“Good thing you brought along those tools from the Polaris,” said Tom.
“Yeah, greaseball,” said Roger, “you used your head for once. Now let’s see you use it again and pile out of this hunk of junk!”
“Fifteen hundred on the counter is the danger mark, Roger, and as long as we keep it under that, I’m going to try and save this wagon!” replied Astro.
“Why? To get yourself a Solar Medal?” asked Roger sarcastically.
“What do you think made this tub act up like this, Astro?” asked Tom, ignoring Roger’s remark.
“Using special reactant feed, Tom,” replied Astro. “This is a converted chemical burner—with an old-type cooling pump. It’s touchy stuff.”
“Well, couldn’t we drive boron rods into the mass and slow down the reaction?” asked Tom.
“No, Tom,” answered Astro, “the control for the rods are inside the tube control box. We can’t reach it.”
There was a sudden loud ticking from the Geiger counter.
“Astro!” cried Roger. “The mass is building!”
“Here, lemme see!” shouted Astro. He took the instrument in his big hand and watched the clocklike face intently.
“…fourteen hundred thirty—fourteen hundred fifty—fourteen hundred seventy—” He faced his unit-mates. “Well, that does it. The mass is maintaining a steady reaction without the energizing pumps. It’s sustaining itself!”
“But how is that possible?” asked Tom.
“It’s one of those freaks, Tom. It’s been known to happen before. The fuel is just hot enough to sustain a steady reaction because of its high intensity. Once that baffle worked loose, the mass started wildcatting itself.”
“And if it doesn’t stop?” asked Roger tensely.
“It’ll reach a point where the reaction comes so fast it’ll explode!”
“Let’s pile out of here!” said Roger.
The three boys made a dash for their space suits and the jet boat. Inside the air lock, they adjusted their oxygen valves and waited for pressure to equalize so they could blast off.
“Blast it,” said Astro, “there must be some way to get to that rocket tube and dump that stuff!”
“Impossible, Astro,” said Roger. “The release controls are in the control box, and with all that radiation loose, you wouldn’t last half a minute!”
Tom walked over to the valve that would open the outside hatch.
“Wonder how Captain Strong is making out with those tough babies on the Polaris?” asked Tom.
“I don’t know,” replied Roger, “but anything would be better than sitting around waiting for this thing to blow up!”
“Ah—stop griping,” said Astro, “or I’ll shove you up a rocket tube and blast you from here all the way back to Atom City!”
“Hey, wait a minute!” shouted Tom. “Astro, remember the time we were on the ground crew as extra duty and we had to overhaul the Polaris?”
“Yeah, why?”
“There was one place you couldn’t go. You were too big, so I went in, remember?”
“Yeah, the space between the rocket tubes and the hull of the ship. It was when we were putting in the new tube. So what?”
“So this!” said Tom. “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!”
“Say, what are you two guys talking about?” asked Roger.
“Saving a ship, Roger,” said Tom. “Dumping the whole assembly of the number-three rocket!”
“Ah—you’re space happy!”
“Maybe,” said Tom, “but I think it’s worth trying. How about it, Astro?”
“O.K. by me, Tom,” replied Astro.
“Good. You get the cutting torches rigged, Astro. Roger, you give him a hand and keep your eye on the counter. Then feed the torches to me when I get inside the tube. I’m going outside to get rid of a bad rocket and save a five-million-credit spaceship!”
Before Astro or Roger could protest, Tom opened the hatch and began to climb out on the steel hull toward the rocket tubes, main exhaust.
His magnetic-soled shoes gripping the smooth steel hull, the cadet made his way aft to the stern of the ship and began the climb down around the huge firing tubes and into the tubes themselves.
“Hey, Astro,” he yelled into the spacephone, “I’m inside the tubes. How about those torches?” The cadets had adjusted the wave length so that all could hear what was said.
“Take it easy, spaceboy,” said Roger, “I’m leaving the hatch now. You and your fatheaded friend from Venus are so hopped up for getting a Solar Medal—”
“Knock it off, Manning!” said Astro from inside the ship. “And for your information, I don’t want a medal. I don’t want anything except for you to stop griping!”
Roger reached the end of the ship and began to climb down inside the tube where Tom was waiting for him.
“O.K., spaceboy,” said Roger, “here’re your cutting torches.” He started moving back. “I’ll see you around. I don’t mind being a little hero for saving people and all that stuff. But not for any ship. And the odds against a big hero staying alive are too big!”
“Roger, wait,” shouted Tom. “I’ll need.…” And then the curly-headed cadet clamped his teeth together and turned back to the task at hand.
He made adjustments on the nozzle of the cutting torch, and then, focusing his chest light, called to Astro.
“O.K., Astro,” he said, “shoot me the juice!”
“Coming up, Tom!” answered Astro. “And wait till I get my hands on that Manning! I’m going to smear that yellow space crawler from one corner of the universe to another!”
“Never mind the talk,” snarled Roger, who at the moment was re-entering the tube. “Just get that juice down to this torch and make it fast!”
Tom turned to see Roger crawling back into the tube and adjusting a cutting torch.
“Glad to have you aboard, Roger,” said Tom with a smile that Roger could not see in the darkness of the tube. The two boys went to work.
Suddenly the torches came to life. And immediately Tom and Roger began to cut away at the cleats that held the tube lining to the skin of the ship. Steadily, the cadets worked their way up toward the center of the ship, cutting anything that looked as though it might hold the giant tube to the ship.
“Boy,” said Tom, “it’s getting hot in here!”
From inside the ship, Astro’s reassuring voice came back in answer. “You’re getting close to the reactant-mass chamber. The last cleat is up by one of the exhaust gratings. Think you can last it?”
“Well, if he can’t,” snarled Roger, “he’s sure to get that medal anyway!” He inched up a little. “Move over, Corbett, I’m skinnier than you are,