The Tom Corbett Space Cadet Megapack. Carey Rockwell
arms, as he waited for the strength to return to his legs and arms and his head to clear. He knew that he couldn’t go another round. He wouldn’t be able to see. It would have to be this round, and he had to beat Roger. Not because he wanted to, but because Roger was a member of the unit. And he had to keep the unit together.
He circled his unit-mate with care, shielding himself from the shower of rights and lefts that rained around him. He waited—waited for the one perfect opening.
“Come on! Open up and fight, Corbett,” panted Roger.
Tom snapped his right in reply. He noticed that Roger moved in with a hook every time he tried to cross his right. He waited—his legs began to shake. Roger circled and Tom shot out the left again, dropped into a semicrouch and feinted with the right cross. Roger moved in, cocking his fist for the left hook and Tom was ready for him. He threw the right, threw it with every ounce of strength left in his body. Roger was caught moving in and took the blow flush on the chin. He stopped as if poleaxed. His eyes turned glassy and then he dropped to the mat. He was out cold.
Astro didn’t even bother to count.
Tom squatted on the mat beside Roger and rubbed the blond head with his glove.
“Get some water, Astro,” he said, gasping for breath. “I’m glad I don’t have to fight this guy again. And I’ll tell you something else—”
“What?” asked Astro.
“Anybody that wants to win as much as this guy does, is going to win, and I want to have him on my side!”
Astro merely grunted as he turned toward the water cooler.
“Maybe,” he called back. “But he ought to read a book of rules first!”
When he came back to the mat with the water, Roger was sitting up, biting the knots of the laces on his gloves. Tom helped him, and when the soggy leather was finally discarded, he stuck out his hand. “Well, Roger, I’m ready to forget everything we’ve said and start all over again.”
Roger looked at the extended hand for a moment, his eyes blank and expressionless. Then, with a quick movement, he slapped it away and lurched to his feet.
“Go blow your jets,” he snarled, and turning his back on them, stumbled across the gym.
Tom watched him go, bewilderment and pain mirrored on his face.
“I thought sure this would work, Astro,” he sighed. “I thought he’d come to his senses if—”
“Nothing’ll make that space creep come to his senses,” Astro broke in disgustedly. “At least, nothing short of an atomic war head! Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up!”
Putting his arm around Tom’s shoulder, the big Venusian led him across the floor of the deserted gym, and as they disappeared through the automatic sliding doors, a tall figure in the uniform of the Solar Guard stepped out of the shadows on the balcony above. It was Captain Strong.
He stood silently at the rail, looking down at the mats and the soggy discarded boxing gloves. Tom had won the fight, he thought, but he had lost the war. The unit was now farther apart than it had ever been.
CHAPTER 6
“Well, Steve, how’s everything going?”
Captain Steve Strong didn’t answer right away. He returned the salute of a Space Cadet passing on the opposite slidewalk and then faced Commander Walters who stood beside him, eyeing him quizzically.
“Things are shaping up pretty well, Commander,” he replied, finally, with an air of unconcern.
“The Earthworm units buckling down to business?” Commander Walters’ voice matched Strong’s in nonchalance.
“Yes, I’d say so, sir. Speaking generally, of course.” Strong felt the back of his neck begin to flush as Walters kept eyeing him.
“And—speaking specifically, Steve?”
“Why—ah—what do you mean, sir?”
“Let’s stop fencing with each other, Steve.” Walters spoke kindly but firmly. “What about Manning and Unit 42-D? Are those boys learning to work together or not? And I want facts, not hopes!”
Strong hesitated, trying to word his reply. In these weeks that had followed Tom’s fight with Roger in the gym, there had been no further incidents of open warfare. Roger’s attitude, once openly defiant, had now subsided into a stream of never-ending sarcasm. The sting had been taken out of his attack and he seemed satisfied merely to annoy. Astro had withdrawn into a shell, refusing to allow Roger to bother him and only an occasional rumble of anger indicated his true feelings toward his troublesome unit-mate. Tom maintained his role of peacemaker and daily, in many ways, showed his capacity for leadership by steering his unit-mates away from any storm-provoking activities.
Strong finally broke the silence. “It’s difficult to answer that question with facts, Commander Walters.”
“Why?” insisted Walters.
“Well, nothing’s really happened,” answered Steve.
“You mean, nothing since the fight in the gym?”
“Oh—” Strong flushed. “You know about that?”
Commander Walters smiled. “Black eyes and faces that looked like raw beef don’t go unnoticed, Steve.”
“Uhh—no, sir,” was Strong’s lame reply.
“What I want to know is,” pursued Walters, “did the fight prove anything? Did the boys get it out of their systems and are they concentrating on becoming a unit?”
“Right now, Commander, they’re concentrating on passing their manuals. They realize that they have to work together to get through this series of tests. Why, Dr. Dale told me the other day that she’s sure Tom’s been giving Roger a few pointers on control-deck operation. And one night I found Manning giving Astro a lecture in compression ratios. Of course, Manning’s way of talking is a way that would confuse the Venusian more than it would help him, but at least they weren’t snarling at each other.”
“Hmm,” Walters nodded. “Sounds hopeful, but still not conclusive. After all, they have to help each other in the manuals. If one member of the unit fails, it will reflect on the marks of the other two and they might be washed out too. Even the deadliest enemies will unite to save their lives.”
“Perhaps, sir,” replied Strong. “But we’re not dealing with deadly enemies now. These are three boys, with three distinct personalities who’ve been lumped together in strange surroundings. It takes time and patience to make a team that will last for years.”
“You may have the patience, Steve, but the Academy hasn’t the time.” Commander Walters was suddenly curt. “When does Unit 42-D take its manuals?”
“This afternoon, sir,” replied Strong. “I’m on my way over to the examination hall right now.”
“Very well. I won’t take any action yet. I’ll wait for the results of the tests. Perhaps they will solve both our problems. See you later, Steve.” Turning abruptly, Commander Walters stepped off the slidewalk onto the steps of the Administration Building and rapidly disappeared from view.
Left alone, Strong pondered the commander’s parting statement. The implication was clear. If the unit failed to make a grade high enough to warrant the trouble it took keeping it together, it would be broken up. Or even worse, one or more of the boys would be dismissed from the Academy.
A few minutes later Strong arrived in the examination hall, a large, barren room with a small door in each of the three walls other than the one containing the entrance. Tom Corbett was waiting in the center of the hall and saluted smartly as Strong approached.
“Cadet Corbett reporting for manual examination, sir!”
“Stand easy, Corbett,” replied Strong, returning