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Connel's bull-throated roar blasted through the intercom of the gleaming projectile ship from the power deck where Dave Barret was stationed, up to the radar bridge where Professor Hemmingwell waited anxiously. On the main deck, seated at the controls, Connel spoke rapidly into the audioceiver microphone. "Projectile vessel to spaceport traffic control," he called. "Request blast-off clearance!"

He's supposed to stay with you throughout the race." "I gotta go now, Corbett," came Miles' abrupt reply. "I'm hittin' rough stuff here, a swarm of meteors. See you on Titan. Be down there to welcome you in." "Wait! What about Roger?" Tom called frantically into the audioceiver, but Quent Miles did not answer. The young cadet slammed the microphone down on the table.

"Tonight, on a special combined audioceiver and teleceiver broadcast to all parts of the Solar Alliance, the president of the Solar Council will ask for volunteers men who will take man's first step through deep space to the stars. It is a step, which, in the thousands of years ahead, will eventually lead to a civilization of Earthmen throughout all space!"

"End transmission." Tom turned back to the skipper of the Space Lance with a feeling of despair. "I can't figure it out, Bill," he said. "Roger's pulled some boners before, real rocket blasters, but refusing to answer a call from Strong " He shook his head. The audioceiver suddenly crackled into life. "Space Knight to Space Lance, check in!" Quent Miles' voice was harsh and clear.

Tom spun the dials on the audioceiver desperately, ranging over every circuit and repeating his cry. "This is Cadet Corbett! I am being held prisoner with Cadet Roger Manning aboard the spaceship Space Knight in space quadrant four, chart C for Charley...." Suddenly the hum of the generators stopped and the glow of the tubes in the audioceiver died.

"Probably wishing he had stopped for fuel!" interjected Astro with a sour look on his face. "See if you can pick up Sticoon on the audioceiver, Astro," said Kit. "Ask him for an estimated time of arrival on Deimos. One of us will have to come in first." Astro flipped the switch on the panel and began his call "Good Company to Space Lance, come in!" "Right here, Astro," replied Tom immediately.

"They can't get out now until someone comes and loosens up those nuts." "Get down below and start transferring that cargo to the Polaris," ordered Ross, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. "I'll get on the audioceiver and tell that cruiser squadron to go back." Quent laughed. "You know, Ross, this is terrific," he chortled.

The audioceiver behind them crackled into life, and there was a clear, piercing signal, a sign that an emergency transmission was taking over all channels. The signal continued until the clear, strong voice of Commander Walters flooded the control deck of the ship. "Attention! Attention! This is Commander Walters of the Solar Guard!

Only scant minutes separated their estimated times of arrival. "How much farther do you think that wagon of yours will hold out, Barnard?" continued Miles over the audioceiver. "You'll burn it up or shake it apart. This race is in the bag!" "All right, Miles," interrupted Tom. "We'll do our talking at the Titan spaceport. Now let me talk to Roger."

"It not only works, but from the looks of that thing, we'll use very little more fuel. So now it's our turn to by-pass a fuel stop! We're going right on through to Titan!" "You're whistling into the wind, Barnard!" Quent Miles' voice was harsh and derisive as it crackled over the audioceiver. "You could never catch up with me in a hundred light years! This race is in the bag for yours truly!"