Sabotage in Space by Carey Rockwell (recommended reading .txt) 📖
- Author: Carey Rockwell
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Quickly reaching down into the unit, Tom began tearing the mechanism apart; ripping out coils of copper tubing and rubber connections. Disconnecting a pipe, he used it to pry apart the rest of the unit, and finally, after removing the broken parts, there was room enough for his body.
Stuffing the heavy pipe in his tunic, Tom dropped into the unit and opened the outside hatch. A blast of cool air struck him. The sun was setting and the cadet knew that soon the near-zero temperatures of night would settle over the desert. Tom poked his head out and the air stream hit him like a solid wall. He looked back past the spinning wheels and saw a long stretch of deserted road bordering a canal. His view forward was blocked by the overhanging cab of the truck. The small step up to the cab was a foot away. Tom eased back into the compartment again and sat back against the wall to consider his next move. He would have a better chance of not being seen if he waited for darkness. On the other hand, they might reach their destination before that and he would be caught. Tom made up his mind quickly.
Moving back to the hatch, he eased himself through the opening. There was a ticklish moment when he had to let go of the side of the compartment and swing over on the step. He took a deep breath and lurched forward.
Behind him, the huge thick wheels spun over the road. A slip now would mean instant, crushing death. His fingers reached for and grasped the door handle. Seconds later, he stood balanced on the step, swaying in the wind.
He dared a glance into the window of the cab, wondering why he had not been noticed before. He saw Cag and Monty inside, Cag driving and Monty asleep. The driver was on the opposite side from Tom, and Monty was slumped against the door.
Tom realized that if he opened the door, Monty would fall out and probably be killed, but he had no choice. He reached up for the handle and tested it gently before swinging down on it to make sure it would open. It gave a little. Then bracing himself, he pulled hard.
The door swung open and Monty fell out, hitting the pavement and rolling off into the sand to lie still. Tom paid no attention to him. With a mighty effort, he swung into the cab and confronted a startled, wild-eyed Cag.
"You!" cried Cag.
"Stop this crate, or so help me, I'll break your head!" Tom shouted, brandishing the short length of pipe.
In reply, Cag suddenly swerved the big truck to one side of the road, hoping to throw Tom out of the open door. Tom managed to grab hold just in time. He swung back into the cab and struck out with the pipe.
Cag ducked and swung the heavy truck to the opposite side of the road, trying to throw Tom off balance, but the cadet was not to be denied. He swung the heavy pipe again and again, landing hard, telling blows on the arms and shoulders of the burly truck driver. Finally a solid blow caught Cag on the side of the head and he slumped over unconscious. Tom leaned over him, grabbed the wheel, and maneuvered the big truck back onto a straightaway course. A minute later he brought the truck to a stop.
Tom jumped out and pulled Cag after him, taking a bottle of water from the small compartment behind the driver's seat. He splashed some on the man's face, and while Cag moaned and came to, Tom drank his fill. He hadn't realized that he was so thirsty.
"Cag," said Tom coldly, when he knew the man could understand him, "I'll beat your ears off if you don't tell me who put you up to this!"
Cag was silent. Tom stepped in and slapped the man across the face.
"Come on! Talk!" he snarled.
Dirty, his clothes ripped, his hands bloody, Cadet Tom Corbett did not look like the carefree young cadet that Cag had met a few hours ago. He was frightened and began to whine.
"Talk or I'll slap you silly!" Tom growled.
Cag saw the wild rage in Tom's eyes and began to stutter.
"The trucking outfit! Just find out who owns this trucking outfit and who would gain if the projectiles failed."
Tom was back in the cab in a flash. He started the mighty jets and began to engage the clutch.
Cag leaped up. "You can't leave me here in the desert! I'll die."
Tom looked at the man, threw out the rest of the food and water from the compartment, and gunned the huge truck down the highway.
Eight hours later Tom rolled into Marsport, stopping the big truck at the first Solar Guard substation he could find.
He raced inside without cutting the jets of the truck and reported to a sergeant seated behind the desk, reading.
"I'm Cadet Tom Corbett!" he shouted. "I've got to get in touch with Commander Walters at the Academy right away."
"Stand where you are, Corbett!" said the sergeant, jumping up and leveling a paralo-ray gun at him. "You're under arrest!"
Tom stared, and then, spinning on his heels, dashed out of the station, the guard's ray blasts spitting at his heels. Jumping into the truck, he gunned the jets and roared off into the dark Martian night.
"Aw, shut your big Venusian mouth!"
As Roger's voice roared over the intercom loud-speaker of the speedy rocket scout, down on the power deck Astro's face turned red.
"Manning," he growled into the intercom microphone, "if I didn't need you to get me back to Mother Earth, I'd come up there and take you apart!"
For four days the two cadets had been aboard the rocket scout, circling in an orbit between Mars and Earth, conducting equipment tests for Dave Barret. They had become bored with the routine work and spent most of their time needling each other, but as Roger said, at least they were in space.
"O.K., let's knock off the space gas!" called Roger over the intercom. "It's time to run another test. Want to come up topside and take a hand?"
"Be right there, Roger!" said Astro. He set the power-deck controls on automatic, and then, with a quick look around to make sure everything was shipshape, he climbed the ladder to the control deck.
Roger was standing at the chart table, audiophones on his ears, listening for the automatic astral chronometer time-check broadcast on a suprahigh-frequency audio channel from the giant electronic clock in the Tower of Galileo. All spaceship chronometers were checked against this huge clock regularly, in order to maintain constant uniform time so necessary for the delicate art of astrogation between celestial bodies.
Astro started to speak to the blond-haired cadet, but Roger waved him off, listening for the signal. Suddenly he looked up at their own chronometer above the control board and took off the audiophones, smiling his satisfaction.
"Right on the split second, Astro," he said.
"O.K.," replied the big Venusian. "Then let's run that test and get it over with."
"Right," said Roger, turning back to the control panel. "Do you want to go outside this time?"
"I might as well," replied Astro. "Give me a change of scenery."
The big Venusian turned to a locker, pulled out a bulky space suit, and climbed into it quickly. Adjusting the space helmet, he nodded at Roger and stepped into the air-lock chamber, pulling the hatch closed behind him. While waiting for the oxygen in the small chamber to be pumped back into the ship and the pressure to be equalized with the vacuum of space outside, he checked his helmet intercom to insure a clear line of communication with Roger.
The red hand closed on the zero of the gauge over the door and Astro moved to the outer hatch. He unlocked it, swung the door open, and slowly climbed out into the fantastic beauty of endless space. No sooner was he outside than the synthetic gravity generators lost their pull on his body and he started into space. Tightly grasping two metal handles in the hull, the big cadet performed a quick somersault and planted his feet firmly on the hull. His magnetic-soled space boots held him fast and he called Roger over his helmet intercom.
"I'm outside, Roger," he reported. "On my way down to the exhaust."
"Right," came Roger's voice over the intercom. "Let me know when you're ready."
Without replying, Astro made his way slowly and carefully down the length of the rocket scout toward the main drive rocket assembly. Stopping at the trailing edge of the hull, where it enclosed the four rockets, the big Venusian squatted on his heels, making certain the soles of his space boots stayed in contact with the metal of the hull. He peered over the edge and braced himself in a position where he could observe the individual rocket exhausts.
"O.K., Roger!" he called into his intercom. "Open up number one."
"Number one, aye," replied Roger. "And watch yourself, you big baboon. Don't burn your nose!"
"Go ahead, go ahead!" growled Astro in reply.
A long tongue of flame shot out of the exhaust of the number one tube and, after drawing back momentarily, Astro watched the tube keenly.
"You know," he commented idly as he kept his eyes fixed on the tube, "I still can't figure out what's so different about these tubes. They're exactly the same as any others I've ever seen."
"That's how much you know, Astro," snorted Roger. "Dave Barret said they were using a new duralumin alloy in the tubes."
"Still doesn't look any different to me," persisted Astro. "And for us to spend four whole days out here testing them"—he paused and shook his head—"seems like an awful waste of time," he concluded.
"What do you care? We're out in space, aren't we? Or would you rather be back on guard duty?"
"No, of course not," replied Astro. "But even space gets dull after a while with nothing to do. Barret sure gave us an old crate. Not even a long-range receiver aboard."
"What do you want to listen to?" snorted Roger. "Flight orders and all the rest of that rocket wash?"
"Be a relief to listen to somebody else beside you for a change," snapped Astro. "Anyhow, suppose something important happened. Suppose our orders were changed. How would we know about it?"
"What difference does it make?" replied Roger. "We've got our orders—straight from Barret. As long as we follow them, we won't get into trouble."
"For a change," murmured Astro.
"Now cut the griping and finish up out there!"
"O.K.," sighed Astro. "That's enough on number one. Give me number two."
The ship bucked slightly as one rocket tube was cut out and another flared at full power, but Astro clung to the hull tightly, continuing his observations. With troubled eyes he watched all four rocket tubes in operation, unable to understand the difference between these tubes and the standard makes. Finally he shrugged his shoulders, and rising to his feet, called Roger again.
"That's enough, pal," he said. "I'm coming in."
"O.K.," replied Roger from the control deck. "And don't fall all over your big feet."
In five minutes the Venusian cadet was inside the air lock again, and as the pressure was boosted to equalize with the interior of the ship, he removed his space suit and helmet. He opened the inner hatch and stepped into the control deck to see Roger staring at the teleceiver in openmouthed astonishment. A harsh voice was coming over the loud-speaker.
"... Order you to cut all power and stand by for
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