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"This satellite is really three-quarters solid copper!" There was a loud mumble as everyone began talking at once. "How are we going to get it back home, sir?" asked Tom. "Wouldn't hauling it back in spaceships cost too much?" "Yes, it would, Corbett," answered Connel, "but I've got an idea how we can lick that problem."
"He was seen leaving the service entrance at about 2100 hours. There is no report as to his whereabouts, sir." Standing at the foot of the ladder leading to the main air lock of the Polaris, Major Connel turned to Carter Devers angrily. "This is the end!" he shouted. "I've had as much of this foolishness as I'm going to take.
The Polaris is a kiddy car in comparison!" "You're right, Astro," said Connel, "but there's one thing you've forgotten. The copper of the satellite itself. That's going to be the main source of power. The reactant fuel from the Space Devil will serve only as a starter, a trigger, you might say, to make use of the copper as fuel!" Once again Astro gasped.
Corbett to Connel. One hour exactly to blast-off time! One hour sixty minutes to blast-off time." Tom flicked the teleceiver microphone off, and on the teleceiver screen, watched his spacemates work under the broiling sun. They were ahead of time. One hour to complete two more units. Tom allowed himself a sigh of hope and relief.
"O.K., it's all set. Let's get out of here!" The two cadets raced back to the jet boat and blasted off immediately. Once in space, Astro turned to Roger. "Better check in with Major Connel before he tears himself to pieces!" "Yeah," agreed Roger. "I guess you're right." He flipped on the audio communicator. "Attention! Attention! Manning to Major Connel. Am making flight back to Polaris.
"Oh, yes," mumbled Sinclair, "the Solar Guard. Of course." Connel got up abruptly. "I would appreciate it if you would look after our ship, though," he said. "I don't think we'll be longer than a week. Shouldn't be hard to track a tyrannosaurus, especially if it's wounded." "I suppose you have all the equipment you need," said Sinclair. "Yes, thank you," replied Connel. Then, thanking Mrs.
Well, if you can get enough power, you can blast this satellite out of Tara's grip also, since the only thing holding it here is the gravity of Tara the same thing that holds the Moon in orbit around Earth!" Astro's eyes bulged. He looked at Connel blankly. "Why, sir," he stammered, "it'd take take a ton of reactant fuel to pull something that size away from Tara.
A few moments later Tom groaned and opened his eyes. "Did I did I stop the truck?" he asked weakly. "You sure did, son!" said Connel, breathing a sigh of relief. "And thank the lucky spaceman's stars that you're all right. I don't see how you got out alive." Tom sat up. "I jumped from the jet car at the last minute," he said. "I guess I must have bumped my head."
"Most of those men were supposed to be planters who know the jungle well. Isn't it possible that they might have their base well hidden and a small party, such as you suggest, could cover too little ground?" Connel turned to Astro. "Astro, do you know that section of the belt?" "Yes, sir," replied Astro. "I hunted all over that area when I was a boy."
"It was a good idea of yours, Steve, to prefabricate the panel and have it put into position all at once. If we had tried to install it piece by piece, we'd be weeks behind." "Good work, Steve," Connel chimed in. Strong merely nodded his thanks. He was tired. More tired than he had ever been in his life.
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