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Strong flipped a switch on the intercom to direct contact with the waiting ship and gave Sticoon the oft-repeated final briefing, concluding, "Do not go beyond the necessary limitations of fuel consumption that are provided for in the Solar Guard space code. If you return here with less than a quarter supply of reactant fuel, you will be disqualified. Stand by to blast off!"
"The same as everyone else, Commander." "What about your feeders?" asked Strong. "With ordinary reactant, and no new cooling units aboard your ship, you must have oversized feeders to make such fantastic speeds." Brett shrugged and held out his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I don't even know myself, Captain Strong," he said blandly. "It's one reason why I have Quent Miles piloting for me.
"We were only going at half speed and using just three rockets!" "When we got rid of that hot tube back in space," explained Astro grimly, "we dumped the main reactant mass. There isn't a thing we can do!" "We've got one choice," said Tom hollowly.
When they reached an altitude of a thousand miles above the surface of the planet, Loring maneuvered the jet boat into position outside the ship and placed the crude reactant bomb inside. Ready, he gave Roger the signal to make the run out of the sun toward the Polaris. Roger relayed the orders to Shinny and Mason, and the Space Devil rocketed back toward the planet again.
"If the whole upper part of the ship is flooded with that stuff, we won't have enough room to spread it around." "We could always open the reaction chamber and fill that," suggested Astro, indicating the hatch in the floor of the power deck that lead to the reactant chamber. "I'd just as soon take my chances with sand," said Roger, "as risk opening that hatch.
Four hours later Loring and Mason came out of the reactant chamber carrying a small lead box. They placed it gently on the deck and began taking off their lead suits. Roger and Shinny stared at the box. "There she is," said Loring. "Not much to look at, but there's enough juice in there to blast the Polaris into space junk!" "Wait a minute, Loring!" said Roger. "There'll be no killing!
He checked the electric timing device in front of him that ticked off the seconds, as a red hand crawled around to zero, and when it swept down to the thirty-second mark, Tom pulled the microphone to his lips again. "Control deck to power deck. Check in!" "Power deck, aye?" "Energize the cooling pumps!" "Cooling pumps, aye!" repeated Astro. "Feed reactant!" "Reactant at D-9 rate."
Tom!" shouted Astro from the power deck. "We're smack out of reactant feed!" "Isn't there any left at all?" asked Tom. "Not even enough to get us into Marsopolis?" "We haven't enough left to keep the generator going!" said Astro. "Everything, including the lights and the teleceiver, will go any minute!" "Then we can't change course!" "Right," drawled Roger.
"Pretty confident your man will win, eh?" "Most assuredly," said Brett with elaborate sarcasm. "I would never have entered a ship in the race if I didn't think I would win. Though, in all fairness, I think I should have received the contract to haul the crystal without this extra effort." "What kind of reactant is Quent Miles using in that ship of yours?" asked Walters sharply. Brett smiled.
"Feed reactant at D-9 rate!" ordered Tom. And far below on the power deck, Astro began to feed the reactant energy into the firing chambers. Hardy looked at Strong and nodded in appreciation of the cadets' smooth efficient work. They strapped themselves into acceleration cushions and watched the red second hand of the astral chronometer sweep around, and then heard Tom counting off the seconds.
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