pleased the spectator. Finally, Schohari managed to get a toe on it and he sent it down field, but Astro had moved out to play defense. He stopped the ball on his shoulder and dropped it to the ground. Steadying it there, he waited until Tom was in the clear and kicked it forty yards to the mid-field stripe.
The crowd came to its feet, sensing this final drive might mean victory for the Polaris crew. The boys of the Arcturus swarmed in—trying to keep Tom from scoring. With a tremendous burst of speed, Tom reached the ball ahead of Schohari, and with the strength of desperation, he slammed his foot against it. The whistle blew ending the game as the ball rose in an arc down the field and fell short of the goal by ten feet. There was a groan from the crowd.
But suddenly the ball, still reacting to the mercury inside, spun like a top, rolled sideways, and as if it were being blown by a breeze, rolled toward the goal line and stopped six inches inside the white chalk line.
There was a moment’s pause as the crowd and the players, stunned by the play, grasped what had happened. Then swelling into a roar, there was one word chanted over and over—“Polaris—Polaris—Polaris.…”
The Polaris unit had reached the finals of the Academy tournament.
* * * *
During the intermission Charlie Wolcheck, unit commander of the Capella crew, walked over to the refreshment unit behind the grandstand where Steve Strong, Dr. Dale and Commander Walters were drinking Martian water and eating spaceburgers.
“Afternoon, Commander,” saluted Wolcheck. “Hello, Joan, Steve. Looks as though your boys on the Polaris are going to meet their match this afternoon. I’ve got to admit they’re good, but with Tony Richards feeding passes to Al Davison and with the blocking of Scott McAvoy—” The young officer broke off with a grin.
“I don’t know, Charlie,” Commander Walters said with a wink to Dr. Dale. “From the looks of Cadet Astro, if he ever gets his foot on the ball, your Capella unit will have to go after it with a jet boat.”
“Why, Commander,” replied Wolcheck, laughing good-naturedly, “Tony Richards is one of the finest booters I’ve ever seen. Saw him make a goal from the sixty-yard line from a standstill.”
Steve Strong waved a Martian water pop bottle at young Wolcheck in a gesture of friendly derision.
“Did you happen to see the play in the first period?” he boasted. “Manning took a perfect pass from Astro and scored. You’re finished, Wolcheck, you and your Capella unit won’t even come close.”
“From what I hear and see, Manning seems to be a little sore that he can’t make all the scores himself,” grinned Wolcheck slyly. “He wants to be the whole show!”
Strong reddened and turned to put the empty bottle on the counter, using it as an excuse to hide his feelings from the commander and Joan. So Wolcheck had observed Manning’s attitude and play on the field too.
Before Strong could reply, a bugle sounded from the field and the group of Solar Guard officers returned to their seats for the final game of the tournament between the Capella and the Polaris units.
Out on the field Mike made his usual speech about playing fair and gave the cadets the routine instructions of the game, reminding them that they were spacemen first, unit-members second, and individuals third and last. The six boys shook hands and jogged down the field to take up their positions.
“How about concentrating on the passes Richards is going to feed to Davison,” Tom asked his unit-mates. “Never mind blocking out Richards and McAvoy.”
“Yeah,” agreed Astro, “play for the ball. Sounds good to me.”
“How about it, Roger?” asked Tom.
“Just play the game,” said Roger. And then added sarcastically, “And don’t forget to give them every chance to score. Let’s play fair and square, the way we did with the Arcturus unit.”
“If you feel that way, Manning,” answered Astro coldly, “you can quit right now! We’ll handle the Capella guys ourselves!”
Before Roger could answer, McKenny blew the ready whistle and the three boys lined up along the white chalk line preparing for the dash to the waiting ball.
The cadets in the stands were hushed. McKenny’s hand swept up and then quickly down as he blew the whistle. The crowd came to its feet, roaring, as Tom, five steps from his own goal line, tripped and fell headlong to the grass, putting him out of the first play. Astro and Roger charged down the field, with Astro reaching the ball first. He managed a good kick, but Richards, three feet away, took the ball squarely on his chest. The mercuryball fell to the ground, spun in a dizzy circle and with a gentle tap by Richards, rolled to Davison, who took it in stride and sent it soaring for a forty-five-yard goal.
The Capella unit had drawn first blood.
“Well, hot-shot,” snarled Roger back on the starting line, “what happened to the big pass-stealing idea?”
“I tripped, Manning,” said Tom through clenched teeth.
“Yeah! Tripped!” sneered Roger.
The whistle blew for the next goal.
Tom, with an amazing burst of speed, swept down the field, broke stride to bring him in perfect line with the ball and with a kick that seemed almost lazy, sent the ball from a dead standstill, fifty yards over the Capella goal before any of the remaining players were within five feet of it, and the score was tied.
The crowd sprang to its feet again and roared his name.
“That was terrific!” said Astro, slapping Tom on the back as they lined up again. “It looked as though you hardly kicked that ball at all.”
“Yeah,” muttered Roger, “you really made yourself the grandstand’s delight!”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Manning?” asked Astro.
“Superman Corbett probably burned himself out! Let’s see him keep up that speed for the next ten minutes!”
The whistle blew for the next goal, and again the three boys moved forward to meet the onrushing Capella unit.
Richards blocked Astro with a twist of his body, and without stopping his forward motion, kicked the ball squarely toward the goal. It stopped ten feet short, took a dizzying spin and rolled away from the goal line. In a flash, the six boys were around the ball, blocking, shoving, and yelling instructions to each other while at the same time kicking at the unsteady ball. With each grazing kick, the ball went into even more maddening spins and gyrations.
At last Richards caught it with the side of his foot, flipped it to McAvoy who dropped back, and with twenty feet between him and the nearest Polaris member, calmly booted it over the goal. The whistle blew ending the first period, and the Capella unit led two to one.
During the next three periods, the Capella unit worked like a well-oiled machine. Richards passed to Davison or McAvoy, and when they were too well guarded, played brilliantly alone. The Polaris unit, on the other hand, appeared to be hopelessly outclassed. Tom and Astro fought like demons but Roger’s lack of interest gave the Capella unit the edge in play. At the end of the fourth period, the Capella team led by three points, seven to four.
While the boys rested before the fifth and final period, Captain Strong, having watched the play with keen interest, realized that Roger was not playing up to his fullest capabilities. Suddenly he summoned a near-by Earthworm cadet, scribbled a message on a slip of paper and instructed the cadet to take it directly to Roger.
“Orders from the coach on the side lines?” asked Wolcheck as he noticed Strong’s action.
“You might call it that, Charlie,” answered Steve blandly.
On the field, the cadet messenger handed Roger the slip of paper, not mentioning that it was from Strong, and hurried back to the stands.
“Getting fan mail already?” asked Astro.