Danger in Deep Space by Carey Rockwell
CHAPTER 7
"Space freighter _Antares_ from Venus space station. Your approachcourse is one-nine-seven--corrected. Reduce speed to minimum thrust andapproach spaceport nine--landing-deck three. End transmission!"
Tom stood on the dais of the traffic-control room and switched the_Antares_ beam to one of his assistants at the monitors in the controlroom. In less than two weeks he had mastered the difficulttraffic-control procedure to the point where Captain Stefens had allowedhim to handle the midnight shift. He checked the monitors and turned tosee Roger walk through the door.
"Working hard, Junior?" asked Roger in his casual drawl.
"Roger!" exclaimed Tom. "What are you fooling around down here for?"
"Ah, there's nothing to do on the radar deck. Besides, I've got theemergency alarm on." He wiped his forehead. "Brother! Of all the crummyplaces to be stuck!"
"Could be worse," said Tom, his eyes sweeping the monitors.
"Nothing could be worse," groaned Roger. "But nothing. Think of thatlovely space doll Helen Ashton alone on earth--and me stuck here on aspace station."
"Well, we're doing an important job, Roger," replied Tom. "And doing itwell, or Major Connel wouldn't leave us alone so much. How're you makingout with the new equipment?"
"That toy?" sneered Roger. "I gave it a look, checked the circuits once,and knew it inside out. It's so simple a child could have built one!"
"Oh, sure," scoffed Tom. "That's why the top scientists worked for yearson something small, compact, powerful enough to reach through deepspace--and still be easy to repair."
"Quit heckling me, Junior," retorted Roger, "I'm thinking. Trying tofigure out some way of getting to the teleceiver set on board the_Polaris_."
"Why can't you get on the _Polaris_?" asked Tom.
"They're jazzing up the power deck with a new hyperdrive unit for thebig hop to Tara. So many guys buzzing around you can't get near it."
"What do you need a teleceiver for?" asked Tom.
"To give me company," replied Roger sourly. "Say!" He snapped hisfingers suddenly. "Maybe if I just changed the frequency--"
"What frequency? What are you talking about?"
"Spaceboy, I'm getting a real hot-rocket idea! See ya later!" And theblond cadet ran for the door.
Tom watched his unit-mate disappear and shook his head in amuseddespair. Roger, he told himself, might be difficult, but he wascertainly never dull.
Then his attention was brought back to the monitors by the warning ofanother approaching spaceship.
"... jet liner _San Francisco_ to Venus space-station traffic control..." the metallic voice crackled over the speaker.
"Jet liner _San Francisco_, this is Venus space-station trafficcontrol," replied Tom. "You are cleared for landing at porteleven--repeat--eleven. Make standard check for approach orbit tostation landing. End transmission!"
From one side of the circular dais, Tom saw Major Connel enter the room.He snapped to attention and saluted smartly.
"Morning, Corbett," said Connel, returning Tom's salute. "Getting intothe swing of the operation?"
"Yes, sir," said Tom. "I've handled about twenty approaches sinceCaptain Stefens left me alone, and about fifty departures." Tom broughthis fist up, with the thumb extended and wiped it across his chest inthe traditional spaceman's signal that all was clear. "I didn't scratchone of 'em, sir," he said, smiling.
"Good enough," said Connel. "Keep it that way." He watched the monitorscreen as the liner _San Francisco_ settled into landing-port eleven.
When she was cradled and secure, he grunted his satisfaction and turnedto leave. At the door he suddenly paused. "By the way, isn't Manning onradar watch?"
"Yes, sir," replied Tom.
"Well, it's one forty-eight. How about his standard check-in withtraffic control?"
Tom stammered, "He--uh--he may be plotting some space junk, sir."
"He _still_ must report, regardless of what he's doing!"
"I--uh--ah--yes, sir!" gulped Tom. Blast Roger anyway, he thought,forgetting the all-important quarter-hour check-in.
"I'd better go up and find out if anything's wrong," said Connel.
"Gosh, sir," suggested Tom, desperately seeking an excuse for hisshipmate. "I'm sure Roger would have notified us if anything hadhappened."
"Knowing Manning as I do, I'm not so sure!" And the irascible officerthundered through the door like a jet-propelled tank!
"Come on, Mason. Hurry and put on that space suit," barked Loring.
"Take it easy," grumbled Mason. "I'm working as fast as I can!"
"Of all the rotten luck," growled Loring. "Who'd ever figure the _AnnieJones_ would blast off from Venus--and then stop at the space station!"
"Shows you ain't so smart," retorted Mason. "Lots of ships do that. Theycarry just enough fuel to get 'em off the surface, so they'll be lightwhile they're blasting out of Venus' gravity. Then they stop at thespace station to refuel for the long haul."
"All right," barked Loring, "lay off the lecture! Just get that spacesuit on in a hurry!"
"Listen, wise guy," challenged Mason, "just tell me one thing. If webail out of this tub in space suits, who's going to pick us up?"
"We're not bailing out!" said Loring.
"We're not? Then what are we suiting up for?"
"Just in case," said Loring. "Now listen to me. In a few minutes the_Annie Jones_'ll make contact with traffic control. Only instead oftalking to the pilot--they'll be talking to us. Because we'll have takenover."
"But unless we land they'll be suspicious. And if we land ..."
Loring interrupted. "Nobody's going to suspect a thing. I'll telltraffic control we've got an extra-heavy load. Then they won't let usland. We follow their orders and blast off into space--find an emergencyfuel station--head for Tara--and nobody suspects anything."
Mason twisted his face into a scowl. "Sounds awful risky to me," hemuttered.
"Sure it's risky," sneered Loring, "but you don't hit the jackpotwithout ever taking a _chance_!"
The two men, huddled against a jumble of packing cases in the cargo holdof the _Annie Jones_, made careful preparations. Checking their weapons,they opened their way toward the freighter's control deck. Just outsidethe hatch they stopped, paralo-ray guns ready, and listened.
Inside, Pilot James Jardine and Leland Bangs, his first officer, werepreparing for the landing at the space station.
"Ought to be picking up the approach radar signal pretty soon," saidBangs. "Better take her off automatic control, Jardine. Use the manualfor close maneuvering."
"Right," answered his spacemate. "Send out a radar blip for them to pickup. I'll check the cargo and make sure it's lashed down for landing.Captain Stefens is tough when it comes to being shipshape."
The freighter blasted evenly, smoothly onward through the darkness ofspace in a straight line for the man-made satellite. Jardine got up fromthe freighter's dual-control board, picked up a portable light, andheaded for the hatch leading to the cargo deck.
"He's coming," hissed Loring. "We'll take him soon's he reaches us."There was a sharp clank as the hatch opened, and Jardine's head cameinto view.
"Now!" yelled Loring. He swung the heavy paralo-ray gun at Jardine'shead.
"What the--" exclaimed the startled spaceman. "Bangs, look out!"
He tried to avoid the blow, but Loring's gun landed on the side of hishead. Jardine crumpled to the deck.
Bangs was out of his seat in a moment, at his pilot's call. The burlyredheaded spaceman saw at a glance what was wrong and lunged for thehatch.
Loring stepped toward him, holding his paralo-ray.
"All right, spaceboy!" he grated. "Hold it or I'll freeze you stiff!"
Bangs stopped and stared at the gun and at Jardine who was slumped onthe deck. Mason rushed past him to the controls.
"What is this?" demanded Bangs.
"An old game," explained Loring with a sneer. "It's called 'You've gotit and I take it.' And if you don't like it, you g
Bangs nodded. "O.K.," he said. "O.K. But how about letting me take careof my buddy. He's hurt."
"Just a bump on the head," said Loring. "He'll come out of it soonenough."
"Hey," shouted Mason, "I can't figure out these controls!"
Loring growled angrily. "Here, lemme at them!" He forced Bangs to liedown on the deck, and then, keeping the gun trained on the redheadedspaceman, 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. "Thistub 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 complicatedcontrols.
Jardine was now conscious but had the presence of mind not to move. Hishead ached from the blow. Slowly he opened his eyes and saw his twoattackers bending over the board. He saw that Bangs was lying on thedeck facing him. Jardine winked at Bangs, who returned the signal. Thenhe began, carefully, methodically to send a Morse-code message to hiscompanion 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 overLoring's shoulder.
"Ah, this wagon is an old converted chemical burner. These controls areold 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 andlunged at Loring and Mason. Loring dove to one side, losing the gun inthe scramble, but as he fell, he reached for the acceleration controllever. He wrenched it out of its socket and brought it down on Bang'shead, and the officer slid to the floor. Jardine, meanwhile, had Masonin a viselike grip, but again Loring used the lever, bringing it downhard on the neck of the freighter pilot. Jardine dropped to the deck.
"Thanks, Loring," gasped Mason. "That was close! Good thing we had onthese space suits, or we'd have been finished. They couldn't grab ontothe 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 thethrust indicator. "We're blasting at full space speed--right for thestation!"
"By the rings of Saturn," cried Loring, "I must've jammed the thrustwhen I yanked the lever out of the control board!"
"Put it back! Slow this ship down!" cried Mason, his face ashen withfear. Loring jumped to the control board and with trembling fingerstried to replace the lever in the socket.
"I can't--can't--" he panted. "We gotta pile outta here! We're headingfor 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 forthem now!"
And as the two men raced toward the stern, the freighter, her powerfulrockets wide open, arrowed straight toward the gleaming white structureof the space station.
"It was easy, honey," cooed Roger into the microphone on the maincontrol panel of the space-station radar bridge.
"I switched the frequency on the station, beamed to a teleceiver trunkline on Earth, and called you up, my little space pet! Smart, huh? Nowremember we have a date as soon as I get back from this important andsecret mission. I could've got out of it, but they needed me badly. Asmuch 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 interruptedhim. He suddenly gulped and turned pale. "Ohhhhhhhhh--good-by, baby!" Heflipped 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 deepsarcastic 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 almosta kindly tone.
"No, sir."
"You failed to make your quarter-hour check to the traffic-controlcenter, I believe?"
"Yes, sir," gulped Roger. The full realization of what he had done wasbeginning to dawn on him.
"And you've tampered with vital station equipment for your own personaluse," added Connel. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach,Roger noticed the major was strangely quiet in his interrogation. Itfelt 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'svoice 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 yourinformation and signals."
"Yes, sir," said Roger quietly. Then he added quickly, "I'd like themajor to know, sir, that this is the first time this has happened."
"I have only your word for that, Manning!" Connel finally began blastingin his all too familiar roar. "Since you've done it once, I see noreason to think you couldn't have done it before or that you might notdo it again!" The officer's face was now almost purple with rage. "Whenyou've repaired that set, return to your quarters! You are confineduntil I decide on disciplinary action!"
Turning abruptly, Connel stormed out of the room, slamming the hatchclosed behind him.
With a sigh Roger turned back to the set. With trembling fingers hereconnected the terminals and made delicate adjustments on the manydials. Finally, as power began to flow through the proper chain ofcircuits, the radar scanner glowed into life and the hair-thin line oflight swept around the dull green surface of the scope. It had been lefton a setting covering two hundred miles around the space station, andseeing the area was clear, Roger increased the range to five hundredmiles. The resulting scan sent a sudden chill down his spine. Aspaceship was roaring toward the station at full thrust!
Cold sweat beaded Roger's forehead as he grabbed for the microphone andcalled Tom.
"Radar bridge to control deck!" The words tumbled out frantically. "Tom!Tom! There's a ship heading right for the station! Bearing 098! Distance450 miles! Coming in on full thrust! Tom, acknowledge! Quick!"
Down on the control deck, Tom had been watching a space freighter easingout of the station when Roger's voice came over the speaker in a thinscream.
"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 upsooner, Roger?"
"Never mind that. Contact that guy and tell him to change course! Hecan't brake in time now!"
"All right! Sign off!" Without waiting for a reply, Tom cut Roger offand switched to a standard space band. His voice quivering, the youngcadet spoke quickly and urgently into the microphone. "Space station tospaceship approaching on orbit 098. Change course! Emergency! Reducethrust and change course or you will crash into us!"
As he spoke, Tom watched the master screen of his scanner and saw theship rocketing closer and closer with no change in speed or course. Herealized that any action, even now, would bring the craft dangerouslyclose to the station
"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 toopposite 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 thegreat man-made satellite was prepared for disaster. On the controldeck, Tom stayed at his station, sounding the warning.
"Emergency! Emergency! All personnel prepare for crash! All personnelprepare for crash!"