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enough."

"Hey," shouted Mason, "I can't figure out these controls!"

Loring growled angrily. "Here, lemme at them!" He forced Bangs to lie down on the deck, and then, keeping the gun trained on the redheaded spaceman, stepped quickly to the control board. He handed Mason the gun.

"Keep an eye on them while I figure this baby out."

"Least you coulda done is steal a decent ship," grumbled Mason. "This tub is so old it creaks!"

"Just shut your mouth and keep your eye on those guys," said the other. He began to mutter to himself as he tried to figure out the complicated controls.

Jardine on floor

Jardine was now conscious but had the presence of mind not to move. His head ached from the blow. Slowly he opened his eyes and saw his two attackers bending over the board. He saw that Bangs was lying on the deck facing him. Jardine winked at Bangs, who returned the signal. Then he began, carefully, methodically to send a Morse-code message to his companion via his winking eyes.

"O-N-L-Y—one—gun—between—them. You—take—big—fellow. I'll—charge—gun ..."

"Can't you figure this thing out either?" asked Mason, leaning over Loring's shoulder.

"Ah, this wagon is an old converted chemical burner. These controls are old as the sun. I've got to find the automatic pilot!"

"Try that lever over there," suggested Mason.

Loring reached over to grasp it, turning away from his prisoners.

"Bangs, get 'em!" shouted Jardine. The two men jumped to their feet and lunged at Loring and Mason. Loring dove to one side, losing the gun in the scramble, but as he fell, he reached for the acceleration control lever. He wrenched it out of its socket and brought it down on Bang's head, and the officer slid to the floor. Jardine, meanwhile, had Mason in a viselike grip, but again Loring used the lever, bringing it down hard on the neck of the freighter pilot. Jardine dropped to the deck.

"Thanks, Loring," gasped Mason. "That was close! Good thing we had on these space suits, or we'd have been finished. They couldn't grab onto the smooth plastic."

"Finished is right!" snarled Loring. "I told you to keep an eye on them! If they'd nabbed us we woulda wound up on the prison asteroid!"

"Loring," shouted Mason, "look!" He pointed a trembling finger at the thrust indicator. "We're blasting at full space speed—right for the station!"

"By the rings of Saturn," cried Loring, "I must've jammed the thrust when I yanked the lever out of the control board!"

"Put it back! Slow this ship down!" cried Mason, his face ashen with fear. Loring jumped to the control board and with trembling fingers tried to replace the lever in the socket.

"I can't—can't—" he panted. "We gotta pile outta here! We're heading for the station. We'll crash!"

"Come on! This way! We left the space helmets back in the cargo hold!" shouted Mason. He ran toward the open hatch leading to the companionway. Suddenly he stopped. "Hey, what about those two guys?"

"Never mind them!" shouted Loring. "Keep going. We can't do anything for them now!"

And as the two men raced toward the stern, the freighter, her powerful rockets wide open, arrowed straight toward the gleaming white structure of the space station.

"It was easy, honey," cooed Roger into the microphone on the main control panel of the space-station radar bridge.

"I switched the frequency on the station, beamed to a teleceiver trunk line on Earth, and called you up, my little space pet! Smart, huh? Now remember we have a date as soon as I get back from this important and secret mission. I could've got out of it, but they needed me badly. As much as I like you, baby, I had to go along to give the boys a break and ..."

"Cadet Manning!" An infuriated roar echoed in the small chamber.

"Yeah, whaddaya wan—" growled Roger, turning to see who had interrupted him. He suddenly gulped and turned pale. "Ohhhhhhhhh—good-by, baby!" He flipped the switch and stood up.

"Uh—ah—good morning, Major Connel," he stammered.

"What's going on here, Manning?" barked Connel.

"I—was—talking, sir," replied Roger.

"So I heard! But talking to whom?"

"To whom, sir?"

"That's what I said, Manning." Connel's voice dropped to a deep sarcastic purr. "To whom?"

"I was—ah—talking to Earth, sir."

"Official business, I presume?"

"You mean—official—like here on the station, sir?"

"Official, like here on the station, Manning," replied Connel in almost a kindly tone.

"No, sir."

"You failed to make your quarter-hour check to the traffic-control center, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," gulped Roger. The full realization of what he had done was beginning to dawn on him.

"And you've tampered with vital station equipment for your own personal use," added Connel. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Roger noticed the major was strangely quiet in his interrogation. It felt like the calm before the storm.

"Yes, sir," admitted Roger, "I changed several circuits."

"Are you aware of the seriousness of your negligence, Manning?" Connel's voice began to harden.

"Yes—yes—I guess so, sir," stumbled Roger.

"Can you repair that radar so that it can be used as it was intended?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then do so immediately. There are ships in flight depending on your information and signals."

"Yes, sir," said Roger quietly. Then he added quickly, "I'd like the major to know, sir, that this is the first time this has happened."

"I have only your word for that, Manning!" Connel finally began blasting in his all too familiar roar. "Since you've done it once, I see no reason to think you couldn't have done it before or that you might not do it again!" The officer's face was now almost purple with rage. "When you've repaired that set, return to your quarters! You are confined until I decide on disciplinary action!"

Turning abruptly, Connel stormed out of the room, slamming the hatch closed behind him.

With a sigh Roger turned back to the set. With trembling fingers he reconnected the terminals and made delicate adjustments on the many dials. Finally, as power began to flow through the proper chain of circuits, the radar scanner glowed into life and the hair-thin line of light swept around the dull green surface of the scope. It had been left on a setting covering two hundred miles around the space station, and seeing the area was clear, Roger increased the range to five hundred miles. The resulting scan sent a sudden chill down his spine. A spaceship was roaring toward the station at full thrust!

Cold sweat beaded Roger's forehead as he grabbed for the microphone and called Tom.

"Radar bridge to control deck!" The words tumbled out frantically. "Tom! Tom! There's a ship heading right for the station! Bearing 098! Distance 450 miles! Coming in on full thrust! Tom, acknowledge! Quick!"

Down on the control deck, Tom had been watching a space freighter easing out of the station when Roger's voice came over the speaker in a thin scream.

"What?" he yelled. "Give me that again, Roger!"

"Spaceship bearing 098—full thrust! Range now four twenty-five!"

"By the craters of Luna," shouted Tom, "why didn't you pick her up sooner, Roger?"

"Never mind that. Contact that guy and tell him to change course! He can't brake in time now!"

"All right! Sign off!" Without waiting for a reply, Tom cut Roger off and switched to a standard space band. His voice quivering, the young cadet spoke quickly and urgently into the microphone. "Space station to spaceship approaching on orbit 098. Change course! Emergency! Reduce thrust and change course or you will crash into us!"

As he spoke, Tom watched the master screen of his scanner and saw the ship rocketing closer and closer with no change in speed or course. He realized that any action, even now, would bring the craft dangerously close to the station. Without hesitation, he flipped on the master switch of the central station communicator, opening every loud-speaker on the station to his voice.

"Attention! Attention! This is traffic-control center! Emergency! Repeat. Emergency! All personnel in and near landing ports five, six, seven, eight, and nine—decks A, B, and C—evacuate immediately to opposite side of the station. Emergency crews stand by for crash! Spaceship heading for station! May crash! Emergency—emergency!"

On the endangered decks, men began to move quickly, and in a moment the great man-made satellite was prepared for disaster. On the control deck, Tom stayed at his station, sounding the warning.

"Emergency! Emergency! All personnel prepare for crash! All personnel prepare for crash!"

A ringed planet

CHAPTER 8

"There—there!" shouted Captain Stefens into the mike aboard the jet boat circling around the station. "I think I see something bearing about seventy degrees to my left and up about twenty on the ecliptic! Do you see it, Scotty?"

Tom, in the bucket seat of the jet boat, strained his eyes but was unable to see over the control board.

Terry Scott, in a second jet boat ten miles away, answered quickly, "Yes, I think I see it, sir."

"Good!" shouted Stefens. "Maybe we've found something."

He spoke to Tom over his shoulder, keeping his eye on the floating objects in the black void of space. "Come to the starboard about one-quarter full turn, Corbett, and hold it. Then up, about twenty-five degrees."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Tom. He began to maneuver the small gnat-sized space craft to the proper position.

"That's good!" shouted Stefens. "Now hold that. Let me see. I think we've hit pay dirt."

From the right, Tom could see the red flash of the rockets of Terry Scott's jet boat, which Astro had volunteered to pilot, coming into view. As soon as order had been restored aboard the station, search parties had been sent out to look for survivors.

Carefully Tom slowed the space craft in response to Stefens' brief commands and soon came to a dead halt in space. There, hovering right above them, visible through the crystal dome of the jet boat, Tom could see two space-suited figures floating effortlessly. A moment later Scott's craft came alongside, and the two small ships were lashed together with magnetic lines. Tom and Stefens hurriedly pulled on their space helmets. They adjusted the valves regulating the oxygen supply in their suits, and Stefens slipped back the sliding top of the jet boat. Out on the hull he secured a line to a projecting ring, and ordering Tom to stand by, he pushed himself off the ship into the bottomless void of space.

The line trailing behind him, Stefens drifted toward the two helpless figures. He reached them in less than a minute, secured the line to their belts, and signaled Tom to haul in.

Near by, Terry Scott and Astro watched as the three figures were pulled to safety.

Quickly the top of the jet boat was closed, oxygen pressure in the craft was restored, and the four men took off their helmets.

"Whew!" said Loring. "I sure want to thank you for pulling us out of the deep!"

"We sure do, sir!" added Mason. Then, with a quick look at Loring, he asked softly, "Were there any other survivors?"

Stefens' face was grim. "Not one. After we untangled the mess, we found bodies of two men. It was pretty bad. A little later something was spotted on the radar, and we hoped there might be survivors. Luckily for you, we came to look!"

[76]

Tom could see two space-suited figures floating effortlessly Tom could see two space-suited figures floating effortlessly

"By the rings of Saturn," swore Loring softly, "Jardine and Bangs were brave men. They practically forced us to pile out when they saw they were going to crack up." He turned to Mason. "Didn't they, Al?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure brave men," Al Mason agreed.

"Nothing to be done for them now, of course," said Stefens. "What happened?" He paused, and then added, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to before you make out your report, but I'd sure like to know."

"I don't really know what happened, sir," said Loring. "We had made a deal for a ride back to Earth with Jardine and were sleeping back on the

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