Treachery in Outer Space Part 12

"Well, you haven't any kick with me," a.s.serted Miles. "I dumped that stuff in his tanks."

"Then how come he made it so fast?" growled Brett. "How come he made it at all?"

"How should I know?" snapped Quent. "Listen, Charley, lay off me. You might be able to order Ross around, but you don't scare me. And I don't think you have Ross fooled either."

"Never mind that now!" said Brett irritably. "We've got to line things up for the race. Listen! Ross left Luna City this morning for the hide-out. Here's what I want you to do. After you blast off--" Brett's voice dropped to a whisper and Quent's eyes opened with understanding, and then his rugged features broke out into a grin as Brett continued talking.

Finally Brett straightened up. "I'm going on out to t.i.tan now to see if things are O.K. You got everything clear?"

"Everything's clear," said Quent. "And you know something, Charley? You have a nasty way about you, but you certainly know how to figure the angles. This is perfect. We can't miss."

"I love you too, sweetheart," said Brett sourly. He turned and hurried out of the s.h.i.+p. Just before he stepped on the slidewalk that would take him to the monorail station, he saw the three members of the _Polaris_ unit leaving Kit Barnard's installation. He grinned and made a mocking salute to them in the darkness.

"So long suckers!" he called softly.

CHAPTER 7

"What!"

Quent Miles looked at Strong and then back at Roger. "You mean this jerk's going to ride with me?"

Roger Manning squared his shoulders and stuck out his chin. "Let's make the most of this, Miles," he said. "I don't like it any more than you do. I wouldn't like to be watched, either, if I had just crawled out from under a rock."

Strong suppressed a grin and then turned back to Quent. "That's the way it is, Miles. Commander Walters' orders. There's nothing that can be done now. Cadets Manning, Corbett, and Astro have been given these a.s.signments because they have worked so closely on the race project, and, I might add, you couldn't ask for a better astrogator should you get into trouble."

"The day I'll ask for help from a kid still wet behind the ears is the day I'll stop flying," snarled Miles.

Strong shrugged. "You either consent to the regulations, or disqualify yourself from the race."

The s.p.a.ceman's face turned a dusky red under his swarthy complexion.

"All right, all right! If that's the way it is, that's the way we'll play it. But I'm warning you, Manning, stay away from me."

Strong glanced at his wrist chronograph. "You have five minutes before the blast-off, stand by." He shook hands with Roger. "Good luck, Roger, and be careful. And remember, Captain Miles has already proved himself a crackerjack s.p.a.ceman. Don't interfere with him."

"Yes, sir," said Roger.

"Good luck, Miles," said Strong and offered his hand. Quent ignored it.

"Thanks for nothing," he sneered. "I know how much you want me to have."

"The best man wins," snapped Strong. He turned on his heels and left the black s.h.i.+p.

Quent Miles and Roger faced each other. "All right, Manning," said Miles after he had closed the air lock, "take your station. And remember I'm skipper of this s.h.i.+p."

"So what?" said Roger. "I'm still the monitor--!" He turned and swaggered away.

Miles watched him go, a crooked smile twisting his lips. "Make the most of it, Manning," he muttered under his breath.

"You will make two stops for refueling on your trip," Captain Strong called over the loud-speakers, as well as into the intercom connecting the three s.h.i.+ps. "First fuel stop will be on Deimos of Mars and the second will be at Ganymede. You are to chart a direct course to each of them. Should an emergency arise, you will call for a.s.sistance on the special teleceiver and audioceiver circuits open to you, numbers seventeen and eighty-three. You are to circle each fueling stop three times before making a touchdown, and make a final circle around t.i.tan when you arrive.

"Stand by to raise s.h.i.+p! And s.p.a.ceman's luck!"

Strong turned and flipped on the intercom to the control tower. "All ready up there?" he called.

"All set, sir," replied the enlisted s.p.a.ceman.

"All right, give them their orbits and blast-off time."

There was a slight pause, and then the gruff voice of the tower operator was heard over the loud-speakers and in the s.h.i.+ps. "All s.h.i.+ps will blast off on orbit forty-one ... raise s.h.i.+p at 18:51:35 ... stand by!"

There was a tense moment of silence while the seconds on the red hand of the astral chronometer slipped around the dial. Out on the field, the three s.h.i.+ps were pointed toward the darkening afternoon skies. The first s.h.i.+p, nearest the tower, was Wild Bill Stic.o.o.n's s.h.i.+p, the _s.p.a.ce Lance_, painted a gleaming white. Strong could see Tom sitting beside the viewport, and across the distance that separated them, the Solar Guard officer could see the curly-haired cadet wave. He returned the greeting.

Next was the black s.h.i.+p with the red markings that had aroused so much comment. Strong searched the viewports for a sight of Roger but could not see him. Finally he looked over at Kit Barnard's red-painted _Good Company_. He knew Astro would be on the power deck, preferring to nurse the reactor than watch the blast-off.

And then Strong was conscious of the tower operator counting off the seconds. He would pick it up at ten minus. He gripped the intercom mike as Mike's voice droned in his ears.

" ... fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten...."

"Stand by to raise s.h.i.+ps!" bawled Strong. He watched the sweep hand on the chronometer. "Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one--_zero!_"

There was really very little to see. The three s.h.i.+ps left Earth in a giant upheaval of thunderous noise and blazing red exhaust flames. The roar of the crowds was lost in the explosions of the rockets. And the greatest race in s.p.a.ce was underway.

Strong raced up to the control tower and stood in front of the radar scanner to watch the course of the three vessels now blasting through the atmosphere. They were three white blips on the green surface of the gla.s.s scope, in perfect line, traveling at incredible speeds.

Strong turned to the enlisted s.p.a.ceman. "Contact the s.h.i.+ps and see if everything's all right," he ordered.

"Very well, sir," replied the s.p.a.ceman, turning to the audioceiver microphone.

"s.p.a.ceport control to rocket s.h.i.+ps _s.p.a.ce Lance_, _s.p.a.ce Knight_, and _Good Company_. Come in, please."

There was a crackling of static over the loud-speaker and then the calm voice of Tom filled the control tower. "This is Corbett on the _s.p.a.ce Lance_. Go ahead."

Strong took the microphone. "This is Captain Strong," he called. "How was your blast-off, Tom?"

"Smooth as silk, sir," replied the young cadet. "Wild Bill sends his greetings and says he'll take a three-inch steak instead of flowers when he wins."

"Tell him it's a deal." Strong laughed. "End transmission."

"See you on t.i.tan, sir," said Tom. "End transmission."

Strong then spoke to Kit Barnard on the _Good Company_, but did not get a chance to speak to Astro. "He's down on the power deck, Steve,"

reported Kit. "He's watching that reactor as if it were a treasure chest."