The Tom Corbett Space Cadet Megapack. Carey Rockwell
we could give you a hand.”
“Get back in your seats,” ordered Wallace. “We don’t need any cadet squirts getting in our way!”
“Why, you overweight space jockey,” snapped Roger, “we know more about spaceships than you’ll ever learn!”
“One more crack out of you and I’ll blast your ears off!” roared Wallace. “Now sit down!”
Roger’s face turned a deep red and he moved toward Wallace, but Tom put out a restraining hand.
“Take it easy, Roger,” he said. “Wallace is the skipper of this boiler. In space he’s the boss.”
“You bet I’m the boss,” snarled Wallace. “Now keep that loud-mouthed punk quiet, or I’ll wipe up the deck with him and send the pieces back to Space Academy!”
“Hey, Wallace,” yelled Simms, who had walked away when the argument started. “Come on. We gotta fix that reactor unit!”
“Yeah—yeah,” Wallace called back. He turned to Roger again. “Just remember what I said, cadet!” Brushing the boys aside, he strode down the aisle to join Simms.
As the two men disappeared through the power-deck hatch, Tom turned to Roger and tried to calm him down. “Skippers are skippers, Roger, even aboard a piece of space junk!”
“Yeah,” growled Roger, “but I don’t like to be called a squirt or a punk! Why, I know more about reactor units than—”
“Reactor units?” broke in Astro from his seat.
“Yeah. Didn’t you hear what Simms said?”
“But this is a chemical burner,” said Astro. “Why an atomic reactor unit aboard?”
“Might be a booster for extra speed,” offered Tom. “And more power.”
“On a simple hop like this? Hardly out of the atmosphere?” Astro shook his head. “No, Tom. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Well,” chimed in Roger, “here’s something else I’ve been wondering about. They charge one credit for this ride. Which makes a total of about fifty credits for a capacity load—”
“I get you,” Tom interrupted. “It costs at least two hundred credits in fuel alone to get one of these chemical jalopies off the ground!”
Roger looked at Tom solemnly. “You know, Tom, I’d certainly like to know what those guys are doing. You just don’t hand out free rides in space.”
“How about snooping around?” asked Astro.
Tom thought a moment. “O.K. You two stay here. I’ll go aft and see what they’re doing.”
Tom walked quickly to the stern of the ship, entered the power-deck hatch, and disappeared. Astro and Roger, each taking one side of the ship, strained for a look from the viewports. In a few minutes Tom returned.
“Spot anything?” asked Roger.
“I’m not so sure,” answered Tom. “They weren’t on the power deck and the cargo hatch was locked. I looked out the stern viewport, but all I could see was a thick black cloud.”
“Well, that’s no help,” said Roger. Suddenly the blond cadet snapped his fingers. “Tom, I’ll bet they’re smugglers!”
“What?” asked Tom.
“That’s it,” said Roger. “I’ll bet that’s it. The concession is just a phony to cover up their smuggling. It lets them take a load of stuff up without a custom’s search. Then, when they’re far enough out—”
“They dump it,” supplied Astro.
“Right!” agreed Tom finally. “What better place to hide something than in space?”
“For someone else to pick up later!” added Roger triumphantly.
When Wallace and Simms returned, the three cadets were busy looking out the viewports. And later, when the spaceship was letting down over the exposition grounds, Tom commented on the ease with which the ship made her approach for a touchdown.
“Roger,” asked Tom quietly, “notice how she’s handling now?”
“How do you mean?” asked Roger.
“Going out,” said Tom, “she wallowed like an old tub filled with junk. Now, while she’s no feather, there’s a big difference in the way she’s maneuvering!”
“Then they did dump something in space!” said Roger.
“I’m sure of it!” said Tom. “And from now on, we’re going to keep our eyes open and find out what it is!”
CHAPTER 4
Tom glanced at the astral chronometer over the control board of the Polaris and sighed with relief. It was nine P.M. He turned to the intercom.
“Attention, please! Attention, please! The exhibit is now closing for the night. All visitors will kindly leave the ship immediately.” He repeated the announcement again and turned to smile at the last lingering youngster ogling him before being yanked toward an exit by a tired and impatient mother.
The hatch to the radar bridge opened and Roger climbed down the ladder to flop wearily in the pilot’s seat in front of the control panel.
“If one more scatterbrained female asks me how the astrogation prism works,” groaned the blond cadet, “I’ll give it to her and let her figure it out for herself!”
Astro joined them long enough to announce that he had made sandwiches and brewed hot chocolate. Tom and Roger followed him back to the galley.
Sipping the hot liquid, the three cadets looked at each other without speaking, each understanding what the other had been through. Even Astro, who normally would rather talk about his atomic engine than eat, confessed he was tired of explaining the functions of the reaction fuel force feed and the main valve of the cooling pumps.
“The worst of it is,” sighed Astro, “they all pick on the same valve. What’s so fascinating about one valve?”
Tom’s job on the control deck was less tiring, since his was more of a command post, which demanded decisions, as conditions arose, rather than a fixed routine that could be explained. But even so, to be asked over and over what the astral chronometer was, how he could read time on Earth, Mars, Venus, Titan, Ganymede, and all the satellites at the same time was wearing on the toughest of young spirits.
Eager to forget the grueling day of questions and answers, the cadets turned their thoughts to the mysterious midnight activity that had been taking place around the spaceship concession during the last ten days.
“I just can’t figure out what those guys are up to,” said Roger, blowing on his hot chocolate. “We’ve watched those guys for over a week now and no one has even come near them with anything that could be smuggled.”
“Could be a small package,” suggested Astro, his mouth full of ham sandwich. “Somebody could take a ride and slip it to them.”
“Hardly,” said Tom. “Remember, that ship blasts off like she’s loaded to the nose with cargo. And then she comes back like a feather. You can tell by the sound of her jets. So it wouldn’t be anything small enough for someone to carry.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” agreed Astro.
“Well,” said Tom finally, “I’m stumped. I think the only thing left to do is to decide if it’s anything important enough to tell Captain Strong about. Working on the Polaris twelve hours a day and staying up all night to watch those two jokers has me all in.”
Roger and Astro looked at each other and then silently nodded their agreement.
“O.K.,” said Tom, “we’ll go to the skipper’s hotel in Venusport and tell him the whole