The Tom Corbett Space Cadet Megapack. Carey Rockwell
and Alfie redesigned the fuse to ensure perfect co-ordination of the explosions. Astro and Shinny surpassed their previous efforts by putting enough power in the five small reaction units to more than do the job required. Tom, standing long watches on the control deck, devoted his spare time to the torturous equations that would mean failure or success to the whole project. And Major Connel, alert and alive once more, drove his crew toward greater goals than it had achieved before.
Nearly three days later, the Polaris appeared over the twin oceans of Tara and glided into an orbit just beyond the pull of the planet’s gravity. Aboard the spaceship, last-minute preparations were made by the red-eyed spacemen.
In constant contact with Space Academy, using the resources of the Academy’s scientific staff to check the more difficult calculations, the six men on the Polaris worked on.
Connel appeared on the radar bridge and flipped on the long-range scanner.
“Have to find out where Junior is,” he said to Roger and Alfie.
“That doesn’t work, sir,” said Roger.
“What do you mean it doesn’t work?” exploded Connel.
“Junior’s falling into the sun, sir. The radiations are blocking it out from our present position.”
“Couldn’t we move to another position?” asked the officer.
“Yes, sir,” said Roger, “we could. But to do that would take extra time, and we haven’t got it.”
“Then how are you going to find Junior?” asked Connel.
“Alfie’s busy with a special scanner, sir, one that’s especially sensitive to copper. Since the sun is composed mostly of gas, with this filter only Junior will show up on the screen.”
“By the rings of Saturn,” exclaimed Connel, “you mean to tell me that Alfie Higgins is building a new radar scanner, just like that?”
“Why, yes, sir,” answered Roger innocently. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“No—no—” said Connel, backing off the bridge. “Just—just go right on. You’re doing fine! Yessirree, fine!” He literally ran from the bridge.
“Most humorous of you, Manning,” said Alfie, smiling.
“I’ll tell you something funnier than that,” said Roger. “I feel the same way he does. Is there anything you can’t do, Alfie?”
Alfie thought a moment. “Yes, there is,” he said at last.
“What?” demanded Roger.
“I can’t—shall I say?—make as much progress as you do with—er—space dolls.”
Roger’s jaw dropped. “Space dolls! You mean—girls?”
Alfie nodded his head.
“Listen,” said Roger, “when we get Junior on his way home, and we get back to the Academy, I promise you I’ll show you how to really blast your jets with the space lovelies in Atom City!”
Alfie put out his hand seriously. “And if you do that for me, Roger, I’ll show you how to use the new electronic brain they recently acquired at the Academy. Only one other person can operate it. But you definitely have the potential.”
Roger stared at him stupidly. “Huh? Yeah. Oh, sure!”
Gradually the mass of data was brought together and co-ordinated, and finally, as Tom stood beside him, Major Connel checked over his calculations.
“I can’t see a thing wrong with it, Tom,” Connel said at last. “I guess that’s it. Figuring we land on Junior at exactly seventeen hundred hours, we’d reach the point of no return exactly two hours later.”
“Shall I alert stations to blast off for Junior?” asked Tom.
“Yes,” said Connel, “bring the Polaris to dead ship in space about three hundred miles above Junior. That’s when we’ll blast off in jet boats.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tom. His eyes bright, he turned to the intercom. “All right, you space babies,” he announced, “this is it. Stand by to blast Junior. Here we come!”
CHAPTER 18
Dawn broke over the tangled jungles of Tara, followed by the bright sun of Alpha Centauri rising out of the eastern sea and slowly climbing higher and higher. In the dense unexplored wilderness, living things, terrible things, opened their eyes and resumed their never-ending quest for food. Once again Alpha Centauri had summoned one hemisphere of its satellite planet to life.
Meanwhile, high in the heavens above Tara, six Earthmen blasted into the flaming brilliance of the sun star. Using delicate instruments instead of claws, and their intelligence instead of blind hunger, they prepared to do battle with the sun star and force it to release the precious copper satellite from its deadly, consuming grasp.
The crew of the Polaris assembled on the control deck of the great spaceship, and facing their commanding officer, waited patiently for the word that would send them hurtling out to their target.
“The jet boats are all ready, sir,” reported Tom. “We’re dead ship in orbit around Junior at an altitude of about three hundred miles.”
“Does that mean we’re falling into the sun too?” gasped Shinny.
“It sure does, Mr. Shinny,” said Alfie, “at more than twenty miles per second.”
“The jet boats have enough power to get back from Junior to the Polaris, Mr. Shinny,” reassured Tom. “And then the Polaris can blast off from here. The jet boats wouldn’t go much higher off Junior this close to the sun.”
“But if we go beyond the two-hour limit, the Polaris can’t blast off either,” commented Roger dryly.
“All right. Is everything set?” asked Connel. “Astro, is the reactant loaded?”
“No, sir,” said Astro, “but it’s all ready to go in.”
“Good!” said Connel. “Now we all know how important—and how dangerous—this operation is. I don’t have to tell you again. You stay here on the control deck, Tom, and keep in touch with us on Junior at all times. You know what to do?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Tom. “I’m to stand by and give you a minute-by-minute warning check until final blast-off time.”
“Right,” said Connel. “And remember, we’re counting on you to tell us when to blast off. We’ll be too busy down there to pay any attention.”
“I understand, sir,” replied Tom. His face was passive. He was well aware of the responsibility.
“Very well,” said Connel finally, “the rest of you board your jet boats! This is going to be the hottest ride we’ll ever take, and I don’t want it to get any hotter!”
Silently, their faces grim masks, the five spacemen filed out of the control room, leaving Tom alone. Presently he heard the cough of the rockets in the jet boats as one by one the small space craft blasted out of the Polaris. Suddenly Tom began to shake as he realized the importance of his task—the responsibility of counting time for five men, time that could cost them their lives. If he made a single mistake, miscounted by a minute, the expedition to Junior would end not only in failure, but in tragedy.
As quickly as the thought came, Tom pushed it aside and turned to the control board. No time now for fear. Now, more than any other time in his life, he had to keep himself alert and ready for every emergency. As a child he had often dreamed of the day when, as a spaceman, he would be faced with an emergency only he could handle. And in the dreams he had come through with flying colors. But now that it was a reality, Tom felt nothing but cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
He turned his whole attention to the great solar clock overhead. Time had already begun slipping away. Ten minutes of the two hours