Treachery in Outer Space, Carey Rockwell [rooftoppers .TXT] 📗

flow of crystal and you'll set off major repercussions in the system's economy."

"We know that, Major," said Walters. "That's the prime reason for this meeting."

"May I make a suggestion, sir?" asked Strong.

"Go ahead, Steve," said Walters.

"While these graphs of Joan's show us what's happening, I think it will take on-the-spot investigations to find out why it's happening."

Connel flopped back in his chair, relaxed again. He looked at Walters. "Send Steve out there and we'll find out what's going on," he said confidently.

Walters looked at Strong. "When are the ships supposed to blast off for the race?"

"Tomorrow at 1800, sir."

"You planned to use the Polaris to monitor the race?"

"Yes, sir."

"Think we should send the Polaris unit out alone?"

"I have a better suggestion, sir," said Strong.

"Well?"

"Since there are only three finalists, how about putting one cadet on each ship? Then I can take the Polaris and go on out to Titan now. When the boys arrive, they could help me with my investigation."

Walters looked at Connel. "What do you think, Major?"

"Sounds all right to me," replied the veteran spaceman. "If you think the companies won't object to having cadets monitor their race for them."

"They won't have anything to say about it," replied Walters. "I'd trust those cadets under any circumstances. And the race won't mean a thing unless we can find the source of trouble on Titan. There won't be any crystal to haul."

"Fine," grunted Connel. He rose, nodded, and left the room. He was not being curt, he was being Connel. The problem had been temporarily solved and there was nothing else he could do. There were other things that demanded his attention.

"What about me going along too, Commander?" asked Joan.

"Better not, Joan," said Walters. "You're more valuable to us here in the Academy laboratory."

"Very well, sir," she said. "I have some work to finish, so I'll leave you now. Good luck, Steve." She shook hands with the young captain and left.

Walters turned back to Strong. "Well, now that's settled, tell me, what do you think of the race tomorrow, Steve?"

"If Kit Barnard gets that reactor of his functioning properly, he'll run away from the other two."

"I don't know," mused Walters. "Wild Bill Sticoon is a hot spaceman. One of the best rocket jockeys I've ever seen. Did I ever tell you what we went through a few years back trying to get him to join the Solar Guard?" Walters laughed. "We promised him everything but the Moon. But he didn't want any part of us. 'Can't ride fast enough in your wagons, Commander,' he told me. Quite a boy!"

"And with Quent Miles in there, it's going to be a very hot race," asserted Strong.

"Ummmmh," Walters grunted. "He's the unknown quantity. Did you see that ship of his? Never saw anything more streamlined in my whole life."

"And the cadets said he stripped her of everything but the hull plates."

"It paid off for him," said Walters. "He and Charley Brett are certainly working hard to get this contract."

"There's a lot of money involved, sir," said Strong. "But in any case we're bound to get a good schedule with the speeds established so far."

"Well, advise the cadets to stand by for blast-off with the finalists tomorrow."

"Any particular ship you want them each assigned to, sir?" asked Strong.

"No, let them decide," replied Walters. "But it would be best if you could keep Manning away from Miles. That's like putting a rocket into a fire and asking it not to explode."

The two men grinned at each other and then settled down to working out the details of Strong's trip. Before the evening was over, Walters had decided, if necessary, he would follow Strong out to Titan.

In the distance, they could hear the muffled roar of rocket motors as the three finalists tuned up their ships, preparing for the greatest space race in history. And it seemed to Strong that with each blast there was a vaguely ominous echo.

"I've strained that fuel four times and come up with the same answer," said Astro. The giant Venusian held up the oil-smeared test tube for Kit Barnard's inspection. "Impure reactant. And so impure that it couldn't possibly have come from the Academy supply depot. It would have been noticed."

"Then how did it get in my feeders?" asked Kit, half to himself.

"Whoever was messing around on the power deck just before you blasted off for the trials must have dumped it in," said Tom.

"Obviously." Kit nodded. "But who is that? Who would want to do a dirty thing like that?"

"Who indeed?" said a voice in back of them. They all spun around to face Quent Miles. He lounged against the stabilizer fin and grinned at them.

"What do you want, Miles?" asked Kit.

"Just stopped by to give you the proverbial handshake of good luck before we blast off," replied the spaceman with a mocking wink.

"Kit doesn't need your good wishes," snapped Sid.

"Well, now, that's too bad," said Quent. "I have a feeling that he's going to need a lot more than luck."

"Listen, Miles," snapped Kit, "did you come aboard my ship and tamper with the fuel?"

Quent's eyes clouded. "Careful of your accusations, Barnard."

"I'm not accusing you, I'm asking you."

"See you in space." Quent laughed, turning to leave, not answering the question. "But then, again, maybe I won't see you." He disappeared into the darkness of the night.

"The nerve of that guy," growled Tom.

"Yes," Kit agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "But I'm more concerned about this unit than I am about Quent Miles and his threats. Let's get back to work."

Renewing their efforts, Tom, Roger, Astro, Sid, and Kit Barnard turned to the reactor unit and began the laborious job of putting it back together again, at the same time replacing worn-out parts and adjusting the delicate clearances.

It was just before dawn when Strong visited Kit's ship. Seeing the cadets stripped to the waist and working with the veteran spaceman, he roared his disapproval. "Of all the crazy things to do! Don't you know that you could have Kit disqualified for helping him?"