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On the Trail of the Space Pirates

<h2>CHAPTER 2</h2> "Stand by for touchdown!" bellowed Captain Strong's voice on the big spaceship's intercom. "Control deck standing by," replied Tom. "Corbett," Strong continued, "you may take her down as soon as you get clearance from Venusport traffic control." Tom acknowledged the order with a brisk "Aye, sir! In a few moments he received permission to touch down on the newly colonized planet. Then, turning his attention to the control board, he requested a ground-approach check from Roger. "About two miles to touchdown, Tom," reported Roger from the radar bridge. "Trajectory clear!" "O.K., Roger," said Tom. Glancing quickly at the air speed and rocket thrust indicators, he flipped a switch and sang out, "Power deck, reduce thrust on main drive rockets to minimum!" "Got ya, Tom," boomed Astro. "Closing in fast, sir," said Tom to Strong, who had come up from below and now stood at the cadet's shoulder watching as Tom maneuvered the big ship through the Venusian atmosphere, his keen eyes sweeping the great panel of recording gauges and dials. "One thousand feet to touchdown," intoned Roger from the radar bridge. Reacting swiftly, Tom adjusted several levers, then picking up the intercom microphone, he threw a switch and yelled, "Power deck! Full braking thrust!" Deep inside the Polaris, Astro, who tended the mighty rocket power plant with loving care, eased home the sensitive control mechanism, applying even pressure to the braking rockets. As the giant spaceship settled smoothly to within a few feet of the surface of the concrete spaceport, Tom threw the master switch that cut all power. A moment later the huge craft dropped easily, then settled on the landing platform with a gentle thump. "Touchdown!" yelled Tom. Then, glancing at the astral chronometer on the control board, he turned to Strong, and saluting smartly, reported, "Polaris completes space flight at exactly seven fifty-two-O-two!" Strong returned the salute. "Very well, Tom. Now, I want you, Roger, and Astro to come with me to the exposition commissioner's office for an interview and detailed orders." "Yes, sir," said Tom. A few minutes later, dressed in fresh uniforms, the three cadets followed their unit commander out of the ship, then stood by as Strong ordered the chief petty officer of an enlisted Solar Guard working party to prepare the Polaris for moving to the exposition site. "Empty the reactant fuel tanks of all but enough for us to raise ship and touch down over to the fairgrounds," said Strong. "Better strip her of armament, too. Paralo-ray pistols and rifles, the three-inch and six-inch atomic blasters, narco sleeping gas; in fact, everything that could possibly cause any trouble." "Yes, sir," replied the scarlet-clad enlisted spaceman. "One thing more," added Strong. "There will be a crew living aboard, so please see that the galley is stocked with a full supply of both fresh and synthetic foods. That's about all, I guess." "Very well, sir," replied the petty officer with a crisp salute. He turned and began bawling orders to a squad of men behind him and immediately they were swarming over the great ship like ants. Fifteen minutes later, a jet cab swerved to a stop in front of the tallest of the Venusport buildings, the Solar Alliance Chamber. Strong paid the driver, adding a handsome tip, and flanked by his three cadets strode briskly into the building. Crossing a high-ceilinged lobby, they entered an express vacuum elevator and five seconds later stepped out onto the four-hundredth floor. There, Strong slid a panel door to one side, and, followed by the cadets, stepped inside the office of Mike Hawks, exposition commissioner and retired senior officer of the Solar Guard. The office was impressively large and airy, with an outside wall forming a viewport of clear Titan crystal reaching from floor to vaulted ceiling and affording a magnificent view of the city of Venusport and, beyond it, the futuristic buildings of the exposition itself. Another wall, equally as large, was covered by a map of the exposition grounds. Mike Hawks, a man with steel-gray hair, clear blue eyes, and a ramrod military bearing, sat behind a massive desk talking to two men. He looked up when Strong and the cadets walked in and rose quickly with a broad smile to greet them. "Steve!" he exclaimed, rounding the desk to shake hands with his old friend. "I never dreamed we'd have you and the Polaris unit at our fair!" He nodded warmly to the cadets who stood at rigid attention. "At ease, cadets. Glad to have you aboard." "I was just as surprised to get this assignment, Mike," said Strong, pumping the officer's hand. Nodding toward the men seated in front of Hawks' desk, he apologized, "Sorry to bust in on you like this, old man. Didn't know you were busy." "It's quite all right." The commissioner smiled. "Just handing out a few licenses for the concessions in the amusement section at the fair. People expect to have a little fun when they go to a fair, you know. By the stars, they're going to have it so long as I'm commissioner." He turned to the cadets. "Sit down, boys. You too, Steve. I'll be with you in a minute." He turned back to his desk and the waiting men. The cadets, at a nod from Strong, sat down on a leather couch that stretched the length of one wall and listened while Hawks completed his business with the two men. "There you are," said Hawks, applying the seal of his office to a slip of paper. "That gives you the right to operate a concession in the amusement area as long as the fair is open." One of the men took the paper and glanced at it quickly. "Wait a minute, Commissioner. This is over near the edge of the area," he complained. "We wanted to get in the middle. How do you expect us to make any credits away out there by ourselves?" The man's tone was surly and disrespectful. "Sorry, but that's the only location left. In fact," Hawks added acidly, "you're lucky to get it!" "Really?" sneered the heavier of the two. "Well, I'm sure going to find out about this!" Hawks stood up and eyed the two men coldly. "I've been appointed commissioner of this exposition by the delegates to the Solar Alliance Council. I answer only to the council. If you have a complaint, then you must present your case before that body." He cleared his throat and glared at them from behind his desk. "Good day, gentlemen!" he said. <hr style="width: 45%;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus030.jpg" alt=""/></div> <h3>Hawks stood up and eyed the two men coldly</h3> <hr style="width: 45%;" /> The two men, who until now had been seated facing the desk, got up, and after glaring at Hawks, turned and walked toward the door. Tom gasped, and grabbing Roger by the arm, involuntarily pointed at the two men. "Look, Roger—those men—" he whispered. "Yeah," said Roger. "Those are the wise-guy space crawlers we met on the monorail, the ones who called us punks!" "How'd they get here so fast?" asked Astro. "Must have taken a jetliner from Atom City, I guess." Strong, who sat near Tom, heard the exchange between the cadets. "You know those men?" he asked. "Well—uh—not exactly, sir. We just had a little run-in with them on the monorail returning from leave, that's all," said Tom. "Nothing serious. They don't think much of the Solar Guard, though." "I gathered as much," said Hawks dryly. He walked over from his desk. "I hated to give them the license to operate, but I had to, since I had no valid reason to turn them down. They have a good idea, too." "That so? What is it?" asked Strong. "They have an old chemical-burning space freighter in which they're going to take fair visitors up for a short ride. You see, the big one, Gus Wallace, is an old deep-space merchantman. The smaller one is Luther Simms, a rocketman." "Hm. Not a bad idea at all," mused Strong. "They should make out all right." With that, the two Solar Guard officers dropped the incident of Wallace and Simms and turned to exchanging news of mutual friends and of what each had been doing since their last meeting. Finally, as the conversation was brought around to the exposition, Hawks got up and sat on the side of the desk, facing Strong and the cadets. His eyes glowed as he spoke. "Steve," he said, "this is going to be the greatest gathering of minds, thoughts, and ideas in the knowledgeable history of mankind! There are going to be lectures from the greatest minds in the system on any and all subjects you can think of. In one building we're going to build a whole spaceship—a rocket cruiser—piece by piece, right in front of the eyes of fair visitors. In another building we're going to have the greatest collection of musicians in the universe, continuously playing the most beautiful music, in a hall built to seat a half million people. Industry, science, medicine, art, literature, astrophysics, space flight, to say nothing of a comparative history exhibit designed to show the people where our forefathers went off the track by warring against each other. In fact, Steve, everything you can think of, and then more, will be represented here at the exposition. Why, do you know I've been working for three years, co-ordinating ideas, activity, and information!" Strong and the cadets sat transfixed as they listened to the commissioner speak in glowing terms of the exposition, which, until this time, by the cadets at least, had been considered little more than a giant amusement park. Finally Strong managed to say, "And we thought the Polaris was going to be so big, it'd be the center of attraction." He smiled. Hawks waved his hand. "Look, I don't want to offend you or the boys, Steve, but the fact is, the Polaris is one of the smaller exhibits!" "I can see that now," answered Strong. "Tell me, Mike, just what do you want us to do?" "I'll answer that in two parts. First, I would like the cadets to set up the Polaris, get her shining and bright, and with quiet courtesy, answer any question anyone might ask concerning the ship, referring any question they can't answer to the information center in the Space Building." "That's all, sir?" asked Tom incredulously. "That's all, Corbett. You open the Polaris at nine in the morning and close her at nine at night. You'll be living aboard, of course." "Yes, sir. Of course, sir." "That sounds so simple," drawled Roger, "it might be tough." "It will be tough, Manning," commented Hawks. "Don't fool yourself into assuming otherwise." "Don't worry about these boys, Mike. Now, what is part two?" Strong asked. Hawks smiled. "Here it is, Steve. The Solar Alliance has decided to open the exposition with a simple speech made by a relatively unknown person, but one who is deserving of such an honor. They left the choice of that person up to me." He paused and added quietly, "I'd like you to make that opening speech, Steve." "Me!" cried Strong. "Me, make a speech?" "I can't think of anyone more deserving—or dependable." "But—but—" stammered the captain, "I can't make a speech. I wouldn't know what to say." "Say anything you want. Just make it short and to the point." Strong hesitated a moment. He realized it was a great honor, but his naturally shy personality kept him from accepting. "Steve, it may make it easier for you to know," said Hawks teasingly, "that there's going to be a giant capsule lowered into the ground which will contain a record of every bit of progress made since the inception of the Solar Alliance. It's designed to show the men of the future how to do everything from treating a common cold to exploding nuclear power. This capsule will be lowered at the end of your opening address. So, most of the attention will be focused on the capsule, not you." The commissioner smiled. "All right, Mike," said Strong, grinning sheepishly. "You've got yourself a speechmaker!" "Good!" said Hawks and the two men shook hands. Tom Corbett could contain himself no longer. "Congratulations, sir!" he blurted out as the three cadets stood up. "We think Commissioner Hawks couldn't have made a better choice!" His unit-mates nodded a vigorous assent. Strong shook hands with the cadets and thanked them. "You want the cadets for anything right now, Mike?" asked Strong. "Not a thing, Steve." Strong turned back to the boys. "Better hop out to the spaceport and get the Polaris over the exposition site, cadets. Soon as you set her down, clean her up a little, then relax. I'll be at the Galaxy Hotel if you need me." "Yes, sir," said Tom. The cadets saluted sharply and left the office. Arriving at the spaceport, they found the Polaris stripped of her guns and her galley stocked with food. The chief petty officer in charge of the enlisted spacemen detail was roving through the passageways of the rocket cruiser when Tom found him. "Everything set, chief?" asked Tom. "All set, Cadet Corbett," reported the elderly spaceman, saluting smartly. He gave Tom a receipt for the list of the equipment that had been removed from the ship and signed the logbook. Tom thanked him and made a hurried check of the control deck, with Roger and Astro reporting from the radar and power decks. With the precision and assurance of veteran spacemen, the three Space Cadets lifted the great ship up over the heart of the sprawling Venusian city and brought it down gently in the clearing provided for it at the exposition site, a grassy square surrounded on three sides by buildings of shimmering crystal walls. No sooner had the giant ship settled itself to the ground, than a crew of exposition workers began laying a slidewalk toward her, while another crew began the construction of an aluminum staircase to the entrance port in her giant fin. Almost before they realized it, Tom, Roger, and Astro found themselves busy with a hundred little things concerning the ship and their part in the fair. They were visited by the subcommissioner of the exposition and advised of the conveniences provided for the participants of the fair. Then, finally, as a last worker finished the installation of a photoelectric cell across the entrance port to count visitors to the ship, Tom, Roger, and Astro began the dirty job of washing down the giant titanium hull with a special cleaning fluid, while all around them the activity of the fair buzzed with nervous excitement. Suddenly the three cadets heard the unmistakable roar of jets in the sky. Automatically, they looked up and saw a spaceship, nose up, decelerating as it came in for a touchdown on a clearing across one of the wide spacious streets of the fairgrounds. "Well, blast my jets!" exclaimed Astro, his eyes clinging to the flaming exhausts as the ship lowered itself to the ground. "That craft must be at least fifty years old!" "I've got a rocket-blasting good idea, Tom," said Roger. The exit port of the spaceship opened, and the three cadets watched Gus Wallace and Luther Simms climb down the ladder. "Hey," yelled Roger, "better be careful with that broken-down old boiler. It might blow up!" The two men glared at the grinning Roger but didn't answer. "Take it easy, Roger," cautioned Tom. "We don't want to start anything that might cause us and Captain Strong trouble before the fair even opens. So let's leave them alone." "What are you afraid of?" drawled Roger, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Just a little fun with those guys won't hurt." He stepped to the side of the clearing and leaned over the fence separating the two areas. "Tell me something, spaceman," he yelled to Wallace, who was busy with some gear at the base of the ship, "you don't expect people to pay to ride that thing, do you?" He smiled derisively and added, "Got insurance to cover the families?" "Listen, punk!" sneered Wallace, "get back over to your Solar Guard space toy and keep your trap shut!" "Now—now—" jeered Roger, "mustn't get nasty. Remember, we're going to be neighbors. Never can tell when you might want to borrow some baling wire or chewing gum to keep your craft together!" "Look, wise guy, one more crack out of you, and I'll send you out of this world without a spaceship!" snarled Wallace through grating teeth. "Any time you'd like to try that, you know where I am," Roger snapped back. "Okay, punk! You asked for it," yelled Wallace. He had been holding a length of chain and now he swung it at Roger. The cadet ducked easily, hopped over the fence, and before Wallace knew what was happening, jolted him with three straight lefts and a sharp right cross. Wallace went down in a heap, out cold. Luther Simms, who had been watching the affair from one side, now rushed at Roger with a monkey wrench. With the ferocity of a bull, Astro roared at the small spaceman, who stopped as if pulled up by a string. Roger spun around, made an exaggerated bow, and smiling, asked, "Next?" At this point, aware that things were getting a bit thick, Tom strode across the clearing, and grabbing the still smiling Roger, pulled him away. "Are you space happy?" he asked, "You know you goaded him into swinging that chain, Roger. And that makes you entirely responsible for what just happened!" "Yeah," growled Astro. "Suppose he had hit you with it, then what?" Roger, still grinning, glanced over his shoulder and saw Simms helping Wallace to his feet. He turned to Astro, threw his arm over the big cadet's shoulder, and drawled, "Why, then you'd have just taken them apart to avenge me! Wouldn't you, pal?" "Aw, stow it," snapped Tom. For a second Roger looked at him sharply, then broke into a smile again. "O.K., Tom, I'm sorry," he said. "O.K., let's get back to work," ordered Tom. Back at the Polaris, as they continued cleaning the hull of the ship, Tom saw the two men disappear into their craft, throwing dirty looks back at the three cadets as they went. "You know, Roger, I think you made a very bad mistake," he said. "One way or another, they'll try to even the score with you." "And it won't be just a report to Captain Strong," added Astro darkly. Roger, cocky and unafraid, broke out his engaging grin again and shrugged his shoulders. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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