Treachery in Outer Space

  CHAPTER 3

  "It's about time you got here!"

  Charley Brett glared angrily at his chief pilot, Quent Miles, as hesauntered into the office and flopped into a chair.

  "I had a heavy date last night. I overslept," the spaceman replied,yawning loudly.

  "We're late for Strong's meeting over at the Academy," Brett snapped."Get up! We've got to leave right away."

  Quent Miles looked at the other man, his black eyes gleaming coldly."I'll get up when I'm ready," he said slowly.

  The two men glared at each other for a moment, and finally Brett loweredhis eyes. Miles grinned and yawned again.

  "Come on," said Brett in a less demanding tone. "Let's go. No usegetting Strong down on us before we even get started."

  "Steve Strong doesn't scare me," replied Miles.

  "All right! He doesn't scare you. He doesn't scare me, either," saidBrett irritably. "Now that we both know that neither of us is scared,let's get going."

  Quent smiled again and rose slowly. "You know something, Charley?" hesaid in a deceptively mild voice. "One of these days you're going to getofficious with the wrong spaceman, one that isn't as tolerant as I am,and you're going to be pounded into space dust."

  Quent Miles stood in front of Brett's desk and stretched like a languidcat. Brett noted the powerful hands and arms and the depth of theshoulders and chest, all emphasized by the tight-fitting clothes thespaceman affected. The man was dark and swarthy, and dressed all inblack. Brett had often imagined that if the devil ever took human formit would look like Quent Miles. He shivered uncontrollably and waited.Finally Miles turned to him, a mocking smile on his face.

  "Well, Charley? What are we waiting for?"

  A few moments later they were speeding through the broad streets of AtomCity in a jet cab on the way to the Atom City spaceport.

  "What's this all about?" demanded Quent, settling back in his seat. "Whythe rush call?"

  "I didn't get the contract to haul the crystal," replied Brett grimly."All the bids were so close the Solar Council decided to have a spacerace out to Titan to pick the outfit that would get the job."

  Quent turned toward him, surprised. "But I thought you had all thatsewed up tight!" he exclaimed. "I thought after you got your hands onthe--"

  "Shut up!" interrupted Brett. "The details on the specifications leakedout. Now the only way I can get the contract is to win the race."

  "And I'm the guy to do it?" asked Quent with a smile.

  "That's what you're here for. If we don't win this race, we're finished.Washed up!"

  "Who else is in the race?"

  "Every other major space-freight outfit in the system," replied Brettgrimly. "And Kit Barnard."

  "Has Barnard got that new reactor of his working yet?"

  "I don't think so. But I have no way of telling."

  "If he has, you're not going to win this race," said Quent, shaking hishead. "Nor is anyone else."

  "You are here for one reason," said Brett pointedly.

  "I know." Quent grinned. "To win a race."

  "Right."

  Quent laughed. "With those heaps you've fooled people into thinking arespaceships? Don't make me laugh."

  "There are going to be time trials before the race," said Brett. "Thethree fastest ships are going to make the final run. I'm not worriedabout the race itself. I've got a plan that will assure us of winning.It's the time trials that's got me bothered."

  "Leave that to me," said Quent.

  The jet cab pulled up to the main gate of the spaceport and the two mengot out. Far across the field, a slender, needle-nosed ship stood poisedon her stabilizer fins ready for flight. She was black except for a redband painted on the hull across the forward section and around the fewviewports. It gave her the appearance of a huge laughing insect. Quenteyed the vessel with a practiced eye.

  "I'll have to soup her up," he commented. "She wouldn't win a foot racenow."

  "Don't depend too heavily on your speed," said Brett. "I would just assoon win by default. After all," he continued, looking at Miles withcalculating eyes, "serious accidents could delay the other ships."

  "Sure. I know what you mean," replied the spaceman.

  "Good!" Brett turned away abruptly and headed for the ship. Quentfollowing him. In a little while the white-hot exhaust flare from therocket tubes of the sleek ship splattered the concrete launching apronand it lifted free of the ground. Like an evil, predatory bug, the shipblasted toward the Academy spaceport.

  * * * * *

  "Well, blast my jets!" Astro gasped, stopping in his tracks andpointing. Tom and Roger looked out over the quadrangle toward theAcademy spaceport where ship after ship, braking jets blasting, soughtthe safety of the ground.

  "Great galaxy," exclaimed Tom, his eyes bulging, "there must be ahundred ships!"

  "At least," commented Roger.

  "But they can't all be here for the trials," said Astro.

  "Why not?" asked Roger. "This is a very important race. Who knows whatship might win? It pays the company to enter every ship they have."

  _"Great galaxy! There must be a hundred ships!"_]

  "Roger's right, Astro," said Tom. "These fellows are playing for bigstakes. Though I don't think there'll be more than thirty or forty shipsin the actual speed trials. See those big-bellied jobs? They're repairships."

  "I hadn't thought about that," acknowledged the big Venusian cadet."They'll probably be jazzing up those sleek babies and that takes a lotof repair and work."

  "Come on," said Tom. "We've got to get over to the meeting. CaptainStrong said he wanted us to be there."

  The three cadets turned back toward the nearest slidewalk and hopped on.None of them noticed the black ship with the red band around its bowwhich suddenly appeared over the field, rockets blasting loudly as itbegan to drop expertly to the ground.

  From early morning the skies over the Academy had been vibrating to thethunderous exhausts of the incoming fleet of ships. Painted with companycolors and insignia, the ships landed in allotted space on the field,and almost immediately, mechanics, crew chiefs, and specialists of allkinds swarmed over the space vessels preparing them for the severesttests they would ever undergo. The ships that actually were to make thetrial runs were stripped of every spare pound of weight, while theirreactors were taken apart and specially designed compression heads wereput on the atomic motors.

  The entire corps of Space Cadets had been given a special three-dayholiday to see the trials, and the Academy buildings were decorated withmulticolored flags and pennants. A festive atmosphere surrounded thevast Solar Guard installation.

  But in his office in the Tower of Galileo, Captain Strong paced thefloor, a worried frown on his face. He stepped around his desk andpicked up a paper to re-read it for the tenth time. He shook his headand flipped open the key of his desk intercom, connecting him with theenlisted spaceman in the next office.

  "Find Kit Barnard, spaceman!" Strong called. "And give him an oralmessage. _Personal._ Tell him I said he can't use his reactor unitunless he changes it to more standard operational design." Strong pausedand glanced at the paper again. "As it stands now, his reactor will notbe approved for the trials," he continued. "Tell him he has untilmidnight tonight to submit new specifications."

  As Strong closed the intercom key abruptly, the three members of the_Polaris_ unit stepped into his office and saluted smartly. Stronglooked up. "Hello, boys. Sit down." He waved them to nearby chairs andturned back to his desk. The drawn expression of their unit commanderdid not go unnoticed.

  "Is there something wrong, sir?" asked Tom tentatively.

  "Nothing much," replied Strong wearily. He indicated the sheaf of papersin front of him. "These are reactor-unit specifications submitted by thepilots and crew chiefs of the ships to be flown in the time trials. I'vejust had to reject Kit Barnard's specifications."

  "What was the matter?" asked Astro.

  "Not enough safety allowance. He's ru
nning too close to the danger pointin feeding reactant to the chambers, using D-18 rate of feed and D-9 isstandard."

  "What about the other ships, sir?" asked Tom. "Do they all have safetyfactors?"

  Strong shrugged his shoulders. "They all specify standard reaction rateswithout actually using figures," he said. "But I'm certain that theirfeeders are being tuned up for maximum output. That's where your job isgoing to come in. You've got to inspect the ships to make sure they'resafe."

  "Then Kit Barnard put down his specifications, _knowing_ that there wasa chance they wouldn't pass," Tom remarked.

  Strong nodded. "He's an honest man."

  The door opened and several men stepped inside. They were dressed in themode of merchant space officers, wearing high-peaked hats, trim jackets,and trousers of a different color. Strong stood up to greet them.

  "Welcome, gentlemen. Please be seated. We will begin the meeting as soonas all the pilots are here."

  Roger nudged Astro and whispered, "What's the big deal about a D-18 rateand a D-9 rate? Why is that so important?"

  "It has to do with the pumps," replied the power-deck cadet. "They coolthe reactant fuel to keep it from getting too hot and wildcatting. At aD-9 rate the reactant is hot enough to create power for normal flight.Feeding at a D-18 rate is fine too, but you need pumps to cool themotors, and pumps that could do the job would be too big."

  "Kit's problem," commented Tom, "is not so much building the reactor,but a cooling system to keep it under control."

  "Will that make a big difference in who wins the race?" asked Roger.

  "With that ship of Kit's," said Astro, shaking his head, "I doubt ifhe'll be able to come even close to the top speeds in the trials unlesshe can use the new reactor."

  The room had filled up now and Strong rapped on the desk for attention.He stared at the faces of the men before him, men who had spent theirlives in space. They were the finest pilots and crew chiefs in the solarsystem. They sat quietly and attentively as Strong gave them the detailsof the greatest race of spaceships in over a hundred years.

  After Strong had outlined the plans for the time trials, he concluded,"Each of you competing in the time trials will be given a blast-off timeand an orbital course. Only standard, Solar-Guard-approval equipmentwill be allowed in the tests. I will monitor the trials, and SpaceCadets Corbett, Manning, and Astro will be in complete charge of allinspections of your ships." Strong paused and looked around. "Are thereany questions?"

  "When will the first ship blast off, Captain Strong?" asked a lean andleathery-looking spaceman in the back of the room.

  "First time trial takes place at 0600 hours tomorrow morning. Each shiphas a designated time. Consult your schedules for the blast-off time ofyour ships."

  "What if a ship isn't ready?" asked Kit Barnard, who had slipped intothe room unnoticed.

  "Any ship unable to blast off at scheduled time," said Strong, findingit difficult to look at his old friend, "will be eliminated."

  There was a sudden murmur in the room and Quent Miles rose quickly."That's not much time to prepare our ships," he said. "I don't knowwho's going to be first, but I can't even strip my ship by tomorrowmorning, let alone soup up the reactant." His voice was full ofcontempt, and he glanced around the room at the other pilots. "Seems tome we're being treated a little roughly."

  There were several cries of agreement.

  Strong held up his hand. "Gentlemen, I know it is difficult to prepare aship in twelve hours for a race as important as this one," he said. "ButI personally believe that any spaceman who really wants to make it canmake it!"

  "Well, I'm not going to break my back to make a deadline," snarledQuent. "And I don't think any of the other fellows here will either."

  "If you are scheduled to blast off tomorrow at 0600 hours, CaptainMiles," Strong announced coldly, "and you are unable to raise ship, youwill be eliminated."

  Stifling an angry retort, Quent Miles sat down, and while Strongcontinued to answer questions, Astro, a worried frown on his face,stared at the spaceman dressed in black. Tom noticed it. "What's wrongwith you, Astro?" he asked.

  "That spaceman Miles," replied Astro. "I could swear I know him, yet I'msure that I don't."

  "He's not a very ordinary-looking guy," observed Roger. "He's plenty bigand he's so dark that it wouldn't be easy to mistake him."

  "Still," said Astro, screwing up his forehead, "I know I've seen himbefore."

  "If there are no further questions, gentlemen," said Strong, "we'llclose this meeting. I know you're anxious to get to your ships and beginwork. But before you go, I would like to introduce the cadet inspectorsto you. Stand up, boys."

  Self-consciously, Tom, Roger, and Astro stood up while Strong addressedthe pilots.

  "Cadet Manning will be in charge of all electronics inspections, CadetAstro in charge of the power deck, and Cadet Corbett will cover thecontrol deck and over-all inspection of the ship itself."

  Quent Miles was on his feet again, shouting, "Do you mean to tell methat we're going to be told what we can and can't do by those threekids!" He turned and glared at Tom. "You come messing around my ship,buster, and you'll be pitched out on your ear!"

  "If the cadets do not pass on your ship," said Strong, with more than alittle edge to his voice, "it will not get off the ground."

  The two men locked eyes across the room.

  "We'll see about that!" growled Miles, and stalked from the room, hisheavy shoulders swinging from side to side in an exaggerated swagger.

  "I believe that's all, gentlemen," announced Strong coldly, "andspaceman's luck to each of you."

  After the men had left, the three cadets crowded around Strong. "Do youthink we'll have any trouble with Miles, sir?" asked Tom.

  "You have your orders, Tom," said Strong. "If any ship does not meetstandards established for the race, it will be disqualified!"

  Astro stared at the doorway through which Quent Miles had disappeared.He scratched his head and muttered, "If it wasn't for just one thing,I'd swear by the stars that he's the same spaceman who--" He stopped andshook his head.

  "Who what?" asked Strong.

  "Nothing, sir," said Astro. "I _must_ be mistaken. It can't be the sameman."

  "I suggest that you sleep out at the spaceport tonight," said Strong."The first ship will have to be inspected before she blasts off, andthat means you will have to look her over before six."

  "Yes, sir," replied Tom.

  "And watch out for Quent Miles," warned Strong.

  "Yes, sir," said the curly-haired cadet. "I know what you mean."