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"Check!" retorted Astro from the power deck, his fingers flying over the switches of the control panel and bringing the ship to a sudden blasting stop. On the control deck, Tom turned to Professor Hemmingwell. "I'm going outside to get Major Connel, sir," he said. "Do you think you'll be all right?" The old man nodded absently, still dazed by the sudden turn of events.
"Roger, the name is Hemmingwell," hissed Tom. "Oh, yeah, sure," nodded Roger, and then turned to Astro. "Is Barret still locked up?" "Yeah," replied the Venusian. "And I hid the key, so Connel can't get to him until he cools off." "The major is coming around," said Tom. As they watched, Connel stirred, coughed several times, and then opened his eyes.
After fifteen minutes and a complete trip around the ship, the major was satisfied that all was in readiness. He returned to the control deck, meeting Barret on the way, and they found Professor Hemmingwell just completing his calculations for the initial test. He turned to them, waving a paper in front of their eyes. "Gentlemen," he said proudly, "we are almost ready.
"Will you give Corbett the order to be ready at 0600 hours tomorrow morning, Steve?" he asked. "Certainly, Lou," replied Strong. As the major turned away, Walters called after him, "Take it easy." Leaving Hemmingwell and Barret to take care of clearing away the wreckage, Strong and Walters climbed out of the ship, left the hangar, and headed for the Academy.
"Then get a machine up here on the double and take down everything that's said." "Yes, sir," said the Marine and left the ship. Connel silently began inspecting the wreckage. It was ten times as serious as the first sabotage attempt. Barret, Commander Walters, Professor Hemmingwell, and Captain Strong watched the major, their teeth clenched, eyes clouded with anger.
They must be lightweight, easily assembled, and precision made, since it's going to have an electronic gismo inside for the projectile to 'home' on." Professor Hemmingwell grunted. "That electronic gismo, as you call it, is the real idea behind the whole operation." "How is that, Professor?" asked Devers. "Well, it works on this principle," began Hemmingwell.
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!"
By the time he checked the rings of eight and nine, his face was a grim mask of anger. "Professor," he called into his helmet microphone, "check in." "Yes, Major," replied Hemmingwell from the control deck. "Have you found the trouble?" "I sure have," Connel growled. "It's sabotage! And now I think I know who " Connel never finished.
"I think we'd better get on with the meeting," he said. "Do you have the plans and specifications, Hemmingwell?" But the wiry professor refused to be dissuaded. He faced Commander Walters and wagged his finger under the spaceman's nose. "You have a perfect right to your own ideas concerning the education of your cadets!" he shouted.
"Private capital, eh?" said Devers, turning to look at the professor admiringly. "You are a very brave man, Professor Hemmingwell, to risk so much. And, I might add, you must be an excellent salesman to sell Solar Alliance bankers your ideas." "Common sense," snorted the professor. "Plain horse sense."
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