taken a bath. You even smell bad!”
From the rear of the room came a burst of laughter. Tom, Roger, and Astro, unobserved, had been listening and watching their skipper in action. When Loring and Mason had left the room, they advanced to the desk, came to attention, and saluted.
“Polaris unit reporting for duty, sir!” snapped Tom crisply.
“At ease,” said Strong. “Did you hear all of that?”
“Yes, sir, skipper!” Roger smiled. “And believe me, you really gave it to those two space bums!”
“Yeah,” agreed Astro, “but I don’t think even you could do much for Loring. He’s just born to smell bad!”
“Never mind that,” said Strong. “I suppose you heard the part about the assignments?”
The three cadets assumed looks of pure innocence.
“We didn’t hear a thing, sir,” said Tom.
“You’ll make a fine diplomat, Corbett,” Strong laughed. “All right, sit down and I’ll give it to you straight.”
They hastily took seats and waited for their skipper to begin.
“You’ve been assigned as cadet observers on a mission to test the range of a new long-range audio transmitter.” Strong paused, then added significantly, “The test is to take place in deep space.”
The three cadets only beamed their enthusiastic approval.
“Tara,” continued Strong, “is your destination—a planet like Earth in many respects, in orbit around the sun star Alpha Centauri. You’ll take the Polaris directly to the Venus space station, where the transmitter has been given primary tests, outfit the Polaris for hyperdrive, and blast off!”
“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted Tom, “but you say ‘you’?”
“I mean,” replied Strong, “you, in the sense that I won’t be going along with you. Oh, don’t worry!” said Strong, holding up his hand as a sudden look of anticipation spread over the faces of the three boys. “You’re not going alone! You’ll have a commanding officer, all right. In fact, you’ll have the nearest thing to the perfect commanding officer in the Solar Guard!” He waited just long enough for each boy to search his mind for a suitable candidate and then added, “Your skipper will be Major Connel!”
“Major Connel!” the three cadets cried in unison.
“You mean Major ‘Blast-off’ Connel?” uttered Roger unbelievingly.
“That’s who I mean,” said Strong. “It’s the best thing in the universe that could happen to you!”
Roger stood up and saluted smartly. “I request permission to be dismissed from this mission on the grounds of incompatibility, sir,” he said.
“Incompatible to what?” asked Strong, amused.
“To Major Connel, sir,” replied Roger.
“Permission denied,” said Strong with a smile. “Buck up! It isn’t so bad.” Strong paused and stood up. “Well, that’s it. It’s close to eleven A.M. and you’re to report to the major at eleven on the nose. I hope you’ve got the Polaris in good shape.”
“We were up all night, sir,” said Tom. “She’s ready to go.”
“She’s in better shape than we are,” said Astro.
“Very well, then. Report to Major Connel immediately. Your papers have been transferred, so all you have to do is report.”
Strong rounded the desk and shook hands with each cadet. “This is an important mission, boys,” he said soberly. “See that you give Major Connel all the support I know you’re capable of giving. He’ll need it. I doubt if I’ll see you before you blast off, so this is it. Spaceman’s luck to each of you!”
CHAPTER 3
“Well, looks like we’re big boys now,” said Tom, as the three cadets strolled down the corridor away from Captain Strong’s office. “They don’t hand out secret and important missions to cadet units unless they’re really on the ball!”
“But we’ve got Major ‘Blast-off’ Connel to educate,” grumbled Roger.
“What do you mean ‘educate’?” asked Astro.
“You know he’s the roughest officer in the Academy,” replied the blond-haired cadet. “He eats cadets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And then has an extra one for dessert. He isn’t just tough—his hide’s made of armor plate. But I’ve got a hunch that if we play dumb at first, then smarten up slowly, we can make him feel that he’s done it for us. So he’ll be easier on us.”
“Say, it’s after eleven!” exclaimed Tom. “We’d better hurry!”
Suddenly, as if a rocket cruiser were blasting off in the corridors, a roar, deafening and powerful, filled their ears. And beneath its ferocity there were four unmistakable words:
“Polaris unit—staaaaaaaannnnnndddddd toooooo!”
Every muscle, every bone in their three bodies snapped to rigid attention simultaneously. Eyes straight, chins in, the cadets waited for whatever calamity had befallen them. From behind came quick, heavy footsteps. They drew closer until they passed alongside and then abruptly stopped. There, in front of them, stood the one and only Major “Blast-off” Connel!
Though a few inches shorter than Astro, he was what Astro might become in thirty years, heavily muscular, with a barrel chest that filled the gold-and-black uniform tightly. He stood balanced on the balls of his small feet like a boxer, hands hanging loosely at his sides. A bulldog chin jutted out of his rough-hewn face as if it were going to snap off the head of the nearest cadet. He towered over Tom and Roger, and though shorter than Astro, he made up for this by sheer force of personality. When he spoke, his voice was like a deep foghorn that had suddenly learned the use of vowels.
“So this is the great Polaris unit, eh?” he bellowed. “You’re two minutes late!”
Tom suddenly felt that he and his unit-mates were all alone in the corridor with the major. He glanced to one side, then the other, cautiously, and saw it was empty. And for good reason! No one wanted to be around when “Blast-off” Connel was blasting. Cadets, enlisted men, and even officers were not safe from his sudden outbursts. He drove himself so hard that he became impatient with others who were not able to match his drive. It was not because of ego but rather to get the job at hand finished. More than once he had dressed down a captain of the Solar Guard in the same tone he used on a green Earthworm. It was legend around the Academy that once, believing he was right, he had broken into the Council Chamber itself to argue his point. He won by a unanimous decision. Nothing, but nothing, had been devised or thought of that could stop “Blast-off” Connel. Every waking moment of his adult life had been spent in the pursuit of more and more knowledge about space, space travel, and life on the other planets.
Now, his wrath at fever pitch at their being tardy, he stood in front of the cadets, turning his anger on Roger first.
“Your name’s Manning, isn’t it?” he growled.
“Yes, sir!” replied Roger.
“Father got a medal—used to be a Solar Guard officer?”
“That’s right, sir. He was killed in space.”
“I know. He was a good man. You’ll never be the man he was, if you live ten thousand years. But if you don’t try to be a better man than he was, you won’t live five minutes with me! Is that clear, Cadet Manning?”
“Very clear, sir!” gulped Roger.
Connel turned to Astro.
“And you’re the home-grown atomic-rocket genius, Venusian style, eh?”
“Yes, sir,”