to the Academy.”
“Well, get this, you rocket buster,” roared Connel. “I want a power deck that will give me what I want, when I want it, or you’ll be back in the ranks again. Is that clear, Cadet Astro?”
“Yes, sir! Everything she’s got, when you want it, sir.”
“And I like to have a power deck clean enough to eat off the deck plates!”
“Yes, sir,” stuttered Astro, growing more and more confused. “You like to eat off the deck plates, sir!”
“By the craters of Luna, no! I don’t like to eat off the deck plates, but I want them clean enough to eat there if I want to!”
“Yes, sir!” Astro’s voice was hardly above a whisper.
“And you’re the tactical wizard that won the space maneuvers recently, singlehanded, eh?” asked Connel, bending down to face Tom.
“Our side won, sir. If that answers your question,” replied Tom. He was as nervous as Roger and Astro, but he fought for control. He was determined not to be bullied.
“I didn’t ask you who won!” snapped Connel. “But you’re the one just the same. Control-deck cadet, eh? Well, you work with me. On the control deck there’s only room for one brain, one decision, one answer. And when I’m on the control deck, that decision, answer, and brain will be mine!”
“I understand perfectly, sir,” said Tom tonelessly.
Connel stepped back, fists on his hips, eying the three cadets. He had heard about their difficulty in fitting personalities together when they had first arrived at Space Academy (as described in Stand By for Mars!). And he had heard about their triumph over the Martian desert. He was impressed with everything he had learned about them, but he knew that he had a reputation for being tough and that this reputation usually brought out the best in cadets. Early in his long and brilliant career he had learned that his life depended on the courage and ingenuity of his fellow spacemen. When he became an instructor at the Academy, he had determined that no cadet would ever be anything but the best, and that, when they blasted off in later years, they could be depended on.
He looked at the three cadets and felt a tinge of excitement that did not show on his scowling face. “Yes,” he thought, “they’ll make spacemen. It’ll take a little time—but they’re good material.”
“Now listen to this!” he bawled. “We blast off for the Venus space station in exactly thirty minutes. Get your gear aboard the Polaris and stand by to raise ship.” He dropped his voice and pushed out his jaw a little farther. “This will be the toughest journey you’ll ever make. You’ll either come back spacemen, or you’ll come back nothing. I’m going to try my best to make it”—he paused and added coldly—“nothing! Because if you can’t take it from me, then you don’t belong in space! Unit dis-missed!”
He turned on his heel and disappeared up the slidestairs without another look at the three rigid cadets.
“Yeah—we’ll educate him, all right,” said Astro softly, with a wink at Tom. “Make him think he’s done everything for us.”
“Ah, go blast your jets!” snarled Roger after he had found his voice.
“Come on,” said Tom. “Let’s get the Polaris ready. And, fellows, I mean ready!”
* * * *
Bill Loring and Al Mason stood near the entrance to the control tower of the Academy spaceport and watched the three cadets of the Polaris scramble into the giant rocket cruiser.
“Every time I think about that Connel kicking us out of space for twelve months I wanta pound his head in with a wrench!” snarled Loring.
Mason snorted. “Well, what’s the use of hanging around here?” he asked. “That Connel wouldn’t have us aboard the Polaris, even if we were cleared and had our papers. There ain’t a thing we can do!”
“Don’t give up so easy. There’s a fortune setting up there in space—just waiting for me and you to come and take it. And no big-shot Solar Guard officer is going to keep me from getting it!”
“Yeah—yeah,” grumbled Mason, “but what are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll show you what I’m going to do!” said Loring. “We’re heading for Venusport.”
“Venusport? By the moons of Jupiter, what are we going to do there?”
“Get a free ride to Tara!”
“But how? I only got a few hundred credits and you ain’t got much more. There ain’t nobody going to go fifty billion miles on nothing!”
Loring’s eyes followed the massive figure of Major Connel on the slidewalk as it swept across the spaceport field toward the Polaris. “You just buy us a coupla seats on the next rocket to Venusport and stop asking stupid questions. When we see Major ‘Blast-off’ Connel again, we’ll be giving the orders with a paralo-ray!”
The two disgruntled spacemen turned quickly and walked to the nearest slidewalk, disappearing around a building.
Aboard the Polaris, Tom confronted his two unit-mates.
“Now look, fellows. After the hard time Major Connel just gave us, let’s see if we can’t really stay on the ball from now on.”
“All right by me, Tom,” Astro said, nodding his head.
“You’re having space dreams, Corbett!” drawled Roger. “No matter what we do for old ‘Blast-off’ we’ll wind up behind the eight ball.”
“But if we really try,” urged Tom, “if we all do our jobs, there can’t be anything for him to fuss about.”
“We’ll make it tough for him to give us any demerits,” Astro chimed in.
“Right,” said Tom.
“It won’t work,” grumbled Roger. “You saw the way he chewed us up, and for what? I ask you—for what?”
“He was just trying to live up to his reputation, Roger,” replied Tom. “But common sense will tell you that if you’re on the ball you won’t get demerits.”
“What’s the matter, hot-shot?” growled Astro. “Afraid of a little work?”
“Listen, you Venusian clunk,” sneered Roger, “I’ll work the pants off you any day in the week, and that includes Titan days, too!”
“O.K.” Tom smiled. “Save half of that energy for the Polaris, Roger.”
“Yeah, use some of that Manning hot air to shine brass!” suggested Astro.
“Come on. Let’s get this wagon in shape,” said Tom. He turned to the instrument panel and the great control board.
A moment later the three cadets were busy shining the few bits of brass and rechecking the many controls and levers. Suddenly there was the sound of a hatch slamming below and then Astro’s voice came whispering over the intercom, “…watch it, fellows. Here he comes!”
The airtight hatch leading to the control deck slid back, and Major Connel stepped inside. With one sweeping glance he took in the control deck and the evidence of their work.
“Unit—staaaaand to!” he roared.
Astro climbed into the control deck and snapped to attention with his unit-mates as Connel began a quick but thorough check of the many dials and switches and relays on the control panel.
“Ummmmh,” he mused. “Been doing a little work, I see.”
“Oh, nothing special, sir,” said Roger.
“Well, from now on it’s going to be special!” roared Connel.
“Yes, sir,” acknowledged Roger quickly.
“All