Treachery in Outer Space, Carey Rockwell [most difficult books to read .txt] 📗

off the slidewalk and hurried to a clump of bushes a few hundred yards away. He disappeared into the thick foliage and then reached inside his tunic and pulled out a paralo-ray gun.

"You in here, Charley?" Miles whispered.

There was a movement to his left and he leveled the gun. "All right! Come out of there!"

The bushes parted and Charley Brett stepped out. "Put that thing away!" he snarled. "What's that for?"

"After I got your message to meet you out here, I didn't know what was up, so I brought this along just in case," Quent replied. "What's so secret that you couldn't come to the spaceport?"

"I've got the stuff for Kit Barnard's reactor."

"What stuff?"

"This." Brett took a small lead container out of his pocket and handed it to Quent. "This is impure reactant. Dump it into his feeders and we can count him out of the race."

Quent took the lead container, looked at it, and then stuffed it inside his tunic. "What'll happen?"

"Nothing. He'll just get out in space and find his pumps won't handle the heat from his feeders, that's all. He's the only one I'm worried about."

"Reports are coming in from Luna City. You can worry about Gigi Duarte, too. He's burning up space."

"Ross is at the Luna spaceport," replied Brett. "He'll take care of any ship that looks like it's going to be too fast."

"Then why not have him take care of Kit Barnard too?" demanded Quent. "There will be less chance of getting caught. Remember, I've got those three Space Cadets and Strong to worry about."

"You can't expect to get what we're after unless you take chances. Now get back to the spaceport and put this stuff in Barnard's feeders. You blast off tomorrow morning before he does and won't have much time."

"O.K.," agreed Quent. "When did Ross get to Luna City?"

"Yesterday. I had him come in from the hide-out."

"You think there'll be any cause for suspicion with him on the Moon and me down here?" asked Quent.

"When you land at Luna City spaceport, he'll disappear. By that time we should know how the time trials are shaping up."

"O.K. Where are you going now?"

"Back to the office. I've still got some things to check on before the big race. We're going to use the hide-out for that."

A smile spread across Quent Miles' face. "So that's it, eh? Pretty clever, Charley. Ross know about it?"

"Yeah. He's leaving as soon as he knows we've won the time trials. Now get back to the spaceport and take care of Barnard's ship."

Quent slipped his hand inside his tunic and patted the lead container. "Too bad this isn't a baby bomb," he muttered. "We could be sure Barnard wouldn't finish."

"He's finished right now, but he doesn't know it." Brett smiled. "He's borrowed heavily just on this race, and when he loses, the banks will close him up. Kit Barnard is through."

CHAPTER 5

"We regret to announce that the spaceship La Belle France, piloted by Gigi Duarte, has crashed!"

Captain Strong's voice was choked with emotion as he made the announcement over the spaceport public-address system. There was an audible groan of sympathy from the thousands of spectators in the grandstands. In spite of every precaution for safety, death had visited the spaceways.

Strong continued, "We have just received official confirmation from Luna City that the Paris-Venusport Transfer Company entry exploded in space soon after leaving Luna City. Captain Duarte had flown the first leg of the race from Earth to the Moon in record time."

The Solar Guard officer snapped off the microphone and turned to Tom, Roger, and Astro. "It's hard to believe that the French Chicken won't be shuttling from Paris to Venusport any more," he murmured.

"Are there any details, sir?" asked Tom.

"You know there are never any details, Corbett," said Strong with a little edge in his voice. Then he immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, Tom. Gigi was an old friend."

The door behind them opened and an enlisted spaceman stepped inside, saluting smartly. "Ready for the next blast-off, Captain Strong," he announced.

"Who is it?" asked Strong, turning to the intercom connecting him with the control tower that co-ordinated all the landings and departures at the spaceport.

The spaceman referred to a clipboard. "It's the Space Lance, sir. Piloted by Captain Sticoon. He's representing an independent company from Marsopolis."

"Right, thanks." Strong turned to the intercom mike, calling, "Captain Strong to control tower, check in."

"Say, I'd like to see this fellow blast," said Tom. "He's supposed to be one of the hottest pilots ever to hit space."

"Yeah," agreed Roger. "He's so good I don't see how anyone else could have a chance."

"With that hot rocket in this race," said Astro, "the others will have to fight for second and third place."

"Control tower to Strong," a voice crackled over the intercom loud-speaker. "Ready here, sir."

"Right. Stand by for the next flight, Mac," replied Strong. "It's Sticoon."

Strong flipped a switch on the intercom to direct contact with the waiting ship and gave Sticoon the oft-repeated final briefing, concluding, "Do not go beyond the necessary limitations of fuel consumption that are provided for in the Solar Guard space code. If you return here with less than a quarter supply of reactant fuel, you will be disqualified. Stand by to blast off!"

"Uh-huh!" was all the acknowledgment Strong received from the Martian. Famed for his daring, Sticoon was also known for his taciturn personality.

"Clear ramp! Clear ramp!" Strong boomed over the public-address system. When he received the all-clear from the enlisted spaceman on the ramp, Strong flipped both the public-address system and the intercom on. "Stand by to raise ship!"

He glanced at the astral chronometer. "Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one—zero!"

Tom, Roger, and Astro crowded to the viewport in Strong's command shack to watch the bulky Martian's ship take to space. With Sticoon at the controls, there was no hesitation. He gave the ship full throttle from the moment of blast-off and in three seconds was out of sight. There wasn't much to see at such speed.

The three members of the Polaris unit left the shack to return to their task of inspection. They passed the maintenance hangar where Kit Barnard was readying his ship for blast-off in the next half hour.

"Any last-minute hitches, Kit?" asked Astro, vitally interested in the new reactor unit and its cooling system.

Kit smiled wearily and shook his head. "All set!"

"Good." Tom smiled. "We'll try to be back before you blast. We've got to check Quent Miles' ship now."

As the three cadets approached the sleek black vessel with its distinctive markings, the air lock opened and Quent Miles stepped out on the ladder.

"It's about time you three jerks showed up," he sneered. "I have to blast off in twenty minutes! What's the idea of messing around with that Barnard creep? He hasn't got a chance, anyway."

"Is that so?" snapped Roger. "Listen—!"

"Roger!" barked Tom warningly.

Quent grinned. "That's right. Lay off, buster. Get to your inspecting and let a spaceman blast off."

"Kit Barnard will blast off after you, and still beat you back," growled Roger, stepping into the ship. He stopped suddenly and gasped in amazement. "Well, blast my jets!"

Tom and Astro crowded into the air lock and looked around, openmouthed. Before them was what appeared to be a hollow shell of a ship. There were no decks or bulkheads, nothing but an intricate network of ladders connecting the various operating positions of the spaceship. Everything that could be removed had been taken out of the ship.

"Is this legal?" asked Roger incredulously.

"I'm afraid it is, Roger," said Tom. "But we're going to make sure that everything that's supposed to be in a spaceship is in this one."

"When I blast off, I don't intend carrying any passengers," growled Miles behind them. "If you're going to inspect, then inspect and stop gabbing."

"Let's go," said Tom grimly.

The three boys split up and began crawling around in the network of exposed supporting beams and struts that took the place of decks and bulkheads. It did not take them long to determine that Quent Miles' ship was in perfect condition for blast-off. With but a few minutes to spare, they returned to face Miles at the air lock.

"O.K., you're cleared," Tom announced.

"But it'll take more than a light ship to win this race," said Roger, and unable to restrain himself, he added, "You're bucking the best space busters in the universe!"

"One of them"—Quent held up his finger—"is dead."

"Yeah," growled Astro, "but there are plenty more just as good as Gigi Duarte."

The intercom buzzer sounded in the ship and Quent snapped, "Beat it! I've got a race to win." He pushed the three cadets out of the air lock and slammed the pluglike door closed. From two feet away it was impossible to spot the seams in the metal covering on the port and the hull.

"Clear ramp! Clear ramp!" Strong's voice echoed over the spaceport. Tom, Roger, and Astro scurried down the ladder and broke away from the ramp in a run. They knew Quent Miles would not hesitate to blast off whether anyone was within range of his exhaust or not.

"Blast off, minus five, four, three, two, one—zero!"

Again the spaceport reverberated to the sound of a ship blasting off. All eyes watched the weirdly painted black ship shudder under the surge of power, and then shoot spaceward as if out of a cannon.

"Well, ring me around Saturn," breathed Tom, looking up into the sky where the black ship had disappeared from view. "Whatever Quent Miles is, he can sure take acceleration."

"Spaceman," said Astro, taking a deep breath, "you can say that again. Wow!"

"I hope it broke his blasted neck," said Roger.

"And you saw him messing around here, Sid?" asked Kit Barnard of his young helper.

"That's right," replied the crew chief. "I was on the control deck checking out the panel and I happened to look down. I couldn't see too well, but it was a big guy."