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Updated: May 12, 2025
"But it'll take more than a light ship to win this race," said Roger, and unable to restrain himself, he added, "You're bucking the best space busters in the universe!" "One of them" Quent held up his finger "is dead." "Yeah," growled Astro, "but there are plenty more just as good as Gigi Duarte." The intercom buzzer sounded in the ship and Quent snapped, "Beat it! I've got a race to win."
A smile spread across Quent Miles' face. "So that's it, eh? Pretty clever, Charley. Ross know about it?" "Yeah. He's leaving as soon as he knows we've won the time trials. Now get back to the spaceport and take care of Barnard's ship." Quent slipped his hand inside his tunic and patted the lead container. "Too bad this isn't a baby bomb," he muttered. "We could be sure Barnard wouldn't finish."
As they stood side by side, Strong and Walters couldn't help but gasp at the identical features of the two men. "You can never hope to get away, either of you," growled Walters, when he finally regained his composure. Quent laughed. "We're doing more than just hope, Walters." "Just for your information," Ross chimed in, "we're changing ships and taking the cargo with us."
Should Ross see him, Tom would have to make an attempt to knock him out and get the ray gun before Quent could do anything. "Careful, Quent!" called Ross as he moved toward the open hatch. "You too," replied his brother. "This kid is plenty smart." Tom breathed a silent prayer. Ross was now opposite the door. Should the black-suited spaceman decide to look behind it, Tom would be at his mercy.
"Well, Charley? What are we waiting for?" A few moments later they were speeding through the broad streets of Atom City in a jet cab on the way to the Atom City spaceport. "What's this all about?" demanded Quent, settling back in his seat. "Why the rush call?" "I didn't get the contract to haul the crystal," replied Brett grimly.
"What is that supposed to mean?" snapped Roger. "You'll find out, squirt," sneered Quent Miles. "Wait a minute, Quent," said Ross. "I just thought of something. No one knows there are two of us, except these two punks here. We can't work the old gag. We can only use one of them." "How do you mean?" "Simple. The Solar Guard thinks Manning took it on the lam from Ganymede, right?" Quent nodded.
Brett noted the powerful hands and arms and the depth of the shoulders and chest, all emphasized by the tight-fitting clothes the spaceman affected. The man was dark and swarthy, and dressed all in black. Brett had often imagined that if the devil ever took human form it would look like Quent Miles. He shivered uncontrollably and waited. Finally Miles turned to him, a mocking smile on his face.
" ... you will suffer for it," the voice continued. "No use, Tom," said Roger. "The set was only on reception." The two boys looked at each other and then across the control deck to the grinning faces of the twins, Quent and Ross Miles. "Ease her up a little more, Steve!"
He's supposed to stay with you throughout the race." "I gotta go now, Corbett," came Miles' abrupt reply. "I'm hittin' rough stuff here, a swarm of meteors. See you on Titan. Be down there to welcome you in." "Wait! What about Roger?" Tom called frantically into the audioceiver, but Quent Miles did not answer. The young cadet slammed the microphone down on the table.
"Good luck, Roger, and be careful. And remember, Captain Miles has already proved himself a crackerjack spaceman. Don't interfere with him." "Yes, sir," said Roger. "Good luck, Miles," said Strong and offered his hand. Quent ignored it. "Thanks for nothing," he sneered. "I know how much you want me to have." "The best man wins," snapped Strong. He turned on his heels and left the black ship.
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