Stand by for Mars!

“Stand to, you rocket wash!”

A harsh, bull-throated roar thundered over the platform of the monorail station at Space Academy and suddenly the lively chatter and laughter of more than a hundred boys was stilled. Tumbling out of the gleaming monorail cars, they froze to quick attention, their eyes turned to the main exit ramp.

They saw a short, squat, heavily built man, wearing the scarlet uniform of the enlisted Solar Guard, staring down at them, his fists jammed into his hips and his feet spread wide apart. He stood there a moment, his sharp eyes flicking over the silent clusters, then slowly sauntered down the ramp toward them with a strangely light, catfooted tread.

“Form up! Column of fours!”

Almost before the echoes of the thunderous voice died down, the scattered groups of boys had formed themselves into four ragged lines along the platform.

The scarlet-clad figure stood before them, his seamed and weather-beaten face set in stern lines. But there was a glint of laughter in his eyes as he noticed the grotesque and sometimes tortuous positions of some of the boys as they braced themselves in what they considered a military pose.

Every year, for the last ten years, he had met the trains at the monorail station. Every year, he had seen boys in their late teens, gathered from Earth, Mars and Venus, three planets millions of miles apart. They were dressed in many different styles of clothes; the loose flowing robes of the lads from the Martian deserts; the knee-length shorts and

“Hey, Astro!” Roger Manning stopped the huge boy about to step over. “Going to carry my bags?”

The Venusian, a full head taller, hesitated and looked doubtfully at the four suitcases at Roger’s feet.

“Come on,” prodded Roger in a tone of mock good nature. “The gravity around here is the same as in Atom City. It’s the same all over the face of the Earth. Wouldn’t want you to just fly away.” He snickered and looked around, winking broadly.

Astro still hesitated, “I don’t know, Manning. I⁠—uhh⁠—”

“By the rings of Saturn! What’s going on here?” Suddenly from outside the ring of boys that had gathered around, McKenny came roaring in, bulling his way to the center of the group to face Roger and Astro.

“I have a strained wrist, sir,” began Roger smoothly.

“And this cadet candidate”⁠—he nodded casually toward Astro⁠—“offered to carry my luggage. Now he refuses.”

Mike glared at Astro. “Did you agree to carry this man’s luggage?”

“Well⁠—I⁠—ah⁠—” fumbled Astro.

“Well? Did you or didn’t you?”

“I guess I sorta did, sir,” replied Astro, his face turning a slow red.

“I don’t hold with anyone doing another man’s work, but if a Solar Guard officer, a Space Cadet, or even a cadet candidate gives his word he’ll do something, he does it!” McKenny shook a finger in Astro’s face, reaching up to do it. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” was the embarrassed reply.

McKenny turned to Manning who stood listening, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Tom started to speak, but stopped when he saw Roger take out a handkerchief and dab at his eyes.

The movements of the other boy were crystal-clear to Tom. Roger was crying! Standing in front of the Space Queen and crying!

He kept watching as Roger put away the handkerchief, saluted sharply and turned toward the slidestairs. Ducking behind a glass case that held the first space suit ever used, Tom held his breath as Roger passed him. He could hear Roger mumble.

“They got you⁠—but they won’t get me with any of that glory stuff!”

Tom waited, heart racing, trying to figure out what Roger meant, and why he was here alone in Galaxy Hall. Finally the blond cadet disappeared up the moving stair.

Tom didn’t go to see Captain Strong. Instead, he returned to his room.

“So quick?” asked Astro.

Tom shook his head. “Where’s Roger?” he asked.

Suddenly the ship lurched to one side.

“What’s that?” cried Tom.

A bell began to ring. Then another⁠—and then three more. Finally the entire ship was vibrating with the clanging of emergency bells.

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!⁠—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. “And if we can’t change course, the one we’re on now will take us straight into Mars’s gravity and we crash!”

“Send out an emergency call right away, Roger,” said Tom.

“Can’t, spaceboy,” replied Roger in his lazy drawl. “Not enough juice to call for help. Or haven’t you noticed you’re standing in the dark?”

“But how⁠—how could this happen?” asked Tom, puzzled. “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. “We can either pile out now, in space suits and use the jet boat, and hope for someone to pick us up before the oxygen gives out, or we can ride this space wagon right on in.