set, sir,” said Tom. “Roger’s given me a clear trajectory forward and up. All we need is Astro’s push!”
“Unless Astro can build enough pressure in those cooling pumps to handle the overload of reactant fuel, we’re done for. We’ll get off this moon in pieces!”
“Power deck to control deck.”
“Come in, Astro,” said Tom.
“Almost ready, Tom,” said Astro. “Maximum pressure is eight hundred and we’re up to seven seventy now.”
“Very well, Astro,” replied Connel. “Let her build all the way to an even eight hundred and blast at my command.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Astro. The mighty pumps on the power deck began their piercing shriek. Higher and higher they built up the pressure, until the ship began to rock under the strain.
“Stand by, Tom,” ordered Connel, “and if you’ve ever twisted those dials, twist them now!”
“Yes, sir,” replied Tom.
“Pressure up to seven ninety-one, sir,” reported Astro.
“Attention! All members strap into acceleration cushions!”
One by one, Shinny and Alfie, Loring and Mason, Astro and Roger strapped themselves into the acceleration cushions. Roger set the radar scanner and strapped himself in on the radar bridge. Connel slumped into the second pilot’s chair and took over the controls of the ship, strapping himself in, while Tom beside him did the same. The whine of the pumps was now a shrill whistle that drowned out all other sounds, and the great ship bucked under the force of the thrust building in her heart.
In front of the power-deck control panel Astro watched the pressure gauge mount steadily.
“Pressure up to seven ninety-six, sir,” he called.
“Stand by to fire all rockets!” roared Connel.
“Make it good, you Venusian clunk,” yelled Roger.
“Seven ninety-nine, sir!” bellowed Astro.
Astro watched the gauge of the pressure creep slowly toward the eight-hundred mark. In all his experience he had never seen it above seven hundred. Shinny, too, his merry eyes shining bright, watched the needle jerk back and forth and finally reach the eight-hundred mark.
“Eight hundred, sir,” bellowed Astro.
“Fire all stern rockets!” roared Connel.
Astro threw the switch. On the control board, Connel saw a red light flash on. He jammed the master switch down hard.
It was the last thing he remembered.
CHAPTER 21
Tom stirred. He rolled his head from side to side. His mouth was dry and there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He opened his eyes and stared at the control panel in front of him. Instinctively he began to check the dials and gauges. He settled on one and waited for his pounding heart to return to normal. His eyes cleared, and the gauge swam into view. He read the figures aloud:
“Distance in miles since departure—fourteen thousand, five hundred…”
Something clicked. He let out a yell.
“We made it! We made it!” He turned and began to pound Connel on the back. “Major Connel! Major, wake up, sir! We made it. We’re in free fall! Junior’s far behind us!”
“Uh—ah—what—Tom? What?” Connel said, rolling his eyes. In all his experience he had never felt such acceleration. He glanced at the gauge.
“Distance,” he read, “fifteen thousand miles.” The gauge ticked on.
“We made it, sir!” said Tom. “Astro gave us a kick in the pants we’ll never forget!”
Connel grinned at Tom’s excitement. There was reason to be excited. They were free. He turned to the intercom, but before he could speak, Astro’s voice roared into his ears.
“Report from the power deck, sir,” said Astro. “Acceleration normal. Request permission to open up on hyperdrive.”
“Permission granted!” said Connel.
“Look, sir,” said Tom, “on the teleceiver screen. Junior is getting his bumps!”
Connel glanced up at the screen. One by one the white puffs of dust from the reactor units were exploding on the surface of the planetoid. Soon the whole satellite was covered with the radioactive cloud.
“I’m sure glad we’re not on that baby now,” whispered Tom.
“Same here, spaceman!” said Connel.
* * * *
It was evening of the first full day after leaving Junior before the routine of the long haul back to Space Academy had begun. The Polaris was on automatic control, and everyone was assembled in the messroom.
“Well, boys,” said Connel, “our mission is a complete success. I’ve finished making out a report to Space Academy, and everything’s fine. Incidentally, Manning,” he continued, “if you’re worried about having broken your word when you escaped from the space station, forget it. You more than made up for it by your work in helping us get Loring and Mason.”
Roger smiled gratefully and gulped, “Thank you, sir.”
Loring and Mason, who had eaten their meal separately from the others, listened silently. Loring got up and faced them. The room became silent.
Loring flushed.
“I’d like to say something,” he began haltingly, “if I can?”
“Go ahead,” said Connel.
“Well,” said Loring, “it’s hard to say this, but Mason and myself, well—” He paused. “I don’t know what happened to us on the first trip out here, Major, but when we saw that satellite, and the copper, something just went wrong inside. One thing led to another, and before we knew it, we were in so deep we couldn’t get out.”
The faces around the table were stony, expressionless.
“Nobody deserves less consideration than me and Mason. And—well, you know yourself, sir, that we were pretty good spacemen at one time. You picked us for the first trip out to Tara with you.”
Connel nodded.
“And well, sir, the main thing is about Jardine and Bangs. I know we’re going to be sent to the prison asteroid and we deserve it. But we been thinking, sir, about Jardine’s and Bang’s wives and kids. They musta lost everything in that crash of the Annie Jones, so if the major would recommend that Mason and me be sent to the Titan mines, instead of the rock, we could send our credits back to help take care of the kids and all.”
No one spoke.
“That’s all,” said Loring. He and Mason left the room.
Connel glanced around the table. “Well?” he asked. “This is your first struggle with justice. Each of you, Tom, Roger, Astro, Alfie, will be faced with this sort of thing during your careers as spacemen. What would you do?”
The four cadets looked at each other, each wondering what the other would say. Finally Connel turned to Alfie.
“You’re first, Alfie,” said Connel.
“I’d send them to the mines, sir,” said Alfie.
Connel’s face was impressive. “Roger?”
“Same here, sir,” replied Roger.
“Astro?” asked Connel.
“I’d do anything to help the kids, sir,” said Astro, an orphan himself.
“Tom?”
Tom hesitated. “They