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

I beat the space gas out of him and took his shoes. And then they were so tight, they hurt my feet. I don’t know who my father was, nothing about him, except that he was a spaceman. A rocket buster, like me. And my mother? She died when I was born. Since I can remember, I’ve been on my own. When I was twelve, I was hanging around the spaceport day and night. I learned to buck rockets by going aboard when the ships were cradled for repairs, running dry runs, going through the motions, I talked to spacemen⁠—all who would listen to me. I lied about my age, and because I was a big kid, I was blasting off when I was fifteen. What little education I’ve got, I picked up listening to the crew talk on long hops and listening to every audioslide I could get my hands on. I’ve had it tough. And because I have had it tough, I want to forget about it. I don’t want to be reminded what it’s like to be so hungry that I’d go out into jungles and trap small animals and take a chance on meeting a tyrannosaurus. So lay off that stuff about feeling sorry for yourself. And about Tom being a hero, because with all your space gas you still can’t take it! And if you don’t want to fight to live, then go lie down in the corner and just keep your big mouth shut!”

Tom stood staring at the big cadet. His head jutted forward from his shoulders, the veins in his neck standing out like thick cords. He knew Astro had been an orphan, but he had never suspected the big cadet’s life had been anything like that which he had just described.

Roger had stood perfectly still while Astro spoke. Now, as the big cadet walked back to the hatch and nervously began to examine the edges with his finger tips, Roger walked over and stood behind him.

“Well, you knuckle-headed orphan,” said Roger, “are you going to get us out of here, or not?”

Astro whirled around, his face grim, his hands balled into fists, ready to fight. “What’s that, Mann⁠—?” He stopped. Roger was smiling and holding out his hand.

“Whether you like it or not, you poor little waif, you’ve just made yourself a friend.”

Tom came up to them and leaned against the door casually. “When you two stop gawking at each other like long-lost brothers,” he said lazily, “suppose we try to figure a way out of this dungeon.”

XIX

“Tom⁠—Roger!” shouted Astro. “I think I’ve got it!”

Astro, on his knees, pulled a long file blade away from the hatch and jumped to his feet.

“Did you cut all the way through?” asked Tom.

“I don’t know⁠—at least I’m not sure,” Astro replied, looking down at the hole he had made in the hatch. “But let’s give it a try!”

“Think we can force it back enough to get a good hold on it?” asked Roger.

“We’ll know in a minute, Roger,” said Astro. “Get that steel bar over there and I’ll try to slip it in between the hatch and the bulkhead.”

Roger rummaged around in the jumble of broken parts and tools on the opposite side of the power deck and found the steel bar Astro wanted. After several attempts to force the hatch open had proven futile, Tom suggested that they try to file the hinges off the hatch, and then attempt to slide it sideways. After much effort, and working in shifts, they had filed through the three hinges, and now were ready to make a last desperate attempt to escape. Astro took the steel bar from Roger and jammed it between the bulkhead wall and the hatch.

“No telling what we’ll find on the other side,” said Astro. “If the sand has covered up the ship all the way down to here, then we’ll never get out!”

“Couldn’t we tunnel through it to the top, if it has filled the ship down as far as here?” asked Roger.

“Not through this stuff,” said Tom. “It’s just like powder.”

“Tom’s right,” said Astro. “As soon as you dig into it, it’ll fall right back in on you.” He paused and looked at the hatch thoughtfully. “No. The only way we can get out of here is if the sand was only blown into the deck outside and hasn’t filled the rest of the ship.”

“Only one way to find out,” said Tom.

“Yeah,” agreed Roger. “Let’s get that hatch shoved aside and take a look.”

Astro jammed the heavy steel bar farther into the space between the hatch and the bulkhead, and then turned back to his unit-mates.

“Get that piece of pipe over there,” he said. “We’ll slip it over the end of the bar and that’ll give us more leverage.”

Tom and Roger scrambled after the length of pipe, slipped it over the end of the bar, and then, holding it at either end, began to apply even pressure against the hatch.

Gradually, a half inch at a time, the heavy steel hatch began to move sideways, sliding out and behind the bulkhead. And as the opening grew larger the fine powderlike sand began to fall into the power deck.

“Let’s move it back about a foot and a half,” said Tom. “That’ll give us plenty of room to get through and see what’s on the other side.”

Astro and Roger nodded in agreement.

Once more the three boys exerted their strength against the pipe and applied pressure to the hatch. Slowly, grudgingly it moved back, until there was an eighteen-inch opening, exposing a solid wall of the desert sand. Suddenly, as if released by a hidden switch, the sand began to pour into the power deck.

“Watch out!” shouted Tom. The three boys jumped back and looked on in dismay as the sand came rushing through the opening. Gradually it slowed to a stop and the pile in front of the opening rose as high as the hatch itself.

“That does it,”