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"They're in the Solar Guard and they take orders," said Connel. "No," persisted Hemmingwell. "I will not let a man on that ship that does not want to go. Remember, Major, it is still my personal property." "All right," said Connel grimly. "I'll see if I can recruit a crew from the civilian workers around the Academy." But Major Connel encountered the same superstitious dread everywhere.
"You make one more call like that over a public teleceiver," Connel roared, "especially a transspace call that's monitored by the idiots in the teleceiver company, and I'll send you to a prison asteroid!" "Now, Major," said Hemmingwell testily, "I don't think you should speak to Dave that way. After all, he's a very valuable man in this project."
She'll be good as new." "I'm afraid you'll have to do without the services of Dave Barret though, sir," commented Connel dryly. "He's got a previous engagement on a prison asteroid and it's going to take him a long time." "I can do very well without him," said Hemmingwell. "As a matter of fact, I would have done extremely well without him before." He paused and shook his head.
"What do you mean, Dave?" asked Hemmingwell. "I depend a great deal on instinct," replied Barret. "And as good as Troy's work has been, I feel the man is hiding something." "Come now, Dave," snorted the professor. "I've known him a long time. I think you're being a little harsh." As Barret shrugged and didn't reply, a troubled expression crossed Hemmingwell's face.
"Professor Hemmingwell," said Commander Walters, rising from his chair, "if there had to be a choice between your project, as valuable as it may be, and the valuable lesson learned today by my cadets, I'll tell you right now that the lesson would come first. This was a very important issue.
Barret suddenly rose from his acceleration couch, screaming, "You can't keep me here! Let me go!" Astro grabbed him quickly and threw him back down. "Stay put," he growled. "No," cried Barret, frantic with fear. "It's murder! Let me go!" "Relax and enjoy it, Barret," snorted Connel. "It's your boss who's doing it!" "What about Professor Hemmingwell, sir?" asked Tom. "Shouldn't we ?"
"How much time do we have, Roger?" "Get set down there. Only another ten seconds and Devers will be right on our bow." "On the ball, Tom!" ordered Connel. "Ready, sir." The seconds ticked by slowly. One two three four Beads of sweat appeared on Connel's brow. Astro clenched and unclenched his fists. Hemmingwell closed his eyes calmly and waited.
"This is an important unit," Hemmingwell replied, indicating the wreckage, "but not the most important part of the whole unit. Anyone who really knew what he was doing and wanted to delay the project could have done so much more easily by simply destroying this." Hemmingwell held out a small metallic-looking cylinder. "What is that, Professor?" asked Barret. "Don't you know?" asked Connel.
When it had been securely anchored, a team of technicians swarmed over the panel to begin the intricate work of connecting all the controls to the various parts of the ship, and Hemmingwell and the two Solar Guard officers stepped back to watch them. "This puts us back on schedule now," said the professor, turning, red-eyed and tired, to Connel and Strong.
Devers laughed. "The last thing you'll do is kiss a space torpedo. Then no more Major Blast-off Connel, no more whimpering Professor Hemmingwell, and most important, no more projectile ship!" And as Devers laughed loudly, Tom threw the ship into another violent turn and cried, "It's no use, Major. I can't duck this one!" "All hands brace for torpedo!" warned Connel.
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