let out a low moan.
Connel studied the two cadets. He was aware that he had already asked them to do the impossible, and they had done it. And they deserved to be let alone. But Major Connel wasn’t himself unless he had given every ounce of energy he had left, or the energy left in those around him. He patted Roger on the shoulder and spoke softly.
“Roger, did I ever tell you that I think you have one of the finest brains for electronics I’ve ever seen? And that Alfie is sure to have a brilliant future in astrophysics?”
Roger stammered. “Why—ah—thank you, sir—”
Alfie looked up at Connel and then struggled to his feet.
“You know, Roger,” he said haltingly, “if we took that unit we came out here to test—you know, the transmitter unit—”
Roger cut him off. “Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing. We could borrow some of the reaction mass that Astro got out of the Space Devil and use that as a power source.”
Connel backed away from the two cadets and tiptoed off the bridge. He smiled to himself. He was going to win his race with time yet! And he was going to do it because he had learned long before that you could only push a man so far, then you had to sit down, pat him on the back, tell him how smart he was, and he would push himself. Connel almost laughed out loud.
Six hours later Connel sat in his quarters puzzling over one of the many minor problems of Junior’s Pitch when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned. Astro, Tom, Roger, Alfie, and Shinny walked silently into the room. Connel stared.
“Wha—what is it?” he demanded.
“We’re finished, sir,” said Tom simply.
“Finished?” exploded Connel. “You mean—”
“That’s what he means, skipper,” said Shinny. His eyes were bloodshot for want of sleep, but there was a merry twinkle left tugging at the corners.
“Everything?” asked Connel.
“Everything, sir,” said Roger. “The power units are built and the fuses installed. All it needs is to be set. Tom’s worked out the ratios and the amount of reactant fuel needed in each unit for escape tangent. The escape time, combining orbital speeds of Tara and Junior, are completed, and we have six hours and fifty-five minutes before blast-off!” He turned and rumpled Alfie’s hair. “Alfie and I have completed the communications unit and have tested it. Junior is ready to get his big kick in the pants!”
Connel stood up. He was speechless. It was almost too much to believe.
“Get below,” he roared, “and go to sleep! If I catch one of you awake in five minutes, I’ll log you fifty demerits!”
The tired workers grinned back at their commander.
“I’ll get everything set,” said Connel, “and wake you up an hour before we have to get things ready. Now hit the sack!” Their grins spreading even wider on their haggard faces, they turned away. Connel stepped to the desk on the control deck and wrote across the face of the logbook page.
“…October 2nd, 2353. Space Cadets Corbett, Manning, Astro, and Higgins and ex-enlisted spaceman Nicholas Shinny completed this day all preparation for operation Junior’s Pitch. By authority vested in me as Senior Officer, Solar Guard, I hereby recommend official commendation of “well done” to the above-mentioned spacemen, and that all honors pursuant to that commendation be officially bestowed on them. Signed, Connel, Major, SO—SG…”
He closed the book and wiped the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand.
CHAPTER 16
“Well, fellows,” said Tom, stifling a yawn, “it looks like we did it. But I could use some more sleep. That five hours was just enough to get started on!”
“Yeah,” agreed Roger sourly, “but where does this Venusian lummox get off grabbing all the credit.” He looked at Astro. “If I hadn’t built the fuses for your little firecrackers—”
“Firecrackers!” yelped Astro. “Why, you skinny space fake! If I hadn’t built those nuclear reactors, you wouldn’t have anything to set off!”
Connel appeared in the small messroom of the Polaris, his hands full of papers and drawings. “When you’ve finished congratulating each other, I’d like to say a few things!” he snapped.
“Congratulate him?” exclaimed Roger. “Skipper, his head’s so thick, the noise on the power deck can’t even reach his eardrums!”
“Just one more word, Manning,” growled Astro, “and I’ll take a deep breath and blow you away!”
“One more word out of either of you,” roared Connel, “and I’ll throw you both in the brig with Mason and Loring!”
Suddenly he glared at the five spacemen. “Who’s on prisoner watch today?” he asked.
The four cadets and Mr. Shinny looked at each other then at Roger.
“Uhhh—I am, sir,” Roger confessed.
“I had a sneaking suspicion you would be!” said Connel. “Cadet Manning, one of the first things an officer of the Solar Guard learns is to care for the needs of his men and prisoners before himself. Did you know that, Cadet Manning?”
“Uhhh—yes, sir. I was just going to—” mumbled Roger.
“Then go below and see that Mason and Loring get their rations!”
“Yes, sir,” said Roger. He got up and collected a tray of food.
“All of you report to the control deck in five minutes for briefing,” said Connel and followed Roger out of the door.
“How do you like that?” said Astro. “We break our backs for the guy and we’re no sooner finished then he starts the old routine again!”
“That has nothing to do with it, Astro,” said Tom. “Put yourself in his position. We’ve only got one or two things to think about. He’s responsible for it all.”
“Just like he was when I sailed with him twenty-five years ago,” said Shinny. He swallowed the remains of his tea and reached for a plug of tobacco. “He’s all spaceman from the top of his head to the bottom of his space boots.”
“I’m rather inclined to agree with you, Tom,” said Alfie mildly. “Leadership carries with it the greatest of all burdens—responsibility for other peoples’ lives. You, Corbett, as a control-deck cadet, would do well to mark Major Connel’s pattern of behavior.”
“Listen,” growled Astro, “if Tom ever turned out to be a rocket buster like Connel—I’d—I’d—”
“Don’t worry, Astro,” Tom said, laughing. “I don’t think there’ll be another Major Connel in a million light years!”
Shinny laughed silently, his small frame shaking slightly. “Say it again, Tommy. Not in the whole universe will there ever be another like old ‘Blast-off’ Connel!”
On the deck below the messroom, Roger, balancing a tray carefully on one hand, opened the electronic lock of the brig and then stepped back quickly, leveling a paralo-ray gun.
“All right, Mason, Loring,” he yelled, “come and get it!” The door slid open, and Loring stuck his head out. “Any funny business,” Roger warned, “and I’ll stiffen you so fast, you won’t know what hit you!”
“It’s about time you showed up!” growled Loring. “Whaddaya trying to do, starve us to death?”
“That’s not a bad idea!” said Roger. Loring took the tray. Roger motioned him back inside the brig and slammed the door shut. He locked it and leaned against the grille.
“Better eat it while you can,” he said. “They