Treachery in Outer Space Part 8

The Solar Guard officer snapped off the microphone and turned to Tom, Roger, and Astro. "It's hard to believe that the French Chicken won't be shuttling from Paris to Venusport any more," he murmured.

"Are there any details, sir?" asked Tom.

"You know there are never any details, Corbett," said Strong with a little edge in his voice. Then he immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, Tom. Gigi was an old friend."

The door behind them opened and an enlisted s.p.a.ceman stepped inside, saluting smartly. "Ready for the next blast-off, Captain Strong," he announced.

"Who is it?" asked Strong, turning to the intercom connecting him with the control tower that co-ordinated all the landings and departures at the s.p.a.ceport.

The s.p.a.ceman referred to a clipboard. "It's the _s.p.a.ce Lance_, sir.

Piloted by Captain Stic.o.o.n. He's representing an independent company from Marsopolis."

"Right, thanks." Strong turned to the intercom mike, calling, "Captain Strong to control tower, check in."

"Say, I'd like to see this fellow blast," said Tom. "He's supposed to be one of the hottest pilots ever to hit s.p.a.ce."

"Yeah," agreed Roger. "He's so good I don't see how anyone else could have a chance."

"With that hot rocket in this race," said Astro, "the others will have to fight for second and third place."

"Control tower to Strong," a voice crackled over the intercom loud-speaker. "Ready here, sir."

"Right. Stand by for the next flight, Mac," replied Strong. "It's Stic.o.o.n."

Strong flipped a switch on the intercom to direct contact with the waiting s.h.i.+p and gave Stic.o.o.n the oft-repeated final briefing, concluding, "Do not go beyond the necessary limitations of fuel consumption that are provided for in the Solar Guard s.p.a.ce code. If you return here with less than a quarter supply of reactant fuel, you will be disqualified. Stand by to blast off!"

"Uh-huh!" was all the acknowledgment Strong received from the Martian.

Famed for his daring, Stic.o.o.n was also known for his taciturn personality.

"Clear ramp! Clear ramp!" Strong boomed over the public-address system.

When he received the all-clear from the enlisted s.p.a.ceman on the ramp, Strong flipped both the public-address system and the intercom on.

"Stand by to raise s.h.i.+p!"

He glanced at the astral chronometer. "Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one--_zero!_"

Tom, Roger, and Astro crowded to the viewport in Strong's command shack to watch the bulky Martian's s.h.i.+p take to s.p.a.ce. With Stic.o.o.n at the controls, there was no hesitation. He gave the s.h.i.+p full throttle from the moment of blast-off and in three seconds was out of sight. There wasn't much to see at such speed.

The three members of the _Polaris_ unit left the shack to return to their task of inspection. They pa.s.sed the maintenance hangar where Kit Barnard was readying his s.h.i.+p for blast-off in the next half hour.

"Any last-minute hitches, Kit?" asked Astro, vitally interested in the new reactor unit and its cooling system.

Kit smiled wearily and shook his head. "All set!"

"Good." Tom smiled. "We'll try to be back before you blast. We've got to check Quent Miles' s.h.i.+p now."

As the three cadets approached the sleek black vessel with its distinctive markings, the air lock opened and Quent Miles stepped out on the ladder.

"It's about time you three jerks showed up," he sneered. "I have to blast off in twenty minutes! What's the idea of messing around with that Barnard creep? He hasn't got a chance, anyway."

"Is that so?" snapped Roger. "Listen--!"

"_Roger!_" barked Tom warningly.

Quent grinned. "That's right. Lay off, buster. Get to your inspecting and let a s.p.a.ceman blast off."

"Kit Barnard will blast off after you, and still beat you back," growled Roger, stepping into the s.h.i.+p. He stopped suddenly and gasped in amazement. "Well, blast my jets!"

Tom and Astro crowded into the air lock and looked around, openmouthed.

Before them was what appeared to be a hollow sh.e.l.l of a s.h.i.+p. There were no decks or bulkheads, nothing but an intricate network of ladders connecting the various operating positions of the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p. Everything that could be removed had been taken out of the s.h.i.+p.

"Is this legal?" asked Roger incredulously.

"I'm afraid it is, Roger," said Tom. "But we're going to make sure that everything that's supposed to be in a s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p is in this one."

"When I blast off, I don't intend carrying any pa.s.sengers," growled Miles behind them. "If you're going to inspect, then inspect and stop gabbing."

"Let's go," said Tom grimly.

The three boys split up and began crawling around in the network of exposed supporting beams and struts that took the place of decks and bulkheads. It did not take them long to determine that Quent Miles' s.h.i.+p was in perfect condition for blast-off. With but a few minutes to spare, they returned to face Miles at the air lock.

"O.K., you're cleared," Tom announced.

"But it'll take more than a light s.h.i.+p to win this race," said Roger, and unable to restrain himself, he added, "You're bucking the best s.p.a.ce busters in the universe!"

"One of them"--Quent held up his finger--"is dead."

"Yeah," growled Astro, "but there are plenty more just as good as Gigi Duarte."

The intercom buzzer sounded in the s.h.i.+p and Quent snapped, "Beat it!

I've got a race to win." He pushed the three cadets out of the air lock and slammed the pluglike door closed. From two feet away it was impossible to spot the seams in the metal covering on the port and the hull.

"Clear ramp! Clear ramp!" Strong's voice echoed over the s.p.a.ceport. Tom, Roger, and Astro scurried down the ladder and broke away from the ramp in a run. They knew Quent Miles would not hesitate to blast off whether anyone was within range of his exhaust or not.

"Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one--_zero!_"

Again the s.p.a.ceport reverberated to the sound of a s.h.i.+p blasting off.

All eyes watched the weirdly painted black s.h.i.+p shudder under the surge of power, and then shoot s.p.a.ceward as if out of a cannon.

"Well, ring me around Saturn," breathed Tom, looking up into the sky where the black s.h.i.+p had disappeared from view. "Whatever Quent Miles is, he can sure take acceleration."

"s.p.a.ceman," said Astro, taking a deep breath, "you can say that again.

Wow!"

"I hope it broke his blasted neck," said Roger.

"And you saw him messing around here, Sid?" asked Kit Barnard of his young helper.