Sabotage in Space Part 5

"What is it?" asked Connel.

"I've been going along with you for some time now," explained Devers.

"But I still don't know the exact nature of the projectile you propose to build. What's the purpose of it?"

"You certainly deserve an answer to that question," said Commander Walters warmly. "You've contributed your services to this operation absolutely blindly. Now you should know everything." He paused and looked at Hemmingwell and Connel, who nodded in return. "Carter," he resumed, "we are going to create a s.p.a.ceship that can launch a large projectile filled with cargo and send it to any small area."

Carter Devers' face lighted up. "You mean, you are going to fire payloads from s.p.a.ce freighters instead of landing with them?"

"Exactly," said Walters. "These freighters will deliver mail and supplies to out-of-the-way settlements that do not have a s.p.a.ceport large enough to handle the giant freighters and have to depend on surface transport from the larger cities."

Carter Devers shook his head slowly. "This is the most amazing thing I've ever heard of in my life."

"I thought you'd be surprised, Carter," said Walters, his face glowing with pleasure. "The big item, of course, is to lick the problem of standardizing the receivers for the projectiles. They must be lightweight, easily a.s.sembled, and precision made, since it's going to have an electronic gismo inside for the projectile to 'home' on."

Professor Hemmingwell grunted. "That electronic gismo, as you call it, is the real idea behind the whole operation."

"How is that, Professor?" asked Devers.

"Well, it works on this principle," began Hemmingwell. "The receiver will send out a distinctive radar beam. In the s.p.a.ceship, the projectile designated for that receiver will be tuned in to the frequency of that beam and fired from the ship. A homing device, built into the projectile will take over, guiding it right down the beam to its destination."

"And how does that radar beam work?" asked Devers.

"That," said Connel stiffly, "is a military secret."

"Of course," nodded Devers, smiling. "I was just curious."

"Well, now that we're agreed on a site for the operation," said Professor Hemmingwell, "is there anything else you want to discuss, Commander?"

"Not for the moment, Professor," replied the commandant of s.p.a.ce Academy. "You have any more questions, Major Connel?"

When Connel shook his head, Devers spoke up again.

"There is something else I would like to know, if it isn't a breach of military secrecy," he said with a smile at Connel. "I don't remember seeing anything about this project in the bills sent before the Solar Council. When was it authorized?"

"It wasn't," snapped Hemmingwell. "It was blocked before it came to a vote. So I ran around the whole Solar Alliance, begging and borrowing the money to finance the project myself."

"And the Solar Guard is just lending technical a.s.sistance and facilities," supplied Walters. "Of course, should the project succeed, we will go before the Solar Council with an emergency request to incorporate the idea into the defense of all Solar Guard outposts."

"Private capital, eh?" said Devers, turning to look at the professor admiringly. "You are a very brave man, Professor Hemmingwell, to risk so much. And, I might add, you must be an excellent salesman to sell Solar Alliance bankers your ideas."

"Common sense," snorted the professor. "Plain horse sense."

"Still," insisted Devers, "most of the bankers with whom I've ever tried to talk common sense _were_ horses." As everyone laughed, he turned to Walters. "Now, just what do you want me to do, Commander?"

"Carter, you've done so much for this project already that I'm going to give you a rest," said Walters.

"I don't understand."

"From now on," Major Connel broke in, "the project will be in the hands of the professor. If he needs anything, he'll tell Steve Strong. If Strong can't fulfill the request, he'll pa.s.s it on to Commander Walters, and if the commander feels it necessary to have your help, he will contact you."

"You understand, of course," said Walters, trying to soften the major's flat statement.

"Of course," replied Devers easily. "Still, if you need my help on this thing at all, don't fail to call me."

"Thank you, Carter," said Walters. "You've been a great help already."

Shaking hands all around and wishing them well, Devers left the office.

Dave Barret, Commander Walters, and Professor Hemmingwell turned to their study of the map, but Major Connel remained where he was, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He shook his head as if to brush an impossible idea out of his mind and then turned to the map.

Tom Corbett, Roger Manning, and Astro stood at rigid attention in their dormitory room, backs ramrod straight, eyes front, hands stiffly at their sides. Captain Steve Strong, his face red and voice hoa.r.s.e, strode up and down in front of them.

"And another thing!" he roared. "This court reprimand goes on your official records, and you're going to spend your time on guard duty like any common Earthworm that doesn't know its rocket from its pocket!" For nearly half an hour the cadets had listened to their unit instructor bawl them out. "When I think," he continued, "when I _think_ of how close you three s.p.a.ce brats came to getting kicked out of the Academy--"

Words seemed to fail the young captain momentarily and he slumped on one of the bunks and looked at the row of cadets, shaking his head. "Why, in the name of Saturn, I ever accepted the responsibility of making you three bird brains into cadets is beyond me. And to think that when you first came here, I thought you had that special something to make you an outstanding unit. I even went out on a limb for you. And now you pull a stunt like this."

Behind them, the door opened and a short man, no more than five feet tall, but with the bulging muscles of a tiny giant stretching his bright-red enlisted man's uniform, stepped inside. He saluted Strong smartly.

"Chief Petty Officer Rush here to a.s.sign the _Polaris_ unit to guard duty, sir," he announced.

"All right, Firehouse," said Strong, using the man's nickname. "Give it to them. Show them no mercy. By the rings of Saturn, they've got to be made to realize their responsibilities!"

"Yes, sir," said the thick little man.

Strong walked out of the room without another word, nor even a backward glance at the cadets.

As soon as the door closed, Timothy "Firehouse" Rush faced the three cadets, his beaten and battered face glowing with antic.i.p.ation.

"Get this!" he growled. "When you're a.s.signed to guard duty with the E.M.'s of the Solar Guard, you leave your immunity as cadets here in the Academy. From now on, you belong to me. And I'll tell you right now, there isn't anything in s.p.a.ce that I hate more, or think less of, than s.p.a.ce Cadets. You get special privileges you don't deserve because you wear that uniform. You get a chance to learn to be a s.p.a.ceman and most of you m.u.f.f it. I've got E.M.'s in my outfit that could blast circles around either of you--guys that deserve the chance you've got, and fouled out because they can't spell or don't know how to hold a cup of tea with their fingers the right way. When you come to me, it means you've done something bad. You're on your way out. And I'm going to try my best to see that you make it--_out_." He took a step forward and glared at them. "Report to me at 1800 hours and"--his voice dropped to a gravelly roar--"you better not be late--and you better not be early."

He spun on his heels in a perfect about-face and left the room.

"There is only one consolation," sighed Tom. "The _Capella_ unit is getting the same thing we're getting."

"Here we go!" breathed Roger slowly.

"I've been thinking about quitting the Academy, anyway," growled Astro.

CHAPTER 4

"Halt!"

Roger growled the order into the darkness and unslung the paralo-ray rifle from his shoulder, bringing it around to firing position. "Advance and be recognized," he said flatly.

Nothing moved. Even the air seemed still.