on the deck. Mason rushed past him to the controls.

"What is this?" demanded Bangs.

"An old game," explained Loring with a sneer. "It's called 'You've got it and I take it.' And if you don't like it, you get it." He gestured with his gun. "You get it—with this."

Bangs nodded. "O.K.," he said. "O.K. But how about letting me take care of my buddy. He's hurt."

"Just a bump on the head," said Loring. "He'll come out of it soon enough."

"Hey," shouted Mason, "I can't figure out these controls!"

Loring growled angrily. "Here, lemme at them!" He forced Bangs to lie down on the deck, and then, keeping the gun trained on the redheaded spaceman, stepped quickly to the control board. He handed Mason the gun.

"Keep an eye on them while I figure this baby out."

"Least you coulda done is steal a decent ship," grumbled Mason. "This tub is so old it creaks!"

"Just shut your mouth and keep your eye on those guys," said the other. He began to mutter to himself as he tried to figure out the complicated controls.

Jardine was now conscious but had the presence of mind not to move. His head ached from the blow. Slowly he opened his eyes and saw his two attackers bending over the board. He saw that Bangs was lying on the deck facing him. Jardine winked at Bangs, who returned the signal. Then he began, carefully, methodically to send a Morse-code message to his companion via his winking eyes.

"O-N-L-Y—one—gun—between—them. You—take—big—fellow. I'll—charge—gun ..."

"Can't you figure this thing out either?" asked Mason, leaning over Loring's shoulder.

"Ah, this wagon is an old converted chemical burner. These controls are old as the sun. I've got to find the automatic pilot!"

"Try that lever over there," suggested Mason.

Loring reached over to grasp it, turning away from his prisoners.

"Bangs, get 'em!" shouted Jardine. The two men jumped to their feet and lunged at Loring and Mason. Loring dove to one side, losing the gun in the scramble, but as he fell, he reached for the acceleration control lever. He wrenched it out of its socket and brought it down on Bang's head, and the officer slid to the floor. Jardine, meanwhile, had Mason in a viselike grip, but again Loring used the lever, bringing it down hard on the neck of the freighter pilot. Jardine dropped to the deck.

"Thanks, Loring," gasped Mason. "That was close! Good thing we had on these space suits, or we'd have been finished. They couldn't grab onto the smooth plastic."

"Finished is right!" snarled Loring. "I told you to keep an eye on them! If they'd nabbed us we woulda wound up on the prison asteroid!"

"Loring," shouted Mason, "look!" He pointed a trembling finger at the thrust indicator. "We're blasting at full space speed—right for the station!"

"By the rings of Saturn," cried Loring, "I must've jammed the thrust when I yanked the lever out of the control board!"

"Put it back! Slow this ship down!" cried Mason, his face ashen with fear. Loring jumped to the control board and with trembling fingers tried to replace the lever in the socket.

"I can't—can't—" he panted. "We gotta pile outta here! We're heading for the station. We'll crash!"

"Come on! This way! We left the space helmets back in the cargo hold!" shouted Mason. He ran toward the open hatch leading to the companionway. Suddenly he stopped. "Hey, what about those two guys?"

"Never mind them!" shouted Loring. "Keep going. We can't do anything for them now!"

And as the two men raced toward the stern, the freighter, her powerful rockets wide open, arrowed straight toward the gleaming white structure of the space station.

"It was easy, honey," cooed Roger into the microphone on the main control panel of the space-station radar bridge.

"I switched the frequency on the station, beamed to a teleceiver trunk line on Earth, and called you up, my little space pet! Smart, huh? Now remember we have a date as soon as I get back from this important and secret mission. I could've got out of it, but they needed me badly. As much as I like you, baby, I had to go along to give the boys a break and ..."

"Cadet Manning!" An infuriated roar echoed in the small chamber.

"Yeah, whaddaya wan—" growled Roger, turning to see who had interrupted him. He suddenly gulped and turned pale. "Ohhhhhhhhh—good-by, baby!" He flipped the switch and stood up.

"Uh—ah—good morning, Major Connel," he stammered.

"What's going on here, Manning?" barked Connel.

"I—was—talking, sir," replied Roger.

"So I heard! But talking to whom?"

"To whom, sir?"

"That's what I said, Manning." Connel's voice dropped to a deep sarcastic purr. "To whom?"

"I was—ah—talking to Earth, sir."

"Official business, I presume?"

"You mean—official—like here on the station, sir?"

"Official, like here on the station, Manning," replied Connel in almost a kindly tone.

"No, sir."

"You failed to make your quarter-hour check to the traffic-control center, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," gulped Roger. The full realization of what he had done was beginning to dawn on him.

"And you've tampered with vital station equipment for your own personal use," added Connel. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Roger noticed the major was strangely quiet in his interrogation. It felt like the calm before the storm.

"Yes, sir," admitted Roger, "I changed several circuits."

"Are you aware of the seriousness of your negligence, Manning?" Connel's voice began to harden.

"Yes—yes—I guess so, sir," stumbled Roger.

"Can you repair that radar so that it can be used as it was intended?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then do so immediately. There are ships in flight depending on your information and signals."

"Yes, sir," said Roger quietly. Then he added quickly, "I'd like the major to know, sir, that this is the first time this has happened."

"I have only your word for that, Manning!" Connel finally began blasting in his all too familiar roar. "Since you've done it once, I see no reason to think you couldn't have done it before or that you might not do it again!" The officer's face was now almost purple with rage. "When you've repaired that set, return to your quarters! You are confined until I decide on disciplinary action!"

Turning abruptly, Connel stormed out of the room, slamming the hatch closed behind him.

With a sigh Roger turned back to the set. With trembling fingers he reconnected the terminals and made delicate adjustments on the many dials. Finally, as power began to flow through the proper chain of circuits, the radar scanner glowed into life and the hair-thin line of light swept around the dull green surface of the scope. It had been left on a setting covering two hundred miles around the space station, and seeing the area was clear, Roger increased the range to five hundred miles. The resulting scan sent a sudden chill down his spine. A spaceship was roaring toward the station at full thrust!

Cold sweat beaded Roger's forehead as he grabbed for the microphone and called Tom.

"Radar bridge to control deck!" The words tumbled out frantically. "Tom! Tom! There's a ship heading right for the station! Bearing 098! Distance 450 miles! Coming in on full thrust! Tom, acknowledge! Quick!"

Down on the control deck, Tom had been watching a space freighter easing out of the station when Roger's voice came over the speaker in a thin scream.

"What?" he yelled. "Give me that again, Roger!"

"Spaceship bearing 098—full thrust! Range now four twenty-five!"

"By the craters of Luna," shouted Tom, "why didn't you pick her up sooner, Roger?"

"Never mind that. Contact that guy and tell him to change course! He can't brake in time now!"

"All right! Sign off!" Without waiting for a reply, Tom cut Roger off and switched to a standard space band. His voice quivering, the young cadet spoke quickly and urgently into the microphone. "Space station to spaceship approaching on orbit 098. Change course! Emergency! Reduce thrust and change course or you will crash into us!"

As he spoke, Tom watched the master screen of his scanner and saw the ship rocketing closer and closer with no change in speed or course. He realized that any action, even now, would bring the craft dangerously close to the station. Without hesitation, he flipped on the master switch of the central station communicator, opening every loud-speaker on the station to his voice.

"Attention! Attention! This is traffic-control center! Emergency! Repeat. Emergency! All personnel in and near landing ports five, six, seven, eight, and nine—decks A, B, and C—evacuate immediately to opposite side of the station. Emergency crews stand by for crash! Spaceship heading for station! May crash! Emergency—emergency!"

On the endangered decks, men began to move quickly, and in a moment the great man-made satellite was prepared for disaster. On the control deck, Tom stayed at his station, sounding the warning.

"Emergency! Emergency! All personnel prepare for crash! All personnel prepare for crash!"

CHAPTER 8

From the right, Tom could see the red flash of the rockets of Terry Scott's jet boat, which Astro had volunteered to pilot, coming into view. As soon as order had been restored aboard the station, search parties had been sent out to look for survivors.

Carefully Tom slowed the space craft in response to Stefens' brief commands and soon came to a dead halt in space. There, hovering right above them, visible through the crystal dome of the jet boat, Tom could see two space-suited figures floating effortlessly. A moment later Scott's craft came alongside, and the two small ships were lashed together with magnetic lines. Tom and Stefens hurriedly pulled on their space helmets. They adjusted the valves regulating the oxygen supply in their suits, and Stefens slipped back the sliding top of the jet boat. Out on the hull he secured a line to a projecting ring, and ordering Tom to stand by, he pushed himself off the ship into the bottomless void of space.

The line trailing behind him, Stefens drifted toward the two helpless figures. He reached them in less than a minute, secured the line to their belts, and signaled Tom to haul in.

Near by, Terry Scott and Astro watched as the three figures were pulled to safety.

Quickly the top of the jet boat was closed, oxygen pressure in the craft was restored, and the four men took off their helmets.

"Whew!" said Loring. "I sure want to thank you for pulling us out of the deep!"

"We sure do, sir!" added Mason. Then, with a quick look at Loring, he asked softly, "Were there any other survivors?"

Stefens' face was grim. "Not one. After we untangled the mess, we found bodies of two men. It was pretty bad. A little later something was spotted on the radar, and we hoped there might be survivors. Luckily for you, we came to look!"

[76]

"By the rings of Saturn," swore Loring softly, "Jardine and Bangs were brave men. They practically forced us to pile out when they saw they were going to crack up." He turned to Mason. "Didn't they, Al?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure brave men," Al Mason agreed.

"Nothing to be done for them now, of course," said Stefens. "What happened?" He paused, and then added, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to before you make out your report, but I'd sure like to know."

"I don't really know what happened, sir," said Loring. "We had made a deal for a ride back to Earth with Jardine and were sleeping back on the cargo deck. All of a sudden, Jardine came running in. Told us we were about to pile into the station and for us to suit up and get out. We asked him about himself, but he said he was going to stay and try to save the ship. We piled out, and—well, we saw the whole thing from out here. Like a big splash of light. It must have been pretty bad on the station, eh?"

"Plenty bad, but thanks to Cadet Corbett here, there wasn't a single injury. He warned everybody to get off that side of the station. A lot of damage but no casualties."

"Don't you have any idea what made the ship crash?" asked Tom quietly.

Loring looked at Tom but spoke to Stefens. "I told you all I know, sir. Can I expect to be questioned by everyone in the Solar Guard. Including cadets?"

Stefens bristled. "It was a civil question, Loring," he said stiffly, "but you don't have to say anything if you don't want to!"

Loring and Mason had not expected such a strong defense of the cadet, and Loring was quick to make amends. "I'm sorry—I guess I'm still a bit shaken up," he muttered.

Stefens grunted.

"It wasn't pretty, you know, watching that ship go up and not be able to do anything about it," Loring continued plaintively. "Jardine and Bangs—well, they're—they were sorta friends of mine."

They were silent all the way back to the station, each with his own thoughts—Stefens puzzling over the cause of the crash, Loring and Mason exchanging quick furtive glances and wondering how long their story would hold up, and Tom wondering how much Roger's changing the power circuits on the radar had to do with the crash of the ship.

"That's right," snapped Connel to the two enlisted spacemen. "I said I wanted the radar section of the communications deck closed and sealed off until further investigations. You can hook up and use one of the monitors in the traffic control meantime."

The two red-clad spacemen turned and walked away. Stefens stood to one side.

"Don't you think that's carrying things a little too far, sir?" he asked Connel.

"I'm doing this as much to protect Cadet Manning as I am to prosecute him! I want to be sure there was no connection between the crash of the Annie Jones and his tampering with the radar circuits!" Connel replied.

"I guess you're right, sir," replied Stefens. "Those two survivors, Loring and Mason, are having coffee in the mess if you want to talk to them."

"Did they change their story?" asked Connel.

"None at all. They were hooking a ride back to Atom City, and they were asleep in the cargo hold. Jardine, one of the pilots, came in and told them to pile out. They did."

"Ummmmh," mused Connel. "I know those two, Loring and Mason. Had a little trouble with them recently on a trip to Tara. Suspended their papers. So if they were just hooking a ride, it might be they're telling the truth!"

"I have a report here on the damage to the station, sir, if you'd like to listen to it," said Stefens, handing his superior a spool of audiotape.

"Good! Did you make out the report yourself?" asked Connel.

"Yes, sir. With the assistance of Terry Scott and Cadet Corbett."

"Good lad, that Corbett," said Connel and paused. "The whole unit is good! If it weren't for that hare-brained Manning, I'd say they had as bright a future in the Solar Guard as any unit I've seen!"

"I'll buy that, sir!" said Stefens with a smile. "That Corbett picked up traffic-control operations like a duck takes to water. And it's been a long time since Jenledge on the power deck raved about a cadet the way he does about Astro."

Connel smiled. He was reluctant to press for an investigation of the radar deck, knowing that if he did, it would mean a damaging black mark against Manning. But justice was justice, and Connel came closer to worshiping justice than anything else in space!

Connel placed the spool of tape in the audiograph and settled in a chair to listen. He didn't like the entire affair. He didn't like to think of losing a cadet of Manning's ability because of one stupid mistake. He had recommended a thorough investigation. There was no other way. If Manning was cleared of the responsibility for the crash, he was free, and it would not show up against his record. If he wasn't, however, then he'd have to pay. Yes, thought Connel to himself, as Stefens' voice began to crackle harshly on the audiograph, if Manning was guilty, then Manning would most certainly pay. Connel would see to that.

Deep in the heart of the space station, Loring and Mason were huddled over steaming cups of coffee whispering to each other cautiously.

"Want more coffee, Mason?" asked Loring.

"Who wants coffee when there's going to be a Solar Guard investigation?" whined Mason. "Suppose they find out something?"

"Relax, will ya?" muttered Loring reassuringly. "Connel doesn't suspect a thing. Besides, he has that cadet under arrest!"

"Yeah," argued Mason, "but you don't know those guys at Space Academy. All this honor stuff! It's not like a regular investigation. They don't stop digging until they dig up real facts! They'll find out we stowed away and ..."

Loring calmly added cream and sugar to his coffee. "They can't prove a thing. Jardine and Bangs are dead, and the ship's nothing but a pile of junk."

"They'll find out, I tell you, and now we've got murder on our hands!"

A door behind Mason suddenly opened and Stefens appeared.

"Shut up, you fool!" Loring hissed. He turned blandly to face Stefens. "Well, Captain, glad you came. I wanted to talk to you about getting us transportation back to Venusport."

"You'll have to wait for the jet liner from Earth," said Stefens. "See me in about two hours. Right now, I've got to make arrangements for the investigation of the crash."

"Sure, sir," said Loring. "Ah—say, Captain, what do you expect the investigation to turn up?"

"The true facts," replied Stefens. "Whether the crash was due to the negligence of Cadet Manning or something that happened on the ship."

"Then you really think the cadet may be responsible?" asked Loring softly.

"He admits to negligence, and the Annie Jones is a lot of evidence," said Stefens with a shrug, and walked out.

"There's our answer!" said Loring triumphantly. "Come on!"

"Where are we going?" asked Mason.

"We're going to have a little talk with our fall guy!"

"Ahhh, sit down, Roger," said Astro. "Everything will be O.K."

"Yeah," agreed Tom. "You're just wearing out the deck and your nerves walking back and forth like that. Everything will be O.K." Tom tried hard to keep any apprehension out of his voice.

"Nothing will make those two guys on the spaceship O.K.," said Roger. He kicked viciously at a stool and sat down on the side of his bunk.

Since the crash, Roger had been confined to his quarters, with Tom and Astro bringing him his meals. Tom had watched his unit-mate grow more and more bitter over the turn of events and was afraid Roger would do something rash.

The central communicator over the door suddenly buzzed, and the three cadets waited for the announcement.

"... Cadets Corbett and Astro report to rocket cruiser Polaris for indoctrination on hyperdrive—on the double—by order of Major Connel."

Tom and Astro got up. Astro found it hard to hide his eagerness to begin indoctrination on hyperdrive, and it was only his deep concern for Roger that kept him from letting out one of his bull-throated bellows.

"Take it easy, Roger," said Tom. "The investigation will be over and we'll be on our way to Tara before you know it."

"Yeah, you space Romeo," growled Astro, "crawl in the sack and rest your bones. You're lucky you can miss this."

Roger managed a weak smile. "I'll be O.K. Go ahead and learn about that hyperdrive before you explode."

There was an awkward moment while the three cadets stared at one another. The deep friendship between them didn't need to be expressed in words. Abruptly, Tom and Astro turned and left the room.

Roger stared at the closed door for a moment and then flopped on his bunk. He closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. Whatever happened, he thought, it wouldn't do any good to knock himself out.

As he lay there thinking back to the first months at Space Academy when he had met Tom and Astro, he heard a knock on the door and he turned to see the steel hatch slide back stealthily. He jumped up.

Loring stuck his head inside the door. "You alone, Manning?" he asked.

"Yeah. Who're you?" asked Roger.

"My name's Loring, and this is my space buddy, Al Mason. We were on the Annie Jones."

Roger's eyes lighted up. "Then you know I'm not responsible for the crash!" said Roger.

"I wouldn't say that, kid," said Loring grimly. "I wouldn't say that at all."

"What do you mean?" demanded Roger.

"A shame"—Loring shook his head—"young fella like you winding up on the prison asteroid."

"Prison asteroid?" asked Roger stupidly.

"Yeah," grunted Loring. "Have you ever seen one of them joints, Manning? They work from noon to midnight. Then they give you synthetic food to eat, because it costs too much to haul up solid grub. Once you've been on the prison rock, you can't ever blast off again. You're washed up as a spaceman. Think you'll like that?"

"Why—why—what's that got to do with me?" asked Roger.

"Just this, kid. After the investigation they'll find out your radarscope wasn't working right. Then they'll come to me and ask me what happened aboard the Annie Jones."

"Well," demanded Roger, "what did happen?"

Loring glanced at Mason. "Just this, kid. Jardine and Bangs were on the teleceiver and the radar for fifteen minutes trying to pick up your beam. But there wasn't any, because you had it fouled up!"

Roger sat down on the side of the bunk and stared at the two men. If what they said was true, Roger knew there could only be one outcome to the investigation.

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Roger quietly.

"Very simple. I don't like to see anyone go to the prison rock!"

"Are you"—Roger hesitated—"are you suggesting that I escape?"

Loring and Mason got up and walked to the door. Loring turned back to face Roger. "I'm not suggesting anything, Manning," he said. "You're a big boy and should know what's good for you. But"—he paused and measured his words carefully—"if I were you, I wouldn't wait around for Connel or anyone else to blast my life to pieces by sending me to a prison for one little mistake!"

The hatch slid closed behind the two spacemen.

Roger stood up and began packing a small spaceman's bag. There was a jet liner coming in from Atom City that would make a stop at Venusport. He glanced at his watch. Thirty minutes. He didn't have much time.