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"What in blazes are you doing, Corbett?" shouted Connel in sudden alarm. "Just hang on and watch, sir," replied Tom, keeping his eyes on the scanner where he could see the space torpedo trailing them. Over and over, Tom kept slamming the ship into sharp left turns, while the torpedo followed in an ever-narrowing circle. "All right, Tom!" yelled Roger again.
He knew that Sinclair was going through with his plan and he also knew that the Solar Guard would not pay any attention to anything he had to say. If, after three warnings, Sinclair didn't brake jets and bring his ship to a stop, he would be blasted out of space. He had to do something. "Where's the communicator?" asked Tom. "Over by the radar scanner." Sinclair eyed him suspiciously.
He's drawn two pressure-suited figures going in their air lock. One's larger than the other. Will you go?" "Naturally!" said Baird. Then he added thoughtfully: "But I'd better carry a portable scanner, sir. It should work perfectly well through a bronze hull, sir." The skipper nodded and began to sketch a diagram which would amount to an acceptance of the Plumie's invitation.
There is an average of 10 mistakes per page for a good OCR package and... many more mistakes if the quality of the scanner and the OCR package is not great. The book is proofread twice on the computer screen by two different people, who make any corrections necessary. When the original is in poor condition, as with very old books, it is keyed in manually, word by word.
"That's just it," said Roger. "I remember distinctly loading all of them in the locker near the main scanner on the radar deck." "Then we have to get it from another ship," said Tom. "The chances of getting one here, aboard the Polaris, are zero." "Say, Roger," suddenly asked Astro, "do you think you remember enough about that triple vacuum tube to draw me a blueprint?" "Sure," said Roger.
On the control deck, Tom was strapping himself into the pilot's chair and calling frantically into the intercom, "Give me a course, Roger!" "One-seventy-degree turn to starboard," replied Roger, "and full ahead! I've got the major on my scanner." "Pour on the power, Astro!" shouted Tom, gripping the controls firmly.
Paying scant attention to the crush of sudden acceleration, Tom gave the ship all the power she could take for the climb out of Tara's atmosphere, and soon they were rocketing through the airless void of space. Alfie and Connel hurriedly swept the area with the radar scanner for the attacking intruder. "There she is!" roared Connel. "There!" He placed a finger on a white blip on the scanner.
"Keep your eyes nailed to that scanner!" Connel bellowed. "Sing out if Devers changes course by so much as a hair!" "Aye, aye, sir!" "Astro!" "Sir?" "Put space suits on Professor Hemmingwell and Barret and stand by with them on the control deck." "Aye, aye, sir!" "Corbett, you and I will check the projectiles. Make sure they're in firing order!" Spinning on his heel, Connel left the radar bridge.
Directly in front of him was the huge radar scanner, and to one side and overhead was a tube mounted on a swivel joint that looked like a small telescope, but which was actually an astrogation prism for taking sights on the celestial bodies in space. Roger concentrated on the first problem. " ... you are now in the northwest quadrant of Mars, chart M, area twenty-eight.
He flipped on the scanner switch and while he waited for the set to warm up he turned back to Tom. "What's your idea?" "Well," began Tom, "the only thing we've got on board that we can use to fight back with are those projectiles." "How can we fight with projectiles?" demanded Roger. "They don't carry warheads!" "No," agreed Tom. "But they're big and heavy.
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