Danger in Deep Space

Tom swooped over the treetops recklessly, and fearing the blast had damaged the jet-boat air lock, brought the small craft to rest in the blinding dust a few yards away from the Polaris.

Three minutes later the four spacemen had separated and were standing by their respective posts. Hasty but thorough checks were made to determine the damage, and finding none, they prepared to raise ship.

"All clear forward and up," Alfie reported in a high squeaking voice.

"Energize the cooling pumps," shouted Tom.

Astro had already started the mighty pumps, their vibrations rocking the ship, and Tom began counting the seconds.

"Stand by to raise ship. Minus five—four—three—two—one—zeeroooooo!"

Paying scant attention to the crush of sudden acceleration, Tom gave the ship all the power she could take for the climb out of Tara's atmosphere, and soon they were rocketing through the airless void of space. Alfie and Connel hurriedly swept the area with the radar scanner for the attacking intruder.

"There she is!" roared Connel. "There!" He placed a finger on a white blip on the scanner. "By the craters of Luna, that's an Earth ship!" The fear of an outer-space invasion by hostile people from another world had been in the back of his mind, but he had been reluctant to voice his fears in front of the cadets. "And she's an old one at that!" he exclaimed. "Not even armed. I know that class vessel. Corbett!" he shouted.

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Tom.

"Put the ship on automatic flight, attack-approach pattern number three. Then stand by to send a message to whoever's manning that ship!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" replied Tom. He hurriedly set the delicate device that would fly the ship in a preplanned course of zigzag maneuvers and opened the circuits of the teleceivers.

"All set for the message, sir," reported Tom.

"Tell them," said Connel heavily, his voice cold, "whoever they are, that I'll give them two minutes to surrender. If they don't, I'll blast them into protons!"

"Very well, sir," said Tom. He turned to the teleceiver and began twirling the dials.

"Attention! Attention! Rocket cruiser Polaris to spaceship X. Polaris to spaceship X. You are ordered to surrender within two minutes or we will attack. By order of Major Connel, Senior Line Officer, Solar Guard."

He switched the teleceiver for reception and waited. In a moment the screen blurred and then an image appeared. Tom gasped. It was Roger!

"Tom, Tom," yelled Roger. "Tom, this is me—Roger!"

"Roger! What're you doing out here? How'd you get here?"

"I can't explain now," said Roger. "I—I—"

Tom interrupted him. "Roger, you've been cleared! The investigation of the crash on the station proved that Loring and Mason are guilty. They're wanted for the crash and the deaths of Jardine and Bangs!"

"What! You mean—" stammered Roger.

"Yes. Loring and Mason did the whole thing!" supplied Tom.

"Look, Tom," pleaded Roger, "give me ten minutes. Don't fire for ten minutes! I'm going to try an idea. If I'm not successful, then open up and blast us back to Mars!"

"Roger, wait!" shouted Tom. "What's going on? What're you doing on that ship?"

"I can't talk now," answered Roger. "Loring and Mason are on the ship with me. Remember—ten minutes—and if I don't contact you, then open fire!"

CHAPTER 13

Mason stepped through the door. "Yeah, Loring?"

Loring quickly told him of Roger's attempt to work with Connel.

"Take our spaceboy down below and lock him in a storage compartment." He handed over one of the paralo-ray guns, and Mason shoved the muzzle into Roger's stomach.

"Get moving, Manning!" he snarled. "I'd like nothing better than to let you have it right now!"

Roger smiled, knowing Mason still harbored a grudge for the beating he had taken earlier on the trip.

"When you have him locked up, get back on the control deck," said Loring. "We're going to do some old-fashioned bargaining with 'Blast-off' Connel!"

"Bargaining?" exclaimed Roger.

"Yeah! One slightly used Space Cadet for what we came after—the copper satellite!"

"Connel won't bargain," said Roger. "Not for me, not for anything. You don't know him!"

"I know this, Manning!" said Loring. "I'm going to get on the teleceiver and tell Connel that if he doesn't blast away from here right now, you're a dead Space Cadet!" He jerked his head toward the door. "All right, take him below and tell Shinny to stand by on the power deck. In case Connel won't bargain, we'll have to make a run for it!"

"Right," said Mason as he shoved the paralo-ray gun deeper into Roger's stomach. "Move, Manning!"

Roger climbed down the ladder and through the long passageway of the Space Devil. He passed Shinny on the way down.

"What's going on here?" demanded Shinny, seeing Mason with the paralo-ray gun.

"We missed with the bomb," said Mason, "and Connel raised ship. He's ready to blast us if we don't surrender right away. Loring's trying to make a deal with him."

"What kind of a deal?" asked Shinny.

"Hot-shot Manning for the satellite!"

"He hasn't told you everything, Mr. Shinny," said Roger in his casual drawl. "They are the ones who caused the crash of the Annie Jones and the deaths of Jardine and Bangs. They framed me!"

"Then," mused Shinny, "you're cleared?"

"Yeah," growled Mason, "he's cleared! Cleared for a long swim in space if Connel doesn't do what Loring tells him! Get in there!" Mason shoved Roger into the cramped storage compartment. He locked the door and turned to Shinny.

"Loring wants you to stand by the power deck in case Connel won't play ball. We might have to make a run for it."

"Yeah, yeah," said Shinny, "I'll stand by the power deck."

Mason turned and walked away. Shinny followed him, a curious gleam in his eyes.

Up on the control deck, Loring was twisting the dials in front of the teleceiver screen.

"Space Devil to Polaris—Space Devil to Polaris—come in, Polaris." He twisted another dial and watched the darkened screen anxiously. After a moment the screen blurred, and Tom's face gradually came into sharp focus.

"Loring!" gasped Tom. "Where's Roger?"

"Never mind him, you punk!" snarled Loring. "Tell that fatheaded Connel I wanta talk to him! Make it fast!"

Tom's face disappeared to be replaced by the raging features of Major Connel. "You murdering space rat!" he roared. "I've given you two minutes to surrender and, by the craters of Luna, you've only got thirty seconds left!"

"It'll only take ten seconds to tell you that if you don't get outta here Cadet Manning gets blasted!"

"What?" roared Connel.

"That's right," snarled Loring. "You're the one that's got thirty seconds to get out of here, or Manning takes a swim in space!"

"Why, you—" Connel's face was twisted with rage. "You can't threaten me!"

"I ain't threatening you," said Loring, "I'm telling you! If you don't get started, you'll never see Manning again. Or if you do, you won't recognize him! Now make up your mind, Connel!"

The Solar Guard officer hesitated. "Give me two minutes," he said, "and I'll call you back. Two minutes."

"Two minutes," repeated Loring, "and if I don't hear from you by then, or if you try any funny stuff, Manning gets it!"

Aboard the Polaris, the screen darkened, and Connel, his fists clenched, turned to Tom.

"We're helpless, Tom," he said softly. "Now that we have proof of Roger's innocence, I have to do everything in my power to save him."

Tom didn't say anything. Suddenly Connel smashed one huge fist into another. "But by the blessed rings of Saturn, when I do get my hands on that Loring, I'll—I'll—" He broke off suddenly and turned back to the teleceiver. "I'm going to do what he wants, Tom. Roger's life is worth a dozen like Loring, and we'll have to take a chance that Loring will keep his word. After all," continued the big officer softly, "our mission is complete. We've tested the transmitter and found it to be more than we expected. No real reason why we should stay around here any longer."

"Yes, sir," stammered Tom. "Sir, I—I—"

Connel waved him silent with his hand. "You don't need to say anything, Tom. It's just one of those things. Still I can't help wondering what they came out here for." He turned to the dials on the teleceiver and began twisting them. "I'll call him, and you stand by to blast out of here."

Nicholas Shinny sat on the power deck and listened to Loring issue orders over the intercom.

"I don't know if Connel will go for it, or not," said Loring, "but just in case he doesn't, we gotta get outta here fast! You got that, Shinny?"

"Yeah," answered Shinny, "I got it!"

"Mason," yelled Loring, "you take over on the radar bridge!"

"All ready up here," said Mason.

"Well, be sure we've got a clear trajectory out. Better take us into the sun Alpha Centauri. That way, maybe they'll miss us on their radar. The sun will show all sorts of blips on their screen."

"O.K.," said Mason. "You think he'll go for it?"

"I don't know," answered Loring, "but if he doesn't, it's going to be space dust for Manning."

Shinny got up and walked around the deserted power deck. His legs felt weak. The plan he had made was a desperate one. Over and over, he checked the operation in his mind. It would have to be quick, sure, and sudden. That was the only thing that would ensure success. "Yes, sir," he thought, "if we can surprise 'em, we can get away with it." He dug out a piece of chewing tobacco, took a bite, eyed the remaining piece, and then shoved the whole thing in his mouth. His cheek bulged.

He went to the intercom and flipped it on. "Hey, Loring," he yelled. "I've got to check the timer on number-three rocket. She's not acting just right. It'll take me about a minute."

"O.K.," came Loring's reply, "but make it snappy."

The timers were to the left of the control board, but Shinny turned to the right and the ladder leading to the lower deck. He eased the hatch open, glanced around, and then climbed down quickly. He stopped at a locker, opened the doors quietly, and took out two paralo-ray guns and two rifles. Then, closing the doors, he made his way to the opposite side of the ship.

"Hey, Manning!" he whispered through the closed storeroom hatch. "Can ya hear me?"

"Who is it?" asked Roger.

"Me—Shinny," hissed the wizened spaceman. He opened the hatch and Roger quickly stepped out.

"What's the idea?" gasped Roger when Shinny shoved a rifle and pistol into his hands.

"I ain't got time to explain now," said Shinny. "We've got to hurry if we're going to take over this tub."

Roger's eyes glowed. "You mean—"

"Never mind what I mean," said Shinny. "Just listen. Loring's on the control deck and Mason's on the radar bridge. Loring's just talked to Connel. He's trying to make him blast outta here. If Connel doesn't, Loring's going to dump you in space!"

"Yeah, I know. That murdering space crawler!" snarled Roger. He gripped the rifle tightly. "I'll blast him—"

"Now wait a minute," hissed Shinny. "You go up and get Loring, see? Make it look like you got out by yourself. If you can handle him, O.K. I'll stay in back, and if anything goes wrong, I'll back you up!"

"Fine," said Roger. He patted the spaceman on the back and smiled. "Don't worry, Mr. Shinny, nothing will go wrong!"

"Watch your step. That Loring is a smart cookie!"

Roger turned into the passageway and made his way silently to the control-deck hatch. He peered around the edge of the hatch and saw Loring sitting in front of the teleceiver screen, his back toward Roger. The cadet quickly stepped into the control room, leveled the rifle, and said quietly, "All right, Loring, keep your hands in view!"

Loring spun around and stared openmouthed at Roger. "Mann—" he gasped.

"Yeah, me!" said Roger. "Call Mason and tell him to come down here on the double. But one wrong move, Loring, and I'll give you a quick freeze with this ray gun!"

Moving slowly, Loring turned to the intercom and flipped the switch. "Hey, Mason," he yelled. "Come down here a minute, will ya?"

"What do you want?" growled Mason. "I've got to figure out this course."

Roger stepped close to Loring, raising the gun.

Loring licked his lips and turned back to the intercom. "Don't gimme any back talk! I said get down here!"

Suddenly the teleceiver came to life. "Polaris to Space Devil! Come in, Loring! This is Major Connel on the Polaris calling Loring on the Space Devil!"

The suddenness of the voice startled Roger, and for a split second he took his eyes off Loring. In that instant Loring leaped for the boy, grabbing at the rifle. The quickness of his lunge caught Roger off guard and he was thrown back against the bulkhead, but he held onto the rifle as Loring tried to twist it out of his grasp.

"What th—" cried Mason from the ladder leading to the radar bridge. When he saw Roger and Loring struggling, he grabbed for the paralo-ray gun at his side. Just at that moment Shinny stepped through the hatch and fired his rifle. Mason was frozen into a rigid statue, unable to move.

"All right, Loring," yelled Shinny, "step back or I'll blast you like I did Mason!"

Roger wrenched the rifle out of Loring's grasp and stepped back. "Good work, Mr. Shinny!" he said to the little spaceman. "You sure figured it right!"

"Attention! Attention! This is Connel on the Polaris. Come in, Loring ..."

Shinny looked over at Roger and winked. "Better answer him, while I get this joker locked up." He motioned to Loring who stood backed up against the bulkhead, his hands high over his head.

"You dirty double-crossing space rat!" he snarled at Shinny.

"Now, now, none of that," said Shinny, leveling the rifle. "If you get too noisy, I'll freeze you like I did Mason to keep your trap shut!"

Loring cast a sidelong glance at Mason, who stood as if carved out of marble. The effects of the ray blast were devastating, having paralyzed his entire nervous system. While the victim was still able to breathe and his heartbeat remained normal, he was unable to move so much as an eyelid. The gun was developed after all lethal weapons had been outlawed by the Solar Alliance. Though any victim could be released from its paralyzing effect by a neutralizing charge from the same gun, while under its power the victim was reduced to a state of mild hysteria. He was able to hear, see, and think, but not to act. When released, it was not unusual to see a man crumple to the floor from exhaustion.

[133]

Loring marched meekly in front of Shinny to the storage room that had held Roger. The cadet spaceman remained on the control deck. He twisted the dials of the teleceiver and spoke into the mike.

"Space Devil to Major Connel. Come in! This is Manning on the Space Devil calling Major Connel ..."

"Manning!" shouted Connel. "I thought you were a prisoner!"

"Ah, it was nothing, skipper," said Roger blandly. "I just took over the ship—with a little help, of course!"

"A little help?" asked Connel. "From whom?"

Roger then gave the officer a complete review of what had happened to him since leaving the space station, finishing with Shinny's aid in his escape.

"Why would he want to help you?" asked Connel.

"I don't know, sir," replied Roger.

"Well, never mind," said Connel. "I suppose you two can handle that ship all right between you. Land on Tara as soon as you can. I'll get the details then!"

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Roger. Then, just before breaking contact, he yelled into the mike, "Hey, Astro—Tom! See ya in a few minutes!"

As the teleceiver screen darkened, Shinny reappeared. He had released Mason from the effects of the ray charge, and both Mason and Loring were safe in the storage room. He walked over and slapped Roger on the back.

"Well, it looks like we did it, sonny boy!" he said.

Roger turned to look at the wizened spaceman who still was chewing on the plug of tobacco. "What made you do this for me, Mr. Shinny?" asked Roger quietly.

"Tell ya a little secret," said Shinny, with a merry twinkle in his eye. "I was in the Solar Guard for twenty years. Enlisted man. Got into an accident and hurt my leg, but it wasn't in the line of duty, so I was tossed out without a pension. Ever since then I been kinda bitter, you might say. And, strangely enough, it was Major Connel that kicked me out."

"But you—you—" gasped Roger.

"Let's just say," said Shinny with a smile, "that once you're a Solar Guardsman, you're always a Guardsman. Now, how about getting this wagon down to Tara?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," said Roger absently, his eyes trailing after the small limping figure. Once a Solar Guardsman, always a Guardsman, he thought. Smiling, he turned to the control board. He felt the same way. He was a Guardsman, and it was good to be back home!

CHAPTER 14

"Didn't suspect a thing, Tom," replied Connel. "I thought they had gotten a little space rocky on some homemade rocket juice and just went on a wingding. Imagine the colossal nerve of those two wanting to corner the market with the largest deposit of copper ever found."

"How do you plan to get it back, Major?" asked Shinny.

"I don't know, Shinny—"

"Mr. Shinny!" snapped the wizened spaceman. "I'm not one of your cadets!"

"Still the hotheaded rocket buster, eh?" asked Connel, eying the toothless spaceman. "It was the same thing that got you kicked out of the Solar Guard twenty years ago!"

"Wasn't either! And you know it!" snapped Shinny. "You retired me because I busted my leg!"

"That helped," said Connel, "but the main reason was because you were too hotheaded. Couldn't take orders!"

"Well," said Shinny doggedly, "I ain't in no Solar Guard now, and when you talk to me, it's Mr. Shinny!"

"Why, you old goat!" exploded Connel. "I ought to arrest you for aiding criminals!"

"You can't do a thing to me," barked Shinny. "Prospecting is prospecting, whether it's in the asteroid belt or out here on Tara!"

Unable to hold back any longer, the four space cadets suddenly roared with laughter at the sight of the two old space foes jawing at each other. Actually, Connel and Shinny were glad to see each other. And when they saw the boys doubled up with laughter, they couldn't help laughing also. Finally Connel turned to Roger.

"Can you find that satellite again?" he asked.

"Yes, sir!" Roger grinned.

"All right, then," said Connel finally, "let's go take a look at it. I still won't believe it until I see it!"

"Who's hardheaded now?" snorted Shinny, climbing into the Polaris.

Later, as the rocket cruiser blasted smoothly through space, Connel joined Roger and Alfie on the radar deck. The two cadets were bent over the radar scanner.

"Pick her up yet?" asked Connel.

"There she is, right there, sir," said Roger, placing a finger on a circular white blip on the scanner. "But the magnascope shows pretty rugged country. I think we'd better take a look on the opposite side. Maybe we can find a better place to touch down."

"Very well, Manning," replied Connel. "Do what you think best. Tell Tom to land as soon as possible."

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Roger.

Leaving Alfie on watch at the scanner, Roger hurried down the ladder to the control deck where Tom was seated in front of the great board.

"Tom," called Roger, walking up behind his unit-mate, "we're going to take a look at this baby on the other side. See if we can't find a better place to touch down. Stand by to pick up the surface of the satellite on the teleceiver as soon as we get close enough."

"O.K., Roger," said Tom. "Where are you going?"

"Down to Loring and Mason in the cooler! I want to see their faces when I tell them they finally are getting where they wanted to go, but under slightly different circumstances!"

Tom laughed and turned back to the board. "Power deck, check in!"

"Power deck, aye," replied Astro. "When do we set down on the precious rock, Tom?" asked the Venusian.

"Should be soon, Astro," said Tom. "Better stand by for maneuvering."

"Right!" replied Astro.

Tom turned his full attention to the control board and the teleceiver screen above his head. He was happier than he had ever been in his life. The report sent back to Space Academy by Major Connel had been answered with a commendation to both Roger and Shinny for capturing Loring and Mason. With Roger back in the unit, Tom was at peace. Even Alfie was overjoyed at seeing Roger back aboard the Polaris.

And Tom had noticed that Major Connel was beginning to call them by their first names!

"Radar deck to control deck!" said Alfie. "From casual observations, Tom, the surface of the far side of the satellite is more suitable for a touchdown. I would suggest you observe the planetoid yourself with the magnascope and draw your own conclusions."

"O.K.," replied Tom. He switched the teleceiver screen on to the more powerful magnascope and studied the surface of the small celestial body. He saw a deep valley with a flat hard surface set between two tall cliffs. It would be a tricky spot for a landing, but it looked like the best place available. Tom snapped open the intercom.

"Attention! Attention! Stand by for touchdown. Power deck stand by for deceleration. Radar bridge stand by for range and altitude checks!" Sharply, crisply, Tom's orders crackled through the ship.

Working together with the ease and thoroughness of men well acquainted with their jobs, Astro and Shinny on the power deck, Roger and Alfie on the radar bridge, and Tom on the control deck handling the delicate maneuvering, combined to bring the great ship to a safe landing on the dry valley floor of the satellite.

"Touchdown!" yelled Tom and began securing the ship. Two minutes later the entire crew faced Major Connel for briefing.

"We'll all go out to different parts of the satellite and make geological tests," announced Connel. "We'll pair off, two to a jet boat. Astro and Roger, Alfie and Mr. Shinny, Tom and myself. This is a simple test." He held up a delicate instrument and a vial full of colorless liquid. "You simply pour a little of this liquid, about a spoonful, on the ground, wait about five minutes, and then stick the end of this into the spot where you poured the liquid." He held up a two-foot steel shaft a quarter inch in diameter, fastened to a clock-face gauge with numbers from one to a thousand. The other end of the shaft was needle sharp. "When you stick this into the ground, there'll be a reading on the meter. Relay it to me. This way well get an estimate of the amount of copper in a three-mile area for a depth of a hundred feet. It must be more than two hundred tons per square mile to make it worth while!"

He held up the testing equipment for all to see and explained its use once more. Then, giving each team a kit, he ordered them to the jet boats.

Just before the crew of Earthmen left the Polaris, Connel gave them last-minute instructions.

"Report back to the Polaris in one hour. Make as many tests as you can over as wide an area as possible. Don't forget to leave one man in the jet boat while the other is making the test. Keep your audio communicator in the jet boat on at all times. And be sure your belt communicator is always open. Check your oxygen supply and space suits. All clear?"

One by one, the spacemen checked in through the audio communicators that all was clear. The sliding hatch on the side of the Polaris was opened, and the jet boats blasted out into the brilliant sunlight of Alpha Centauri, going in three different directions.

Tom piloted his small craft over the rugged surface of the satellite, circling the larger peaks and swooping into the small valleys. Connel would indicate when it was time to stop, and Tom would set the craft down. While Connel made the tests, Tom would talk to the others over the audio communicators. The three small ships covered the satellite quickly in evenly divided sections, reporting their readings on the needlelike instrument to Connel, who kept recording the reports on a pad at his knee.

An hour later the boats returned to the Polaris and the Earthmen assembled in the control room. Connel, Tom, and Alfie were busy reducing the readings of the tests into recognizable copper ton estimates per square mile.

Finally Connel turned around, wiped his brow, and faced the others.

"This is one of the greatest discoveries for Earthmen since they learned how to blast off!" The big officer paused and then held up the results of the tests. "This satellite is really three-quarters solid copper!"

There was a loud mumble as everyone began talking at once.

"How are we going to get it back home, sir?" asked Tom. "Wouldn't hauling it back in spaceships cost too much?"

"Yes, it would, Corbett," answered Connel, "but I've got an idea how we can lick that problem."

"Can't see how you can lick it," snorted Shinny, "unless you take the whole blasted satellite back!"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do!" answered Connel.

"What?" exclaimed Roger, momentarily forgetting he was addressing a senior officer. "How in blazes are you going to do that?"

Connel turned to the chart-screen projector and switched it on. Immediately an image of Earth and its Moon, and much farther away the sun, was visible. Connel stepped to the screen and pointed to Moon.

"The Moon is a captive satellite of Earth, revolving around Earth the same way Earth revolves around the sun. It's the same situation we have here. This satellite is a captive of Tara, and Tara is a captive of Alpha Centauri. The difference is that the satellite is a peanut compared in size to the Moon, being only about fifteen miles in diameter. I'm not sure, but I think I can get enough reactant energy out of the Space Devil's fuel supply to blast the satellite out of Tara's grip and send it back to our solar system in one piece!"

"You mean, sir," asked Tom, perplexed, "you'll tear the satellite out of Tara's gravitational pull?"

"That's right, Tom," replied Connel, "using the same principle to clear gravity that we use on the Polaris or any spaceship. Enough power from the rockets will blast the Polaris off Tara. Well, if you can get enough power, you can blast this satellite out of Tara's grip also, since the only thing holding it here is the gravity of Tara—the same thing that holds the Moon in orbit around Earth!"

Astro's eyes bulged. He looked at Connel blankly. "Why, sir," he stammered, "it'd take—take—a ton of reactant fuel to pull something that size away from Tara. The Polaris is a kiddy car in comparison!"

"You're right, Astro," said Connel, "but there's one thing you've forgotten. The copper of the satellite itself. That's going to be the main source of power. The reactant fuel from the Space Devil will serve only as a starter, a trigger, you might say, to make use of the copper as fuel!"

Once again Astro gasped. "Then—then—there isn't anything to stop you, sir," he finished slowly.

Connel smiled. "I know there isn't. I'm going to contact Space Academy now for permission to pitch the biggest ball in the history of man!"

CHAPTER 15

"Getting the satellite back is the trickiest part of the whole operation. Astro, are you sure you made a correct estimate on the amount of reactant fuel in the Space Devil?"

"Yes, sir," replied Astro. "I checked it four times, and Mr. Shinny checked it, too!"

"All right, then, listen," said Connel. "I've given the satellite a name. From now on we call it Junior. And this will be known as Junior's Pitch! I've explained how Junior is a captive satellite revolving around Tara, the same way our Moon revolves around Earth. We have two problems. One is to blast it out of Tara's grip. And the other is to take advantage of Tara's orbital speed around its sun Alpha Centauri, and Junior's orbital speed around Tara. We've got to combine the velocities of the orbits, so that when we do spring Junior loose, he'll gain in speed!"

"But how do we get the orbital speeds to help us, Major?" asked Alfie. His glasses had slipped to the very end of his nose.

"If you'd give the major a chance, he'd tell you, Big Brain," drawled Roger. Alfie gave Roger a withering look and turned back to the major.

"Do you remember when you were kids and tied a rock on the end of a rope and then swung it around your head?" asked Connel.

"Sure, sorta like a slingshot," said Astro.

"That's right, Astro," said Connel, "and if you released the rope, the rock would fly in the direction it was headed, when you let go!"

"I get it," cried Tom excitedly. "The gravity of Tara is the rope holding Junior—ah"—he fumbled—"making it swing around!"

"And the reactant power of the Space Devil placed in the right spot would be the trigger to make it let go!" commented Roger.

"It's as simple as that, boys!" said Connel with a smile.

"But how in the blazing beams of the sun are you going to stop that blasted thing when you get it rolling?" asked Shinny.

"The chances of Junior hitting anything on the way home are so small it doesn't present a problem. So we just aim Junior for our solar system! Later on, arrangements can be made to steer it into an orbit around our sun."

"You know," wheezed Shinny, his merry eyes twinkling, "that sounds pretty neat!"

"It is," replied Connel. He leaned against the control-board desk top and folded his arms across his massive chest. He looked at each of the cadets and Shinny a long time before speaking. Finally he stepped forward and stood among them, turning now and then to speak directly to each of them.

"We have only four days, five hours, and some few minutes to pull Junior out of Tara's grip, and later, the grip of Alpha Centauri. You boys will have to work as you've never worked before. You'll do things you never dreamed you could do. You'll work until your brains ache and your bodies scream. But when you're finished, you will have accomplished one of man's greatest challenges. You're going to do all this because I know you can—and I'm going to see that you do! Is that clear?"

There was a barely audible "Yes, sir" from the cadets.

"The six of us, working together, are going to send a hunk of copper fifteen miles in diameter hurtling through twenty-three million million miles of space, so let's get that ball rolling. Right now!"

With Major Connel roaring, pleading, and blasting, four young cadets and a derelict spaceman began the monumental task of assembling the mass of information necessary for the satellite's big push through space. During the three days that their project had been under way, Tom, Roger, Astro, Alfie, and Mr. Shinny worked, as Major Connel promised, as they had never worked before.

Late in the afternoon of the third day Connel stepped through the hatch of the control deck where Tom was busy over a table of ratios for balancing the amount of thrust from each of the reactant-power units. The power units were to give Junior its initial thrust out of the gravity of Tara.

"Well, Corbett," asked Connel, "how're you making out with the ratios?"

"I've finished them, sir," replied Tom, looking up at the major. His face was drawn, his eyes red from lack of sleep. "But I just can't seem to get a time for escaping the orbit on a true tangent."

"Have you tried making an adjustment for the overall pull of both components?" asked Connel. "That of Tara and of Alpha Centauri on Junior?" He picked up the paper Tom had been working on and glanced over the figures.

"Yes, sir," replied Tom, "but I still can't seem to make it come out right!"

"You'll get it, Tom," said Connel. "Go over it again. But remember. Time's running out. Just one day and about twenty hours left." Connel's voice was friendly—more friendly than at any time Tom could remember. He smiled, and taking a fresh sheet of paper, he began the complicated calculations of escape time all over again.

Connel slipped out of the control room and went below to the power deck, where Astro and Mr. Shinny had been working without sleep for over fifty hours. When Connel slipped into the room he found the two men puzzling over a drawing board.

"What seems to be the trouble, Astro?" asked Connel.

Astro turned, startled. "We've tried building that lead baffle for the reactant units five times now, sir," said Astro. "We're having a hard time getting the correct amount of reactant power we need in a unit this small."

"Maybe you're trying to make it too small, Astro," commented Connel, looking over the drawing. "Remember, this unit has but one job. To start the reaction. When the reaction fuel gets hot enough, it'll start a reaction of the copper on Junior and sustain itself. Try a smaller amount of the reactant. But whatever you do, keep working. Only a day and a few hours left."

Connel looked at Shinny. "Keep him working, Mr. Shinny," he ordered. "I know he can do it. Just keep him going."

Shinny grinned and nodded.

"I'll try, sir," said Astro, shaking his head, "but I won't guarantee it—"

Connel cut him off with a roar. "Cadet Astro, I don't want your guarantee! I want that unit. Now build it!"

Hour after hour the cadets racked their brains for what seemed like impossible answers to an impossible task. Working until their eyes closed fast shut, they would lie down right where they were—power deck, control deck, or radar bridge—and sleep. They would awake, still groggy, drink hot tea, eat cold sandwiches, and continue their struggle with time and astrophysics.

One by one, the problems were solved and set aside for newer ones that arose on the way. Each cadet worked in his particular field, and all of their information was assembled and co-ordinated by Major Connel. More than once, Connel had found the clever minds of his cadets reaching for answers to questions he knew would have troubled the professors back at Space Academy. Connel, his eye on the clock, his sharp tongue lashing out when he thought he detected unclear thinking, raced from one department to another while the incessant work continued. On the morning of the fourth day he walked into the radar bridge where Roger and Alfie had been working steadily for seventy-two hours on an electronic fuse to trigger the reactant units.

"There you are, skipper," said Roger. "The fuse is all yours. Delivered twelve hours ahead of time!"

"Good work, Roger. You too, Alfie. Excellent!" said Connel, his eyes appraising the fuse.

"Ah, that's nothing, skipper," said Roger with a smile. "Anyone could have done it with Alfie here to help. He's got a brain like a calculator!"

"Now, I want to see how smart you two really are!" said Connel.

"Huh?" asked Roger stupidly. Alfie had slumped to the deck, holding his head in his hands.

"I want a communications unit," said Connel, "that can send out a constant beam, a signal Space Academy can pick up to follow Junior in transit back to Earth."

"In twelve hours?" exploded Roger. "Impossible, skipper!"

"Cadet Manning," roared Connel, "I don't want your opinion, I asked for that unit!"

"But one day, sir," said Roger. "Not even a day. Twelve hours. I can't, sir. I'm sorry. I'm so tired I can't see straight."

Alfie let out a low moan.

Connel studied the two cadets. He was aware that he had already asked them to do the impossible, and they had done it. And they deserved to be let alone. But Major Connel wasn't himself unless he had given every ounce of energy he had left, or the energy left in those around him. He patted Roger on the shoulder and spoke softly.

"Roger, did I ever tell you that I think you have one of the finest brains for electronics I've ever seen? And that Alfie is sure to have a brilliant future in astrophysics?"

Roger stammered. "Why—ah—thank you, sir—"

Alfie looked up at Connel and then struggled to his feet.

"You know, Roger," he said haltingly, "if we took that unit we came out here to test—you know, the transmitter unit—"