Stand by for Mars!, Carey Rockwell [early readers .TXT] 📗

one at a time.” He paused, a cold smile twisting his lips. “And that offer is good as of right now!”

Tom and Astro looked at each other.

“I’m afraid,” began Astro slowly, “that you wouldn’t stand much of a chance with me, Manning. So if Tom wants the chore of buttoning your lip, he’s welcome to it.”

“Thanks, Astro,” said Tom evenly. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

Without another word, the three cadets walked out of the door.

V

“Will this do, Manning?” asked Tom.

The three boys were in a secluded corner of the gym, a large hall on the fourteenth floor of the dormitory building. At the far end of the gym, a group of cadets had just finished a game of mercuryball and were sauntering to the showers. When the last boy had disappeared, the floor was deserted except for Tom, Roger and Astro.

“This will do fine, Corbett,” said Roger.

The boxing ring had been taken down the week before to make room for drills and the physical exercises of the Earthworms, so the three boys had to improvise a ring. They dragged four large tumbling mats together, spreading them side by side to form a square close to the size of an actual ring. Astro went to one of the small lockers under the balcony and returned with two pairs of boxing gloves.

“Here,” offered Astro, “put these on.”

“Gloves?” asked Roger, in a voice of mock surprise. “I thought this was going to be a battle of blood.”

“Any way you want it, Manning. Any way at all,” said Tom.

“You’re going to use gloves,” growled Astro. “I don’t want anybody killed.” He threw a pair at each of them.

“There’ll be three-minute rounds, with one minute rest,” he continued. “Go off the mats and you’ll be counted out. Usual rules otherwise. Any questions?”

“Clear to me, Astro,” said Tom.

“Let’s go,” nodded Roger.

“One more thing,” said Astro. “I hope Tom pins your ears back, Manning. But I’m going to see that both of you get a fair deal. So keep the punches up⁠—and fight it out. All right⁠—time!”

The two boys moved carefully to the center of the improvised ring, their guards up, while Astro stood off the edge of the mat and watched the sweeping second hand of his wrist chronograph.

Shuffling forward Tom pushed out a probing left and then tried to cross his right, but Manning stepped back easily, countering with a hard left to Tom’s heart.

“I forgot to tell you, Corbett,” he called out, “I’m considered a counterpuncher. I always⁠—”

He was cut off with a sharp left to the face that snapped his head back, and his lips curled in a smile of condescension.

“Good⁠—very good, Corbett.”

Then with lightning speed and the grace of a cat, Roger slipped inside Tom’s guard, punching hard and true. A left, a right and a left pounded into Tom’s mid-section, and as he gave way momentarily Tom’s face clouded over.

They circled. Tom kept leading with sharp lefts that popped in and out like a piston, always connecting and keeping Roger off balance. Roger concentrated on penetrating Tom’s defense, methodically pounding his ribs and heart and trying to wear him down.

“Time!” bawled Astro.

The two boys dropped their hands and turned back to their corners. They squatted on the floor breathing slowly and easily. Astro stood in the middle of the ring, glaring at both of them in turn and shaking his head.

“Huh. I expected to see you two try to wallop each other into meteor dust! Keep fighting like that and we’ll be here all night!”

“Talk to Corbett,” sneered Roger. “Looks like he’s afraid to mix it up!”

“You fight your way, Roger, and I’ll fight mine,” replied Tom, his voice cold and impersonal.

“Time!” suddenly yelled Astro and stepped back off the mat.

The two cadets jumped to their feet and met in the center of the ring again. With a bull-like rush, Roger changed tactics and began to rain punches all over Tom’s body, but the curly-haired cadet stood his ground coolly, picking some off in mid-air with his gloves and sliding under the others. Then, as Roger slowed down, Tom took the offensive, popping his left into his opponent’s face steadily and methodically, while keeping his right cocked for a clear opening to the chin.

Roger danced in and out, watching Tom’s left as though it was a snake and trying unsuccessfully to get through his guard. But the sharp lefts kept snapping his head back and his face began to redden, not only from the sting of the blows but with the mounting fury of his frustration.

Suddenly, as Astro raised his arm to call time for the end of the round, Roger jumped forward and rained another series of harmless blows on Tom’s shoulders and arms. But then, as the big Venusian called time, he stepped back and Tom dropped his guard. Instantly, Roger threw a right with all his weight behind it. It landed flush on Tom’s jaw and he dropped, sprawling full length on the mats and lying still.

Smiling, Roger sauntered to his corner while Astro charged in and bent over the fallen cadet.

“None of that, Astro!” snapped Roger. “Since when does a referee take sides? Leave him alone! If he doesn’t come out for the next round, you have to count him out!”

The big Venusian straightened and walked menacingly toward Roger’s corner. “You hit him after I called time,” he growled.

“So I have to take you on too, huh?” Roger jumped to his feet. “All right⁠—come on, you big blast of space gas!”

“Wait, Astro⁠ ⁠… wait!”

Astro suddenly wheeled around to see Tom shaking his head weakly and trying to rise up on his elbows. He rushed back to the fallen boy’s side.

Roger shouted at him angrily, “Leave him alone!”

“Ahhh⁠—go blow your jets!” was Astro’s snarling reply as he bent over Tom, who was now sitting up. “Tom, are you OK?”

“Yeah⁠—yeah,” he replied weakly. “But stay out of this. You’re the referee. How much time left?”

“Twenty seconds,” said Astro. “Roger smacked you after I called time.”

“If