CHAPTER 8
"Tom! Tom!"
Connel knelt beside the limp form of the Space Cadet, callingfrantically, praying that the boy would be miraculously unhurt, yetfearing the worst. A few moments later Tom groaned and opened his eyes.
"Did I--did I stop the truck?" he asked weakly.
"You sure did, son!" said Connel, breathing a sigh of relief. "And thankthe lucky spaceman's stars that you're all right. I don't see how yougot out alive."
Tom sat up. "I jumped from the jet car at the last minute," he said. "Iguess I must have bumped my head." He looked down at his torn uniform."Wow," he said. "Look at me."
"Don't worry about it." Connel laughed. He turned to Lieutenant Slickwho had just rushed up.
"Lieutenant, I want a complete check on the men who were standingoutside the fence when that truck ran away."
"Yes, sir." The young lieutenant patted Tom on the shoulder. "Goodwork, Cadet," he said and started away.
Tom grinned his thanks at the young officer and struggled to his feet."Sir," he said to Connel, "I think I should explain something about thattruck."
"The truck!" cried Connel. He turned and called, "Lieutenant, come backhere." The young officer turned back. "Go ahead, Tom," said Connel.
While Tom told his story of the truck having been parked near the gate,and having started to roll by itself, Connel and Slick listenedintently. Quietly Devers joined them. Finally, when Tom had finished,Connel rubbed his chin thoughtfully and stared at the truck which wasbeing examined by a swarm of guards.
A few moments later the sergeant in command reported to Connel that theyhad found a worn clutch plate that could have slipped and caused thetruck to roll of its own accord, especially if the motor was turningover.
Connel nodded and then ordered, "Get the driver over here."
The man that had spoken to Tom about the secret project came forwardunder guard. He was thoroughly frightened and Connel was aware of it."Relax, friend," he said. "I just want to ask you one question."
"Yes, sir," gulped the truck driver.
"Was there anything wrong with your truck?" demanded Connel.
"Yes, sir," replied the driver. "I had a slipping clutch."
Connel turned abruptly to Lieutenant Slick. "All right, Slick, releasethis man and get that fence back up. I'm satisfied that it was anaccident."
"Yes, sir," replied Slick, and left the group with the grateful driver.
Connel relaxed for the first time and turned to Carter Devers who hadbeen standing by silently. "Well, Carter," he said, "see what I meantabout the _Polaris_ unit getting into trouble! Blast it, if they don'tstart it, they sure can finish it." He turned to Tom. "Son, you deservesome time off. Go back to the Spacelanes Hotel in Marsport and getyourself a room. Just forget everything and relax. And get a newuniform, too."
"And send the bill to me," Devers suddenly spoke up. "It's the least Ican do."
"Thank you, sir," said Tom. "I could sure use a little sleep."
Hitching a ride on a jet sled, Tom rode over to the administrationbuilding where he managed to clean up enough to make himself presentableat the hotel. Later, as he rode along the curving canal in a jet cabinto the main section of Marsport, he relaxed for the first time andenjoyed the sights.
The city of Marsport was built in a hurry--at least, the old section ofthe city was. Like many other planets, when first colonized by the earlygreat conquerors of space several hundred years before, the city grewout of immediate need, with no formalized plan.
Years later, when the Solar Alliance was formed and there was uniformgovernment all over the solar system, the citizens of Mars began toregard their ugly little capital with distaste. A major effort was madeto clean up its squalid appearance and huge cargoes of Titan crystalwere shipped to Mars for modern construction. Now, as Tom Corbett rodein comfort along a speedway bordering one of the ancient canals, heapproached the city with a vague feeling of awe. Gleaming towers,reflecting the last rays of the setting sun, loomed just ahead of him,and the wavy lines of heat rising out of the sandy deserts seemed tomake the buildings dance. It was a sunset ballet that never failed tothrill even the oldest Martian citizen.
At the magnificent Spacelanes Hotel, Tom was greeted with the greatestrespect. Already his feat of stopping the runaway truck had beenannounced over the stereo newscasts, and when he asked the location ofthe nearest supply store to buy a uniform, one was immediately broughtto his room by the manager.
"But how did you know?" asked Tom, astounded.
The manager showed Tom a photograph of himself in his ragged clothes,taken while he was talking to Connel. In the background was the remainsof the jet car.
"Major Connel called and said you would be staying here," said themanager. "From the looks of you in this picture, we knew you would needa new uniform."
"And you've got my size!" exclaimed Tom, holding up the gleaming newblouse.
"We called the Academy." The manager smiled. "We wanted to be sure.Incidentally, there is a message for you." The manager handed Tom atyped space-o-gram and left. The cadet ripped it open and smiled as heread:
TRYING TO HOG ALL THE STEREO SPACE YOU CAN WHILE YOU LEAVE THE REAL COMPETITION AT HOME, YOU RAT! CONGRATULATIONS!
ASTRO AND ROGER
Laughing to himself, Tom left the message on the desk, stripped off historn, dirty clothes, and stepped into a hot, refreshing shower. Half anhour later he was digging into a thick steak with French fried potatoes.
After a third helping of dessert, the cadet stretched out on the bed andclosed his eyes. But sleep would not come. The incidents at thespaceport that afternoon kept flashing through his mind. He tossedrestlessly, something he couldn't quite remember was tugging at the backof his mind.
He retraced the events of the day, beginning with the landing of the_Polaris_ and ending with the crash of the jet truck.
Suddenly he sat up straight. Then quickly he jumped out of bed,hurriedly threw on the new uniform, and rammed his feet into the softspace boots.
Ten minutes later, having used the service elevator to avoid the lobby,he stood on the corner of Lowell Lane and Builker Avenue. He hailed apassing jet cab, and climbing in, asked the driver, "Do you know arestaurant or a bar called Sloppy Sam's?"
"Sure," said the driver. "That where you want to go?"
"As fast as this wagon will get me there," replied Tom.
"Why?" asked the driver strangely. "You look like a nice kid. Thatjoint's for--for--well, it ain't for a Space Cadet," he concludedlamely.
"The first thing they teach us at the Academy, buddy," said Tomimpatiently, "is how to take care of ourselves, and the second thing isto mind our own business."
"Right," said the driver, tight-lipped. He slammed the car into motionand the force hurled Tom back in his seat.
Tom grinned. He hadn't meant to sound so tough. He leaned over andapologized. "I'm looking for an old friend. Someone told me he drives atruck and he might be there."
"Forget it, kid," said the driver. "I wouldn't want you in my cab if youcouldn't take care of yourself. We pay taxes to teach guys like you howto protect us. A lot of good it would do if you were scared of a taxidriver."
Tom laughed and settled back in his seat to watch the city flash past.
A half hour later the curly-haired cadet became aware of the change fromthe magnificent crystal buildings to the dirty and streaked buildings ofthe poorer section of the city. And with the change, Tom noticed adifference in the people who walked the streets. Here were men who woretheir coat collars high and their caps pulled low, and who would duckinto the shadows at the approach of the cab and then watch it with dark,silent eyes.
"Here ya are, Cadet," the driver announced, stopping in front of asmall, dirty building. "Sloppy Sam's."
Tom looked out. The door was open and he could see inside. Sawdustcovered the floor, and the tables and chairs were old and rickety. Themen inside were the same as those he had seen on the street,tough-looking, hard, steely
-eyed. Tom looked at the faded sign over thedoor. "That says _Bad_ Sam's," he protested.
_The men inside were tough-looking and steely-eyed_]
"Used to be called Bad Sam's," replied the driver. "As a matter of fact,I think it's still officially Bad Sam's. You see, Sam used to be a realtough fella. Then one day a fella came along that was tougher than hewas and beat the exhaust out of him. Sam went to pot after that. He gotfat and lazy, and his place here got dirtier and dirtier. Finallyeverybody started calling him Sloppy Sam and it stuck."
"Quite a story." Tom laughed. "What happened to the fellow that took Samover the hurdles?"
"He's got a joint on the other side of town called Bad Richard's. Butthey're friends now. Get along fine."
Tom paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk, watching the silver cabshoot away into the darkness. Then he took a deep breath and slowlymoved toward the open door of Sloppy Sam's.
Inside, Tom saw that most of the customers were lined up at the bar,drinking rocket juice, a dark foul-tasting liquid that Tom had sippedonce and vowed he would never try again. But as he looked around, hedidn't think it was the type of place you could order anything milder,so he walked up to the bar and ordered loudly, "A bucket of juice."
Some of the men at the bar turned away from the stereo screen to look atthe newcomer. They eyed the crisp, clean uniform narrowly, and thenturned silently back to the play on the screen.
The husky bartender placed the small glass of dark liquid in front ofTom. "Twenty credits," he announced in a hoarse voice.
"Twenty!" exclaimed Tom. "Don't give me that rocket wash! It's fivecredits a shot."
"To a Space Cadet that wants to keep his reputation, Corbett," repliedthe burly man, "it's twenty."
Tom realized that the man had seen his picture on the stereo news thatafternoon and that it would be impossible to get out of paying thisblatant form of blackmail. He handed over the money and picked up theglass. He sipped it to keep up appearances but even the few drops heallowed to trickle down his throat almost made him gag. He gasped forbreath. Whatever information he might be able to get here, it wasn'tworth another swallow of that stuff.
He stood at the bar for nearly half an hour, watching the stereo andwaiting. When the show was over, the men turned back to the seriousbusiness of drinking. Two of them drifted over close to Tom and lookedhim up and down. After a whispered conversation, they turned to him andpointed to his drink, the same one he had bought and had not touchedsince.
"Drink up, mate," said the nearest man, a tall, heavy-shouldered manwith a dark beard, "then join us in another one."
"No, thanks," said Tom. "One's my limit."
The two men laughed. "Well, I'll say this for you, lad, you're honestabout it," said the tall one. "Most squirts coming in here try to put onthey can take the stuff and then they wind up in the gutter."
"That's right, Cag!" said the other man, laughing.
"What are you doing in here, Cadet?" asked the man called Cag.
"Looking for a guy."
"What's his name? Maybe we know him."
"Yeah, we might," chimed in the other. "We know just about everybodythat comes in here."
"Maybe he don't want to tell us, Monty," said Cag.
"I don't know his name," said Tom. "I just met him today and hementioned this place. I wanted to talk to him about something."
"Where did you see him?"
Tom paused. It was only a chance remark that the driver of the jet truckhad made and it was a slim chance that these two men might know him. Hedecided to risk it. "He's a jet trucker. I saw him out at the spaceporttoday."
The two men looked at each other. "Little guy, with a sort of funnytwitch in his eye?" asked Cag.
"Yes," replied Tom. "That's him. Know him?"
"He hangs out in a joint across the street," said Monty. "Come onoutside. I'll show you where it is. And his name's Pistol, in case youwant to know."
"Pistol," said Tom. "That's an odd name."
"Not when you consider he carries a pistol all the time," snorted Cag.
Tom and the two men walked to the door and out into the street.
"What do you want to see him about, anyway?" asked Monty, as they walkedto the corner.
"Just wanted to talk to him about the jet-trucking business."
"What about it? We're truckers, me and Cag, we could probably tell you alot more than Pistol."
"Maybe," said Tom. "But I want to talk to Pistol."
They stopped at the corner and Monty stepped off the curb into thestreet. "See that light down there," he said, pointing down the block,"the one just above the door?"
Tom turned to look. "Where--?"
He suddenly felt a sharp jolting pain in the back of his head and theneverything went black.
"Nice work, Cag," commented Monty.
"What'll we do with him?" asked Cag.
"Throw him in the back of the truck and get outta here," said Monty,pulling Tom's limp form into the shadows of an alley. "I'll get in touchwith the boss and tell him what's happened. And you better send out wordto get Pistol. He must know something."
"Right," said Cag. "Gee, Corbett's getting his nice clean uniform messedup."
Dirty gutter water flowed over Tom in the dark Martian alley as the boylay deathly still.