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The captain frowned, but pushed the engineering room intercom. "Is Dr. Chi with you, Mr. Blackhawk?" he asked, and when Mike's voice answered, "Yes, sir," he said, "Will you both report to the bridge at once, please?" When the two arrived, only a little tardily, on the bridge, the captain addressed Ishie. "You heard of the disaster last night?" The physicist nodded.
Once during the night all three radars, the two at Washington and the one at Andrews AFB, picked up a target three miles north of the Riverdale Radio beacon, north of Washington. For thirty seconds the three radar operators compared notes about the target over the intercom, then suddenly the target was gone and it left all three radarscopes simultaneously.
"How's she coming?" The voice came over the intercom to the Power Section, and Mike the Angel knew that the question was meant for him. "She'll make it, Captain," he said. "She'll make it. I designed this thing for a 500 per cent overload. She'll make it." "Good," said Black Bart, snapping off the intercom. Mike exhaled gustily.
A festive atmosphere surrounded the vast Solar Guard installation. But in his office in the Tower of Galileo, Captain Strong paced the floor, a worried frown on his face. He stepped around his desk and picked up a paper to re-read it for the tenth time. He shook his head and flipped open the key of his desk intercom, connecting him with the enlisted spaceman in the next office.
Absolutely nothing that would give any one a clue to the fact that there is a method of acceleration aboard. Understood?" "Ye-es, Mah-ike." Mike switched off the vocoder, flipped his intercom to the temporary galley in the morgue, and ordered two breakfasts readied. Then he set off for the morgue. Mike Blackhawk located Dr. Y. Chi Tung's hammock, and nudged the scientist unceremoniously.
"Aye, aye, sir," replied Tom at the controls. "Main battery, stand by to fire." Strong watched the enemy ship closely. "Aye, aye!" came the answer over the intercom. "Approaching target!" called the range finder. "Closing to fifty thousand yards forty thousand " "Pleiades and Regulus," Strong called the other two ships of his squadron. "Cut in on port and starboard flanks. Squadron B, stand by!"
As the mighty ship blasted in a long, sweeping arc, Professor Hemmingwell sat numbly in his chair, aware only that the three cadets were taking the vessel back into the area where the remaining projectiles, completely out of control, were buzzing around in space like maddened hornets. "There he is!" Roger's voice rose to a triumphant shout on the intercom. "Put the brakes on this wagon!"
In the short while since Alfie's arrival and the week since Roger's disappearance there hadn't been time to forget their old unit-mate and get accustomed to a new personality. Astro sensed Tom's feelings and irritably banged one hamlike fist into the other. Alfie was O.K., thought the big Venusian, but by the craters of Luna, he wasn't Roger. "Attention attention!" The intercom crackled into life.
In typical fashion, Connel jumped to it without any idle conversational prologue. "I'm here on a security assignment. I need confidential information." "Just one moment, Major," said James. He flipped open his desk intercom and called to his secretary outside. "Record this conversation, please." "Record!" roared Connel. "I just told you this was secret!"
Oh, and send somebody for coffee lots of coffee." On the bridge the captain flipped the intercom to Dr. Green's station. "Is Major Elbertson under the influence of any unusual drugs, doctor?" he asked when he'd reached the medical staff chief. "Anything that might make his behavior erratic?" "Only sedatives, captain. And, oh yes, those new sulph-hydral anti-radiation shots.
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