“But you don’t have any bombs aboard,” said Roger.
“A little of the fuel and I can build one easily enough,” replied Loring. He turned to Mason. “Go below and suit up to go into the reaction chamber,” he ordered. “Get an extra lead suit out. I’ll go in and help you. And find something we can use for a trigger and a fuse.” He smiled at Roger. “It might be a little crude, but it’ll be fancy enough for what we want. I’m going to blast the Polaris from here back to your sweet little Space Academy!”
Mason and Loring left the radar bridge while Shinny and Roger watched the white blip of the jet boat.
“That could be Tom and Astro in that jet boat,” said Roger softly to himself.
“I guess I’d better stand by the power deck while we maneuver,” said Shinny. “We wanta stay hidden until Loring and Mason get that thing ready.”
Roger nodded, and Shinny disappeared.
Maneuvering cautiously, Roger brought the Space Devil around to the night side of Tara opposite to the landing site of the Polaris.
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! No one gets hurt!”
“Got a squeamish stomach, eh, kid?” Loring laughed. He slapped Mason on the back. “Our little Space Cadet is suddenly worrying about his friends. The same friends that wanted to send him away to the prison asteroid.”
“Blast the ship if you want,” said Roger coldly, “but don’t hurt the crew!”
“Listen, Manning!” snarled Loring. “If the crew gets hurt it ain’t my fault. If they’re in the ship, that’s tough. If not, then that’s O.K. with me. I ain’t sending them any letter telling them I’m going to blast their ship and then have them come up after me with a space torpedo!”
Roger didn’t answer. He turned away and climbed back to the radar bridge. Loring followed him up the ladder.
“Don’t get any ideas about warning your buddies, Manning, ’cause if you do, I’ll blast you before I blast them!”
“Don’t worry,” replied Roger. “It’s daytime on the other side of Tara now, where the Polaris is. The crew might be out on a scouting mission or making observations away from the ship. There’s less chance of their being on the ship. If we’re going to do it, let’s get it over with!”
“O.K. with me,” said Loring. “Take this wagon up toward Alpha Centauri a little way. Coming out of the sun, they won’t see us. We’ll use one of the jet boats to deliver our little present. I’ll set the fuse, put the jet boat on automatic, and aim it right for the Polaris.”
“All right,” agreed Manning reluctantly. He turned to the chart table, plotted a course, and issued orders to Shinny at the controls and to Mason on the power deck. Soon the Space Devil was blasting away from the night side of the planet, heading toward the sun. 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.
Loring, sitting inside the jet boat, waited until they had reached an altitude of five hundred miles.
“All right, Manning,” said Loring, “give me the course!”
Roger calculated the rotational speed of the planet, the Space Devil’s altitude, and the speed of the jet boat. He drew a line between the Space Devil and Polaris, checked it on the astro compass, and reached for the intercom mike. He ran a dry tongue over his lips and called out the course.
“Course is one forty-three—” He caught himself and stared at the chart. Suppose Tom or Astro or anyone was near the ship? Even if he missed by several hundred yards, the bomb would certainly be fatal. If he only changed the course one degree, at a range of five hundred miles, it would miss the Polaris by several miles. And Loring wouldn’t be able to see anything because of the dust cloud.
“Course corrected,” said Roger. “New course is one forty-two!”
“One forty-two!” repeated Loring.
Roger sat back and waited for the small space craft to blast off from the ship. In his mind, he saw Loring setting the trigger on the bomb, adjusting the controls, setting the automatic pilot, and then pressing the acceleration button. Roger gripped the sides of the chart table and stared at the radar scanner. A fast-moving blip was streaking across its surface. Loring had started the jet boat.
His eyes showing his great fear, Roger watched the blip as it sped down like a maddened hornet toward the Polaris resting on its directional fins in the green jungle. He could hear the hatch slam closed below as Loring re-entered the ship, but he continued to watch the rapidly moving blip.
Suddenly it disappeared, and Roger knew it had reached Tara. He slumped back in his chair. His eyes were glassy, his ears deaf to the roar of triumph from below as Loring and Mason, watching the flight of the jet boat on the control deck teleceiver screen, saw it explode. Roger couldn’t move. He had fired a reactant bomb at Tom and Astro.
* * * *
“By the craters of Luna,” roared Connel, “we’ve been attacked!”
The four Earthmen, exploring a valley several miles north of the Polaris, had been thrown to the ground when the bomb landed. Connel’s reaction was immediate and decisive.
“Get into the jet boat! All of you! We’ve got to get back to the Polaris! If our ship is smashed, we’ll spend the rest of our lives fighting this jungle!”
In a matter of seconds the four spacemen were rocketing over the jungle toward the Polaris. Presently they came to an enormous dust cloud that had mushroomed out over the trees. It was so thick Tom found it difficult to pilot the small craft.
“Any danger of radioactivity in this dust, sir?” asked Astro.
“Always that possibility, Astro,” answered Connel. “We’ll know soon enough!” He flipped on a built-in Geiger counter on the dashboard of the jet boat, and immediately the cabin was filled with a loud ticking that warned of danger.
“The count is up to seven fifty, sir,” said Astro. “Not enough to bother you unless you’re in it a long time.”
“There’s the Polaris, sir,” yelled Tom. “She’s still on her directional fins! They missed her! She’s O.K.!”
“By the blessed rings of Saturn, she is!” exclaimed Connel. “Go on, Tom, give this baby the gun! If we have to die, let’s die like spacemen, in space, fighting with spaceman’s weapons, not crawling around here in the jungle like worms!”
The three boys smiled at their skipper’s rousing statement. “This is the time,” thought Tom, “when I’d rather have Major Connel in command than anyone else in the Solar Guard.” If there was to be a fight, then they certainly had found the man who knew how to do just that! Fight!
Tom swooped over the treetops recklessly, and fearing the blast had damaged the jet-boat air lock, brought the small craft to rest in the blinding dust a few yards away from the Polaris.
Three minutes later the four spacemen had separated and were standing by their respective posts. Hasty but thorough checks were made to determine the damage, and finding none, they prepared to raise ship.
“All