Danger in Deep Space Part 9

The radar watch was reporting the approach of a ship. Stefens began his cold, precise orders.

"Monitor seven, take freighter out of station on port sixty-six; monitor twelve, stand by for identification signal of jet liner coming in from Mars. Watch her closely. The Venusport s.p.a.ce Line is overloading again...."

On and on he went, with Tom standing to one side watching with wide-eyed wonder as the many ships were maneuvered into and out of the station.

Suddenly Stefens turned to Tom. "Well, Corbett," he rasped, "what's the first question?"

Tom gulped. He had been so fascinated by the room's sheer magic and by Stefens' sure control of the traffic that he hadn't had a chance to think.

"I--I--don't have one--yet, sir," he managed finally.

"I want five questions within five minutes!" snapped Stefens, "and they better be rocket-blasting _good questions_!" He turned back to the monitors.

Tom Corbett, while he had gained the respect of many elder s.p.a.cemen, was discovering that a cadet's life got no easier as time went on. He wondered fleetingly how Roger and Astro were making out, and then he began to think of some questions.

Beside him, oblivious of his presence, Stefens continued to spout directions. "Monitor three, take rocket scout out of landing-port eight. One crew member is remaining aboard the station for medical treatment. He weighs one hundred and fifty-eight pounds. Make balance adjustments accordingly...."

Tom's head was spinning. It was all too much for one young cadet to absorb on such short notice.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER 6

"There goes the jet liner to Mars," said Al Mason wistfully. "Sure wish we wuz on her." His eyes followed the beautiful slim pa.s.senger ship just blasting off from Venus.

"Why?" demanded Loring.

"Anything to get away from Venusport. What a stinking hole!" snorted the shorter of the two s.p.a.cemen.

"For what we want to do," said Loring, "there ain't another city in the system that's got the advantages this place has!"

"Don't talk to me about advantages," whined Mason. "Be darned if I can see any. All we been doing is hang around the s.p.a.ceport, talk to the s.p.a.cemen, and watch the ships blast off. Maybe you're up to something but I'm blasted if I see what it can be."

"I've been looking for the right break to come along."

"What kind of break?" growled Mason.

"That kind," said Loring. He pointed to a distant figure emerging from a s.p.a.ce freighter. "There's our answer!" said Loring, a note of triumph in his voice. "Come on. Let's get outta here. I don't want to be recognized."

"But--but--what's up? What's that guy and the s.p.a.ce freighter _Annie Jones_ got to do with us?"

Loring didn't answer but stepped quickly to the nearest jet cab and hopped into the back seat. Mason tumbled in after him.

"s.p.a.ceman's Row," Loring directed, "and make it quick!"

The driver stepped on the accelerator and the red teardrop-shaped vehicle shot away from the curb into the crowd of cars racing along Premier Highway Number One. In the back seat of the jet cab, Loring turned to his s.p.a.cemate and slapped him on the back.

"Soon's we get into the Row, you go and pack our gear, see! Then meet me at the Cafe Cosmos in half an hour."

"Pack our gear?" asked Mason with alarm. "Are we going some place?"

Loring shot a glance at the driver. "Just do as I tell you!" he growled.

"In a few hours we'll be on our way to Tara, and then--" He dropped his voice to a whisper. Mason listened and smiled.

The jet cab slid along the arrow-straight highway toward the heart of the city of Venusport. Soon it reached the outskirts. On both sides of the highway rose low, flat-roofed dwellings, built on a revolving wheel to follow the precious sun, and constructed of pure t.i.tan crystal.

Farther ahead and looming magnificent in the late afternoon sun was the first and largest of Venusian cities, Venusport. Like a fantastically large diamond, the startling towers of the young city shot upward into the misty atmosphere, catching the light and reflecting it in every color of the spectrum.

Loring and Mason did not appreciate the beauty of the city as they rode swiftly through the busy streets. Loring, in particular, thought as he had never thought before. He was busily putting a plot together in his mind--a plot as dangerous as it was criminal.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _The jet cab raced along the highway to Venusport_]

The jet cab slammed to a stop at a busy intersection of the city. This was s.p.a.ceman's Row, and it dated back to Venusport's first rough and tough pioneering days.

For two blocks on either side of the street, in building after building, cafes, p.a.w.nshops, cheap restaurants above and below the street level, supplied the needs of countless shadowy figures who came and went as silently as ghosts. s.p.a.ceman's Row was where suspended s.p.a.cemen and s.p.a.ce rats, prospectors of the asteroids for uranium and pitchblende, gathered and found short-lived and rowdy fun. Here, skippers of rocket ships, bound for destinations in deep s.p.a.ce, could find hands willing to sign on their dirty freighters despite low pay and poor working conditions. No questions were asked here. Along s.p.a.ceman's Row, hard men played a grim game of survival.

Loring and Mason paid the driver, got out, and walked down the busy street. Here and there, nuaniam signs began to flick on, their garish blues, reds, and whites bathing the street in a glow of synthetic light.

It was early evening, but already s.p.a.ceman's Row was getting ready for the coming night.

Presently, Mason left Loring, climbing up a long narrow flight of stairs leading to a dingy back hall bedroom to pack their few remaining bits of gear.

Loring walked on amid the noise and laughter that echoed from cheap restaurants and saloons. Stopping before Cafe Cosmos, he surveyed the street quickly before entering the wide doors. Many years before, the Cosmos had been a sedate dining spot, a place where respectable family parties came to enjoy good food and the gentle breezes of a near-by lake. Now, with the lake polluted by industry and with the gradual influx of shiftless s.p.a.cemen, the Cosmos had been given over to the most basic, simple need of its new patrons--rocket juice!

The large room that Loring entered still retained some of the features of its more genteel beginnings, but the huge blaring teleceiver screen was filled with the pouting face of a popular singer. He advanced to the bar that occupied one entire wall.

"Rocket juice!" he said, slamming down his fist on the wooden bar.

"Double!" He was served a gla.s.s of the harsh bluish liquid, paid his credits, and downed the drink. Then he turned slowly and glanced around the half-filled room. Almost immediately he spotted a small wizened man limping toward him.

"Been waiting for you," said the man.

"Well," demanded Loring, "did'ja get anything set up, Shinny?"

"_Mr._ Shinny!" growled the little man, with surprising vigor. "I'm old enough to be your father!"

"Awright--awright--_Mr._ Shinny!" sneered Loring. "Did'ja get it?"

The little man shook his head. "Nothing on the market, Billy boy." He paused and aimed a stream of tobacco juice at a near-by cuspidor.

Loring looked relieved. "Just as well. I've got something else lined up, anyway."

Shinny's eyes sharpened. "You must have a pretty big strike, Billy boy, if you're so hot to buy a s.p.a.ceship!"

"Only want to take a little ride upstairs, _Mr._ Shinny," said Loring.

"Don't hand me that s.p.a.ce gas!" snapped Shinny. "A man who's lost his s.p.a.ce papers ain't going to take a chance at getting caught by the Solar Guard, busting the void with a rocket ship and no papers." He stopped, and his small gray eyes twinkled. "_Unless_," he added, "you've got quite a strike lined up!"