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"You either consent to the regulations, or disqualify yourself from the race." The spaceman's face turned a dusky red under his swarthy complexion. "All right, all right! If that's the way it is, that's the way we'll play it. But I'm warning you, Manning, stay away from me." Strong glanced at his wrist chronograph. "You have five minutes before the blast-off, stand by." He shook hands with Roger.
Connel's voice roared over the intercom. "You were ordered to report to the control deck in five minutes! You are already one minute late! Report to the control deck on the double and I mean double!" Loring and Mason laughed. "Old 'Blast-off' Connel's really got your number, eh, kid?" "Ah, rocket off, you pinheaded piece of space junk! It didn't take him long to dampen your tubes!"
He glanced to one side, then the other, cautiously, and saw it was empty. And for good reason! No one wanted to be around when "Blast-off" Connel was blasting. Cadets, enlisted men, and even officers were not safe from his sudden outbursts. He drove himself so hard that he became impatient with others who were not able to match his drive.
You wouldn't, by any chance, be going back soon, would you? I saw the Solar Guard cruiser come in and one of the attendants told me that they were preparing it for immediate blast-off " "Of course, Carter," Connel said briskly. "Get in. We're just going over to inspect the receivers and then we'll be heading back."
Corbett to Connel. One hour exactly to blast-off time! One hour sixty minutes to blast-off time." Tom flicked the teleceiver microphone off, and on the teleceiver screen, watched his spacemates work under the broiling sun. They were ahead of time. One hour to complete two more units. Tom allowed himself a sigh of hope and relief.
Tom's warning call from the Polaris control deck, tuned to the open communicators of all the jet boats, broke through the loud-speaker. "Attention! Attention! Corbett to Connel. One hour and twenty minutes to blast-off time. One hour and twenty minutes to blast-off time." The two cadets looked at each other as they heard Tom's voice, but neither spoke.
Eyes straight, chins in, the cadets waited for whatever calamity had befallen them. From behind came quick, heavy footsteps. They drew closer until they passed alongside and then abruptly stopped. There, in front of them, stood the one and only Major "Blast-off" Connel!
In less than a minute the Polaris had cleared atmosphere and Tom turned on the artificial-gravity generators. He made a quick computation on the planetary calculator, fired the port steering rockets, and sent the ship in a long arching course for Venusport. Then, unstrapping himself, he turned to see how Mr. and Mrs. Hill had taken the blast-off.
You stay here on the control deck, Tom, and keep in touch with us on Junior at all times. You know what to do?" "Yes, sir," replied Tom. "I'm to stand by and give you a minute-by-minute warning check until final blast-off time." "Right," said Connel. "And remember, we're counting on you to tell us when to blast off. We'll be too busy down there to pay any attention."
The captain handed Philander some letters, but the latter shoved them in his pocket for the time beings without stopping to look at them. Finally it was time for blast-off, and Hanlon said his last farewells to the superintendent, then went in to stow his bags in his stateroom and prepare for take-off. He had expected to be locked in again, and merely tried the door out of curiosity.
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