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Connel, his eye on the clock, his sharp tongue lashing out when he thought he detected unclear thinking, raced from one department to another while the incessant work continued. On the morning of the fourth day he walked into the radar bridge where Roger and Alfie had been working steadily for seventy-two hours on an electronic fuse to trigger the reactant units.
The young cadet shook his head, remembering a six-weeks' grind he, Roger, and Astro had gone through on a nuclear project. Knowing how to operate an atomic rocket motor was one thing, but understanding what went on inside the reactant pile was something else entirely. Never had the three cadets worked harder, or more closely together.
From seventy feet below them, Strong and Tom heard the hiss of the reactant mass feeding into the rocket motors, and the screeching whine of the mighty pumps that kept the mass from building too rapidly and exploding. The second hand swept up to the twenty-second mark. "Control deck to radar deck," called Tom. "Do we have a clear trajectory forward?"
"When they converted this tub, they had standard exhausts, so it must have the same layout as the Polaris. Suppose I climb in the main exhaust, between the tube and the outer hull, and cut away the cleats that hold the tube to the ship?" "Why, then everything would come out in one piece!" Astro's face lit up. "Reactant mass, tube, control box the works!"
"Power deck," Connel called into the intercom, "check in!" "Power deck, aye!" reported Barret. "Radar deck, check in!" "Radar deck, aye!" Professor Hemmingwell acknowledged in a thin voice. "Feed reactant!" Connel ordered. "Reactant feeding at D-9 rate," said Barret after a split-second pause. "Energize cooling pumps!" "Cooling pumps, aye!" "Cut in take-off gyros!" "Gyros on," repeated Barret.
"It has to do with the pumps," replied the power-deck cadet. "They cool the reactant fuel to keep it from getting too hot and wildcatting. At a D-9 rate the reactant is hot enough to create power for normal flight. Feeding at a D-18 rate is fine too, but you need pumps to cool the motors, and pumps that could do the job would be too big."
"You know what we found on the Space Knight?" exclaimed Sid, unable to hold back. "What?" asked Tom. "Almost a full tank of reactant!" replied the young engineer. "And the after burners showed about as much wear as if the ship had jumped from Earth to Venus." "What's that, young man?" snapped Walters, stepping forward quickly. "What are you talking about?"
"The gravity of Tara is the rope holding Junior ah" he fumbled "making it swing around!" "And the reactant power of the Space Devil placed in the right spot would be the trigger to make it let go!" commented Roger. "It's as simple as that, boys!" said Connel with a smile. "But how in the blazing beams of the sun are you going to stop that blasted thing when you get it rolling?" asked Shinny.
Brett took a small lead container out of his pocket and handed it to Quent. "This is impure reactant. Dump it into his feeders and we can count him out of the race." Quent took the lead container, looked at it, and then stuffed it inside his tunic. "What'll happen?" "Nothing. He'll just get out in space and find his pumps won't handle the heat from his feeders, that's all.
Astro made a diving leap for the ladder leading down to the power deck, with Tom lunging for the control board. Quickly Tom glanced about the huge board with its many different gauges and dials, searching for the one that would indicate the trouble. His eye spotted a huge gauge. A small light beside it flashed off and on. "By the moons of Jupiter, we've run out of reactant fuel!" "Tom!
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