The Scarlet Lake Mystery Part 10

"I'll have to check. Suppose I wander over to the project? If d.i.c.k Earle is there, I can sound him out."

"Okay, and I'll check with my people."

The boys parted, and Rick walked to the Pegasus shed. d.i.c.k Earle and Dr.

Bond were in the cubicle where the project paper work was done. The marmoset was with them, perched on top of the file safe. As Rick entered, the little s.p.a.cemonk jumped to his shoulder and caressed his cheek.

"Come in, Rick," Dr. Bond said. "We're just having a gloom session."

"Gloom? What about?" Rick petted the marmoset, then put him back on his file-safe perch. "Is something wrong?"

"Transistors," d.i.c.k Earle stated flatly. "No transistors left on the base. That means we come to a grinding halt until we get supplies."

"The whole project?" Rick asked in astonishment. He hadn't realized a few parts would mean so much.

"Not all of it. Just our part. The air frame and propulsion people can keep on, because they don't use the gadgets. But we'll be tied up for a few days until a supply can get here."

Dr. Bond added, "An order has been placed, Rick. By telephone. But the supplier can't possibly make delivery until after the Orion shoot."

d.i.c.k Earle nodded. "Correct. So you might as well plan to loaf for a day or so, Rick."

The trip to Careless Mesa would be no problem now, Rick thought. He wouldn't even need to ask permission.

"Strange that anyone would steal a whole supply of transistors," he commented.

d.i.c.k Earle shook his head. "Not particularly. The transistor is still a critical item in electronics and production isn't up to demand, especially for special designs. That means the stolen transistors can be sold fairly easily, once the proper channels to get them into the market are found."

"What kind of channels?" Rick asked.

Earle shrugged. "Anything to hide the fact that the transistors are stolen stock. The Earthman could make a deal with some jobber who handles electronic materials, and feed the transistors into regular trade channels through the jobber."

"But aren't they numbered, or trade-marked, or something like that?"

"Numbers and trade-marks can be changed," Dr. Bond reminded him.

As Rick walked back to his barracks he pondered over the meaning of the day's development. For one thing, theft of the transistors put a new light on the Earthman's activities. It added a profit motive to whatever else motivated the mysterious saboteur. Or did it?

How Big Mac and Pancho fitted into all this remained to be determined.

Rick could easily imagine that the two would take considerable risk for big profits, but it was harder to imagine them acting from any other motive. Somehow, he just couldn't believe that money was the underlying reason for the Earthman's actions. Sabotaging research rockets just to provide a diversion that would allow a theft did not make sense.

The Earthman's activities had become more than just a challenging puzzle, too. Rick's work on Pegasus had become important in its own right. He was excited at being a part of something so dramatic, and with such far-reaching consequences for the whole future of s.p.a.ce travel and high-alt.i.tude research. He had become a part of Pegasus. Perhaps he wasn't an important part, but he was making at least a small contribution to the project's success. That made it _his_ project, and the Earthman was interfering with it.

Somehow, he and Scotty had to find the Earthman--for personal reasons now, as well as official ones!

CHAPTER VII

Careless Mesa

The boys climbed in the jeep early the following morning.

Scotty shifted into gear and drove through the base. "The time is now zero minus twenty-two hours."

Rick looked at him. "What does that mean?"

"Firing time for Orion is tomorrow morning, twenty-two hours from now.

That must be the reason for the balloon that we just saw go up. The weather group is starting to watch winds and visibility. Something else I picked up at maintenance, too. There's going to be a dry run today."

"Spell it out," Rick requested.

"As I get it, all hands go through the same procedures they'll follow tomorrow morning. The Orion group will fire a small weather rocket to check the circuits, and to allow the tracking and monitoring group to check their equipment. And do you know what that means?"

Rick saw it at once. "Mac and Pancho will be going to Careless Mesa!"

"Yep. But the dry run doesn't start until ten this morning. That gives us plenty of time to get there, look around, and shove off before Mac and Pancho show up."

"Suppose they get there early?" Rick asked.

"They probably will. We won't hang around, though. According to the control board in the vehicle shop their truck isn't supposed to be ready until eight, which is an hour and a half from now."

Rick thought that was cutting it fine, but he made no further comment.

Both boys had checked the map again, and knew the route to follow.

Scotty drove through the base and onto the access road that led to the firing areas. In a short time they had a clear view of Orion waiting on its pad, project personnel swarming over the gantry crane as they performed a variety of last-day ch.o.r.es. The sight filled Rick with excitement. To-morrow he would see the big rocket go up.

"Pretty," Scotty said.

Rick nodded. Orion was a beautiful sight. Its lines were clean, and its paint job was colorful, mixing white with high-visibility colors to allow greater ease of visual tracking.

"Blockhouse ahead," Scotty pointed out.

It was the first time either of them had seen the blockhouse, the control point from which the rockets were fired. It was within a mile of the concrete firing pads, close enough to be in great danger from wild rockets that had gone out of control. For that reason it was made of heavily reinforced concrete, several feet thick. It could take a direct hit from even the biggest rockets without harm to the personnel inside.

Then the firing area was pa.s.sed and the jeep sped along next to the miles-long black, oiled path of the airstrip. Soon the strip was behind, then the level floor of the dry lake bed became rough terrain and the jeep began to climb toward the foothills.

"Isn't there a guard post this way?" Rick asked.

"Should be."

There was, a few miles beyond, as the jeep mounted the foothills and went through a pa.s.s. The guard inspected their badges, then waved them on. They were outside of the base area now.

The dirt road led them across a valley and up a gradual slope to another pa.s.s through the mountains. This time, as they emerged, Rick pointed to a flat-topped mountain directly ahead. "That's a mesa," he declared.

"Suppose it's the right one?"

Scotty squinted against the glare. "Probably. I don't see any others on the horizon."

"What are we going to do when we get there?" Rick asked.