CHAPTER 1 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 a scarlet uniform of the enlisted solar guard staring down at them. His fists jammed into his hips and his feet spread wide apart.  Over him up, columns of four, almost before the echoes of his 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 sat in stern lines, but there was a glint of laughter in his eyes as he noticed a grotesque and sometimes torturous 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 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 high stockings of the boys from the minutian jungles, the very colored jacket and tracer combinations of the boys from the magnificent Earth cities, but they all had one thing in common, a dream. They had visions of becoming space cadets, and later, officers of the solar guard. Each dreamed of the day when he would command rocket ships that patrolled the space lanes from the outer edges of Pluto to the twilight zone of Mercury. They were all the same. All right now, let's get squared away. His voice was a little more friendly now. My name's McKenny, Mike McKenny, warren officer, solar guard. See these hash marks? He suddenly held out a thick arm that bulged against a tight red sleeve. From the wrists to the elbow, the line of boys could see a solid corrugation of white V-shaped stripes. Each one of these marks represents four years in space. He continued, There are ten marks here, and I intend on making it an even dozen. And no bunch of earthworms is going to make me lose a chance to get those last two by trying to make a space monkey out of me. McKenny sundered along the line of boys with that same strange cat-like step and looked squarely into the eyes of each boy in turn. Just set the record straight, I'm your cadet supervisor.  If you stub your toe or cut your finger, come to me. If you get homesick, come to me. And if you get in trouble, he paused momentarily.  McKenny continued to slow inspection of the ranks, then suddenly stopped short. At the far end of the line, a tall, ruggedly built boy of about 18, with curly brown hair and a pleasant, open face, was stirring uncomfortably. He slowly reached down towards his right boot and held it, while he wriggled his foot into it.  When I say, stand to.  He roared. The boy jerked himself erect and snapped to attention. I'm sorry, sir, he stammered, but my boot, it was coming off him.  The boy gulped in redden as a nervous titter rippled through the ranks. McKenny spun around and glared. There was immediate silence. What's your name? Corbett, sir. Cadet candidate. Tom Corbett answered the boy. Want to be a spaceman, do ya? Asked Mike, pushing his jaw out another inch. Yes, sir! Been stunning long, hard hours in primary school, eh?  You want to feel those rockets bucking in your back out in the stars, eh? Yes, sir, replied Tom, wondering how this man he didn't even know could know so much about him.  McKenny turned quickly to see what effect he had created on the others. The lines bewildered faces satisfied him that his old trick of using one of the cadets as an example was a success. He turned back to Corbett. The only reason I'm not logging you now is you're not a space cadet yet, and won't be until you've taken the Academy oath. Yes, sir! McKenny walked down the line and crossed the platform to an open teleceiver booth. The ranks were quiet and motionless, and as he made his call, McKenny smiled. Finally, when the tension seemed unbearable, he roared, At ease! and closed the door to the booth.  Brooding over the seeming ill fortune that called McKenny's attention to him at the wrong time, Tom sat down on his suitcase to adjust his boot. He shook his head slowly. He had heard Space Academy was tough, tougher than any other school in the world, but he didn't expect the stern discipline to begin so soon. This could be the beginning of the end, drawing the lazy voice in the back of Tom, for some of the more enthusiastic cadets. Someone laughed.  He was lounging idly against a pillar, luggage piled high around his feet. Tom recognized him immediately as Roger Manning, and his pleasant features twisted into a scowl, about what I'd expect from that character, he thought. After that trick he pulled on Astro, the big fellow from Venus? Tom's thoughts were on the night before, when the connecting links of transportation from all over the Solar Alliance had deposited the boys in the central station at Adam City, where they were to board the Monorail Express for the final lap to Space Academy. Manning, as Tom remembered it, had taken advantage of the huge venusion by tricking him into carrying his luggage. Reasoning that since gravity on Venus was considerably less non-Earth, he convinced Astro that he needed the extra weight to maintain his balance. It had been a cheap trick, but no one had wanted to challenge the sharpness of Manning's tongue and come to Astro's rescue. Tom had wanted to, but refrained when he saw that Astro didn't mind. Finishing his conversation on the Teleseaver, McKenny stepped out of the booth and faced the boys again. All right, he bawled. They're all set for you at the Academy. Pick up your gear and follow me! With a quick light step, he hopped on the rolling sidewalk at the edge of the platform and started moving away. Hey, Astro! Roger Manning stopped the huge boy about to step over. Going to carry my bags? The venusion, a full head taller, hesitated and looked out fully 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 Adam City. It's the same all over the face of the Earth! Wouldn't want you just... by way! He snickered and looked around, waking broadly. Astro still hesitated. I don't know, Manning. I, uh, buy the rings of Saturn! What's going on here? Suddenly, from outside the ring of boys, it gathered round. McKenny came roaring in, bullying his way into the center of the group to face Roger and Astro. I have a strained wrist, sir, began Roger smoothly. And this cadet candid it. He nodded casually towards Astro, offered to carry my luggage. Now he refuses! Mike glared at Astro. Did you agree to carry this man's luggage? Well, I, uh, fumbled Astro. Well, did you or didn't you? I guess I sort of did, sir, replied Astro. His face turning as slow read. 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 he embarrassed to reply. McKenny turned to Manning, who stood listening, a faint smile playing on his lips. What's your name, mister? Manning, Roger Manning, he answered easily. So you've got a strained wrist, have you? Asked Mike mockingly, while sending a sweeping glance from top to bottom with gaudy colored clothes. Yes, sir. Can't carry your own luggage, eh? Yes, answered Roger evenly. I could carry my own luggage. I thought the candidate from Venus might give me a helping hand. Nothing more. I certainly didn't intend for him to become a marked man for a simple gesture of comradeship. He glanced past McKenny towards the other boys and added softly. And comradeship is the spirit of Space Academy, isn't it, sir? His face suddenly crimson, McKenny spluttered, searching for a ready answer, then turned away abruptly. What are you all standing around for? He roared. Get your gear and get yourselves over on that sidewalk. Blast! He turned once again to the rolling platform.  And be careful with that small case, Astro! He called as he drifted away. Here, Astro, I'll give you a hand, said Tom. Never mind, replied Astro grimly. I can handle him. No, let me help. Tom bent over, then suddenly straightened. By the way, we haven't introduced ourselves. My name's Corbett. Tom Corbett. He stuck out his hand.  He stood smiling and offering friendship. Finally, he pushed out his own hand and smiled back at Tom. Astro, what'd you know that by now? That sure was a dirty deal Manning gave you. Aw, I don't mind carrying the bags.  They don't allow a candidate to keep more than a toothbrush at the academy. Ah, guess he'll find out the hard way. Carrying Manning's luggage as well as their own, they finally stepped on the slidewalk and began a smooth, easy ride from the monorail station to the academy. Both having felt the sharpness of Manning's tongue, and both having been dressed down by Warren Officer McKenny, they seemed to be linked by a bond of trouble, and they stood close together for mutual comfort. As the slidewalked wisdom silently passed a few remaining buildings and credit exchanges that nestled around the monorail station, Tom gave a thought of his new life. Ever since John Beeliker, the space explorer, returning from the first successful flight to a distant galaxy, came through his hometown near New Chicago 12 years before, Tom had wanted to be a spaceman. Through high school, at the New Chicago Primary Space School, where he'd taken his first flight above Earth's atmosphere, he had waited for the day when he would pass his entrance exams and be accepted as his cadet candidate in the space academy. For no reason at all, a lump rose in his throat as the slidewalk rounded the curve, and he saw for the first time the gleaming white magnificence of the Tower of Galileo He recognized it immediately from the hundreds of books he'd read about the academy, and stared wordlessly. Sure is pretty, isn't it? Asked Astro, his voice strangely husky. Yeah, reads Tom in reply. It sure is. He could only stare at the shimmering tower ahead. It's all I've ever wanted to do, said Tom at length.  I know what you mean. It's the greatest feeling in the world. You say that as if you've already been up there. Astro grinned. Yep, used to be an enlisted space sailor. Bucked rockets and an old freighter on the Luna City Venusport run. What are you doing here? Tom was amazed and impressed. Simple, I want to be an officer. I want to get into the solar guard and handle the power push in one of those cruisers. Tom's eyes glowed with a renewed admiration for his new friend. I've been out four or five times, but only in jetboats 500 miles out. Nothing like a jump to Luna City or Venusport. By now, the sidewalk had carried them past the base of the Tower of Galileo. To a large building facing the Academy Quadrangle, and the spell was broken by McKennie's bull-throated roar.  As the boys jumped off the sidewalk, a cadet, dressed in the vivid blue that Tom recognized as the official dress of the Senior Cadet Corps, walked up to McKennie and spoke to him quietly. The Warren Officer turned back to the waiting group and gave rapid orders. Buy twos, follow Cadet Turbert inside, and he'll assign you to your quarters. Shower, shave if you have to, and find anything to shave. And dress in the uniform that'll be supplied to you. Be ready to take the Academy Oath out. He paused and glanced at Senior Cadet, who held up three fingers. 1500 hours at three o'clock. All clear? BLAST OFF! Just as the boys began to move, there was sudden blasting roar in the distance. The noise expanded and rolled across the hills surrounding Space Academy. It thundered over the grassy Quadrangle, vibrating waves of sound one on top of the other, until the very air quivered under the impact. Mouse open, eyes popping, the Cadet Candid stood rooted in their tracks and stared as, in the distance, a long, thin needle-like ship seemed to bounce delicately on the column of flame, then suddenly shoot skyward and disappear. Pull in your eyeballs! McKennie's voice cracked over the receding thunder. You'll fly in one of those firecrackers someday, but right now you're Earthworms! Lowest worm of animal life in the Academy! As boys snapped to attention again, Tom thought he caught a faint smile on Cadet Herbert's face as he stood to one side, waiting for McKennie to finish his tirade. Suddenly he snapped his back straight, turned sharply, and stepped through the wide doors of the building. Quickly the double line of boys followed. Did you see that, Astro? Asked Tom excitedly. That was a Solar Guard patrol ship. Yeah, I know, replied Astro. The big candidate from Venus scratched his chin and eyed Tom bashfully. Say, Tom, since we sort of know each other, how about us try and get in the same quarters? Okay, by me, Astro, if we can, said Tom grinning back at his friend. The line pressed forward to Cadet Herbert, who was now waiting at the bottom of the slide stairs. A mesh belt spiraled upwards in a narrow well to the upper stories of the building. Speaking into an audio scriber, a machine that transmitted spoken words into typed script. He repeated the names of the candidates as they passed. Cadet Candidate Tom Corbett announced Tom, and Herbert repeated it into the audio scriber. Cadet Candidate Astro, the big Venusian, stepped forward. What's the rest of it, Mr., inquired Herbert. That's all, just Astro. No other names? No sir, replied Astro. You see, you don't say sir to a senior Cadet, Mr., and we're not interested in why you have only one name, Herbert snapped. Yes, sir, Mr., asked her flush and joined Tom. Cadet Candid Philip Morgan announced the next boy. Herbert repeated the name into the machine. Then announced Cadet Candidates Tom Corbett, Astro, and Philip Morgan assigned to Section 42d. Turning to the three boys, he indicated spiraling slide stairs. 42nd floor, he'll find Section D in the starboard wing. Astro and Tom immediately began to pile Manning's luggage to one side of the slide stairs.  It is an hour, replied Tom. Isn't yours? Herbert glanced over the pile of suitcases and turned back to Tom. Whose is it, then? Belongs to Cadet Candidate Roger Manning, replied Tom. What are you doing with it? We were carrying it for him. Do we have a candidate in the group who finds it necessary to provide himself with valet service? Herbert moved along the line of boys. Well, Cadet Candidate Roger Manning, please step forward. Roger slid from behind a group of boys to face a senior cadet's cold stare. Roger Manning here, he presented himself smoothly. Is that your luggage? Herbert jerked his thumb over his shoulder. It is! Roger smiled confidently, but Herbert merely stared coldly. You have a peculiar attitude for a candidate, Manning. Is there a prescribed attitude, Mr. Herbert? Roger asked, his smile broadening. If there is, I'll only be too glad to conform to it. Herbert's face twitched almost imperceptibly, then he nodded, made a notation on the pad, and returned to his post at the head of the gaping line of boys. From now on, Cadet Manning, you will be responsible for your own belongings. Tom, Astro, and Philip Morgan stepped onto the slide stairs and began their spiraling ascent to the 42nd floor. Ah, saw what happened at the monorail station, trawled the third member of section 42-D, leaning against the banister as the moving belt. By the craters of Luna, that Manning fella sure is a hot operator. We found out for ourselves, grunted Astro. Say, since we're all bunking together, let's get to know each other. My name's Phil Morgan. Come from Georgia. Where are you all from? New Chicago, replied Tom. Name's Tom Corbett, and this is Astro. Hiya. Astro stuck out his big paw and grinned his wide grin. I guess you heard. Astro's all the name I've got. How come? inquired the southerner. I'm from Venus, and it's custom from way back when Venus was first colonized just hand out one name. Saw any custom, trawled Phil. Astro started to say something, then stopped, clamping his lips together. Tom could see his face turn to slow pink. Phil saw it too and hastily added, Ah, I didn't mean anything. Ah, he broke off embarrassed. Forgot it, Phil. Astro grinned again. Say, interjected Tom. Look at that! They all turned to look at the floor they were passing. Near the edge of the step-off platform on the fourth floor was a no-companel inscribed with silver lettering and relief. As they drew even with the plaque, they caught sight of someone behind them. They turned to see Manning, a pile of suitcases in front of him, reading aloud, To the brave man who sacrificed their lives in the conquest of space, this galaxy hall was dedicated. Say, this must be the museum, said Tom. Here's to where they have all the original gear used in first space hops. Absolutely right, said Manning with a smile. I wonder if we could get off and take a look, Astro asked. Sure he can, said Roger. In fact, the Academy regs that every step must inspect the exhibits in Space Museum within the first week. The members of Section 42D looked at Roger questioningly. I don't know if we have time. Tom was dubious. Sure, you have plenty. I'd hop off and take a look at myself, but I'd gotta get all this junk ready to ship home.  Oh, come on, Tom. Let's take a look. Verged, Astro. They have the old space queen in here. First checked, clear as gravity. Boy, I'd sure like to see her. Without waiting for the others to agree, the huge candidate stepped off the slide stairs. Hey, Astro! Y'all, Tom. Wait, I don't think! His voice trailed off as moving stairs carried him up to the next floor, but then a curious thing happened. As the other boys came abreast of the museum floor and saw Astro, they began to get off and follow him, wandering around, gazing at the relics of the past. Soon nearly half of the cadet candidates were standing in silent awe in front of the battered hull of the space queen. The first atomic-powered rocket ship allowed an exhibition only 50 years before because of the deadly radioactivity in her hull, created when a lead baffle melted in mid-space and flooded the ship with murderous gamma rays. They stood in front of the spaceship and listened while Astro, in a hushed voice, read the inscription on the bronze tablet, birthed to Lumen in return. 7th March, 2051. In honor of the brave men on the first atomic-powered spaceship to land successfully on the planet Moon, only to perish on return to Earth. Candidates, stand, too! Like a clap of thunder, warned Officer McKenney's voice charred the boys out of their silence. He stepped forward like a bantam rooster and faced a startled group of boys. I want to know just one thing. Who stepped off that slide stairs first? The boys all hesitated. I-I guess I was first, sir. Is it Astro stepping forward? Oh, you guess you were the first, eh? roared McKenney. Taking a deep breath, McKenney launched into a blistering tirade. His choice of words were to be long remembered by the group, and repeated to succeeding classes.  Later, when Astro finally reached his quarters and changed into the green coveralls of the cadet candidates, Tom and Phil crowded around him. It was Roger blast him, to Tom angrily. He was getting back at you because Cadet Herbert made him carry a Zoom gear. Oh, I asked for it. Crumbled Astro. Oh, I should have known better. But I just couldn't wait to see the Queen. He bawled his huge hands into tight knots and stared at the floor. Now hear this. A voice suddenly rasped over the PA system loudspeaker above the door. All cadet candidates will come to immediate attention and receive the Space Academy O from Commander Walters. The voice paused. Attention, cadet candidates, stand to. This is Commander Walters speaking. A deep, powerful voice purred through the speakers. The Academy O is taken individually. It is something each candidate locks into his spirits, his mind, and his heart. That is why it is taken in your quarters. The oath is not to show colors. It is a way of light. Each candidate will face as closely as possible in the direction of his home and swear by his individual God as he repeats after me. Astro stepped quickly to the window port, engaged into the blue heavens, eye searching for the misty planet Venus. Phil Morgan thought a moment, and faced towards the wall with the inlaid star chart of the sky, thinking of sunbathe Georgia. Tom Corvette stared straight at the blank wall. Each boy did not see what was in front of him, yet he saw further crafts than he had ever seen before. He looked into a future which held the limitlessness of the universe and new worlds and planets to be lifted out of the oblivion of uncharted depths of space to come. They repeated slowly. I solemnly swear to uphold Constitution of the Solar Alliance, to obey Interventory Law, to protect the liberties of the planets, safeguard freedom and space, and uphold cause peace throughout the universe. To this end, I dedicate my life. From the rocket fields of the Academy to the far-flung stars of outer space, where space cadets training to be ready for the dangers we may face, up in the sky, rocketing past, higher than high, faster than fast, out into space, into the sun, look at her go when we give her the gun. From the rocket fields of the Academy. Within 60 seconds, the buildings of the Academy rocked with the impact of 3,000 voices singing the last stanza. Lights flashed on in every window. Cadets raced through the halls and across the quadrangle. The central communicator began the incessant muttering of cadets, and the never-ending orders of the day. On and on, down the list of senior cadets, watch officers and newly arrived earthworms, units and individuals to report for training or study of everything from ground assembly of an atomic rocket motor, to the history of the founding of the Solar Alliance, the governing body of the tri-planet civilization, Tom Cordette stepped out of the shower in section 42D and bellowed at the top of his voice, Hit the deck, Astro. Make use of the gravity. He tugged at an outsized foot, dangling over the side of the upper bunk. Grown the cadet from Venus and tried to go back to sleep. Philip Morgan stepped into the shower, turned on the cold water, screeched at the top of his voice, gradually trailing off in the countless repetitions of the last verse of the Academy Song.  Reward Astro sitting up bleary-eyed. What time do we eat? asked Tom, pulling on the green one-piece cover all the earthworm cadet candidates. I don't know, replied Astro, opening his mouth and the cavernous eon, but it better be soon. I like space, but not between my backbone and my stomach. Warren Officer McKinney burst into the room and began to compete with the rest of the noise outside the buildings. Five minutes to the dining hall and you'd better not be late. Take the slide stairs down to the 28th floor, tell the mescadette in charge of the hall, your unit number, and he'll show you to the right table. Number where it is, because you'll have to find it for yourself after that, or not eat. Finish your breakfast and report to the 99th floor to Dr. Dale at 700 hours, and as fast as he had arrived he was gone, a flash of red color with the rasping voice trailing behind. Exactly one hour and ten minutes later, promptly at 7 o'clock, the three members of unit 42D stood at attention in front of Dr. Joan Dale, along with the rest of the green clad cadets. When the cat calls in wolf whistles to died away, Dr. Dale, pretty, trim and dressed in gold and black uniform and solar guard, held up her hand in motion for the cadets to sit down. My answer to your, she paused, smiled and continued, your enthusiastic welcome is simply, thank you, but we'll have no further repetitions. This is Space Academy, not a primary school. Turning abruptly she stood beside a round desk in the well of an amphitheater, and held up a thin tube about an inch in diameter and 12 inches long. We will now begin your classification test, she said. You will receive one of these tubes, inside you will find four sheets of paper, you are to answer all the questions on each page and place them back in the tube. Take the tube and drop it in a green outline slot in this wall. She indicated a four inch round hole to her left, outlined with green paint, beside it was another slot, outlined with red paint. Remain there until the tube is returned to you in this red slot. Take it back to your desk. She paused and glanced down at her desk. Now there are four possible classifications for a cadet. The fourth classification is for advanced scientific study here at the Academy. Your papers are studied by an electronic calculator, as is proven infallible. You must make at least passing grade on each of the four classifications. Dr. Dale looked up at the rows of upturned, non-smiling faces, and stepped from the dais, coming to a halt near the first desk. I know that all of you have your hearts set on becoming spacemen, but I know that all of you have your hearts set on becoming spacemen, and I know that all of you have your hearts set on becoming spacemen, and I know that all of you have your hearts set on becoming spacemen, officers and solar guard. Most of you want to be space pilots, but there must be astrogators, radar engineers, communication officers, and power deck operators on each ship, and she paused, braced her shoulder, and added, some of you will not be accepted for any of these. Some of you will wash out. Dr. Dale turned her back onto cadets, not wanting to look at the sudden pallor that washed over their faces. It was brutal, she thought, this test. Why bring them all the way to the Academy and then give them the test? Why not start the entrance exams at the beginning with a classification and aptitude? But she knew the answer even before the thoughtful question was completed. Under the fear of being washed out, the weaker ones would not pass. The solar guard could not afford to have cadets and later solar guard officers who could not function under pressure. She began handing out the tubes and, one by one, the green-clad candidates stepped to the front of the room to receive them. Excuse me, ma'am, said one cadet falteringly. If I wash out as a cadet, as a solar guard officer cadet, he gulped several times. Does that mean there isn't any chance of becoming a spaceman? No, she answered kindly. He can become a member of the enlisted solar guard if he passed the acceleration test. Thank you, ma'am," applied the boy and turned away nervously. Tom Corbett accepted the tube and hurried back to his seat. He knew that this was the last hurdle. He did not know that the papers had been prepared individually. The test given on the basis of the entrance exams he had taken at the New Chicago Primary Space School. He opened the tube, pulling out the four sheets, printed on both sides of the paper, and read the heading on the first. Astrogation, communication, signals, radar. He studied the first question. What is the range of the Mark 9 radar scope, and how far can a spaceship be successfully distinguished from other objects in space? He read the question four times, then pulled out a pencil and began to write. Only the rustle papers, or the occasional sigh of a cadet over a problem, disturbed the silence of the high-ceiling groom, as a hundred-odd cadets fought the questions. There was a sudden stir in the room, and Tom looked up to see Roger Manning walk to the slot and casually deposit his tube in the green-bordered slot. Then he leaned idly against the wall, waiting for it to be returned. As he stood there, he spoke to Dr. Dale, who smiled and replied. There was something about his attitude that made Tom boil. So fast? He glanced at his own papers. He had hardly finished two sheets and thought he was doing fine. He clenched his teeth and bent over the paper again, redoubling his efforts to triangulate a fix on Regulus by using dead reckoning as the basis for his computations. Suddenly, a tall man, wearing the uniform of Solar Guard officer, appeared in the back of the room. As Dr. Dale looked up and smiled to greeting, he placed his fingers on his lips. Steve Strong, Captain in Solar Guard, gazed around the room at the pack, spent over busy pencils. He did not smile, remembering how, only 15 years before, he had gone through the same torture, racking his brains trying to adjust the measurements of a magnetoscope prism. He was joined by a thin, handsome young man, Lieutenant Judson Saminsky, and finally, warned Officer McKenney. They nodded silently in greeting. It would be over soon. Strong glanced at clock over the desk. Another 10 minutes to go. The line of boys at the slot grew until more than 20 stood there, each waiting patiently, nervously, for his turn to drop the tube in the slot and receive and return the sealed cylinder that held his fate. Still at his desk, his face wet with sweat, Astro looked at the question in front of him for the 15th time. Estimating the time, he would take a 300-ton rocket ship with half-filled tanks cruising at the most economical speed trip from Titan to Venusport. A. Estimate the size and maximum capacity of the fuel tanks. B. Give estimate of speed a ship would utilize. He thought. He slumped in his chair. He stared at the ceiling. He chewed his pencil. Five seats away, Tom stacked his examination sheets neatly, twisted them into a cylinder, and inserted them into the tube. As he passed the line of desks and headed for the slot, a hand caught his arm. Tom turned to see Roger Manning grinning at him. Were he a space boy? Easily. Tom didn't answer. He simply withdrew his arm. You know. Said Roger. You're really a nice kid. It's a shame you won't make it. But the rules specifically say. No cabbage heads. No talking. Dr. Dale called sharply from her desk. Tom walked away and stood in the line at the slots. He found himself wanting to pass more than anything in the world. Please. He breathed. Please. Just let me pass. A soft gong began to sound. Dr. Dale stood up. Times up, she announced. Please put your papers in the tubes and drop them in the slot. Tom turned to see Astro stuffing his papers in the thin cylinders, scustedly. Phil Morgan came up and stood in the back of Tom. His face was flushed. Everything okay, Phil? Inquired Tom. Easy as free fall in space, replied the other cadet. His soft George and Droll, full of confidence. How about you? I'm just hoping against hope. A few remaining stragglers hurried up to the line. Think Astro will make it? Asked Phil. I don't know, answered Tom. I saw him sweating over there like a man facing death. Ah, I guess he is. And why? Astro took his place in line and shrugged his shoulders, from Tom leaning forward to give him a questioning look. Get ahead, Tom, urged Phil. Tom turned and dropped his tube in the green bordered slot and waited. He stared straight at the wall in front of him, heartily daring to breathe. Presently the tube was returned in the red slot. He took it, turned it over in his hands, and walked slowly back to his desk. He or washed out Cabbage Head. Matting's whisper followed him. Let's see if he can take it without bawling. Tom's face burned and he followed an impulse to answer Matting with a stiff belt of the jaw. But he kept walking, reached his desk, and sat down. Astro, the last to return to his desk, held the tube out in front of him as though it were alive. The room was silent as Dr. Dale rose from her desk. All right now, boys, she announced. Inside the tubes you will find colored slips of paper. Those of you who have red slips will remain here. Those who find green slips will return to their quarters. Blue will go with Captain Strong, orange with Lieutenant Saminsky, and blue with Warrant Officer McKinney. Now please open the tubes. There was a tinkling of metal caps and then slight rustle of papers as each boy withdrew the contents of the tube before him. Tom took a deep breath and fell inside with the paper. He held his breath and pulled it out. It was green. He didn't know what that meant. He looked around. Phil was signaling to him, holding up a blue slip. Tom's heart skipped a beat. Whatever the colors meant, he and Phil were apart. He turned quickly around and caught Astro's eye. The big venusian held up a green slip. Tom's heart nearly stopped beating. Phil, who had breathed through with such confidence, held a blue slip. And Astro, who hadn't even finished the test, held up the same color he had. It could only mean one thing. Failure. He felt the tears falling up in his eyes, but had no strength left to fight them back. He looked up, his eyes meeting the insolent stare of Roger Manning, who was half turned in his seat. Remembering the caustic warning of the confident cadet, Tom fought back the flood of tears in his eyes and glared back. And his father. And Billy, his brother, five years younger than himself, whom he had promised to bring a flask of water from the Grand Canal on Mars. And his sister. Tom remembered the shining pride in her eyes when she kissed him goodbye at the Stratoport as he left for Adam City. From the front of the room, Mackenny's rasping voice charred them back to the presence. Cadets, stand too! There was a shuffle of feet as the boys rose as one. All the purple slips follow me. He roared and turned toward the door. The purple slips marched after him. Lieutenant Saminsky stepped riskily to the front of the room. Cadets with orange slips will please come with me, he said casually, and another group of cadets left the room. From the rear of the room, Captain Strong snapped out an order. Blue slips will come with me. He turned smartly and followed the last of Lieutenant Saminsky's cadets out of the room. Tom looked around. The room was nearly empty now. He looked over at Astro and saw his big friend slump mootily against his desk. Then, suddenly, he noticed Roger Manning. The arrogant cadet was not smiling any longer. He was staring straight ahead. Before him on the desk, Tom could see a green slip, so he had failed too, thought Tom grimly. It was poor solace for the misery he felt. Dr. Dale stepped forward again. While the cadets holding the green slips returned to their quarters. Those with red slips will remain in their seats, she announced. Tom found himself moving with difficulty. As he walked through the door, Astro joined him. A look more eloquent than words passed between them, and they made their way silently up the slide stairs back to their quarters. Lying in his bunk, hands under his head, eyes staring into space, Tom asked. What happens now? Sprawled on his bunk, Astro didn't answer right away. He merely gulped and swallowed hard. Uh, I don't know. He finally stammered. I just don't know. What'll you do? It's back to the hold of Venusport freighter, I guess. I don't know. Astro paused and looked at Tom. What'll you do? Go home. Tom said simply, go home and find a job. Ever think about the enlisted solar guard? Look at McKenny. I know how you feel, sighed Astro. Being an enlisted section is, well, like being a passenger almost. The door was suddenly flung open. All off them bunks, you blasted earthworms. McKenny stood in doorway in his usual aggressive pose, and Tom and Astro hit the floor together to stand at attention. He went with Captain Strong, sir, answered Tom. Oh, said Mike, and in a surprisingly soft tone he added, you two pulled the green slips, eh? Yes, sir. They replied together. Well, I don't know how you did it, but congratulations! You passed a classification test, both of you. Tom just looked at the scarlet clad stumpy warrened officer. He couldn't believe his ears.  Astro was holding him over his head. Then he dumped him on his bunk, as easily as if he had been a child. And at the same time, the big Venusian let out a long, long, year-splitting yell. McKenny matched him with his own bull-like roar. Plug that foghorn, you blasted earthworm. You'll have the whole academy in here thinking there's a murder. By this time, Tom was on his feet again, standing in front of McKenny. You mean where he made it? We're really in? We're cadets? That's right! McKenny looked at the clipboard in his hand and said, Cadet Corvette, Tom, qualified for control of it. Cadet Astro, power deck. Astro took a deep breath and started another yell. But before he could let go, McKenny clamped a big hand over his mouth. You bellow like that again and I'll make meteor dust out of you. Astro gulped and then matched Tom's grin with one that spread from ear to ear. What happened to Philip Morgan, asked Tom? What color slip did he have? Blue. Anything besides green washed out, replied Mike quickly. Now let's see, you have a replacement for Morgan in this unit. An astrogator. Greetings, gentlemen. For all the voice that Tom recognized without even looking, allow me to introduce myself to my new unit mates. My name's Manning. Roger Manning. But then, we're old friends, aren't we? Stow that rugged wash Manning, snap Mike, he glanced at clock over the door. You have an hour and 45 minutes until lunchtime. I suggest you take a walk around the academy and familiarize yourself with the arrangement of the buildings. And then, for the first time, Tom saw the hard little Spaceman smile. I'm glad you made it, boys. All three of you. He paused and looked at each of them in turn. And I can honestly say I am looking forward to the day when I can serve under you. He snapped his back straight, gave the three startled boys a crisp salute, executed a perfect about face and marched out of the room. And that, Drawled Rotter, strolling over the bunk near the window, was the corniest bit of space gas I've ever heard. Listen, Manning, Grawled Astro, spinning around quickly to face him. Yeah, heard Roger, his eyes drawn to fine points, hands hanging loosely at his sides. What would you like me to listen to, Cadet Astro? The hulking Cadet lunged at Manning, but Tom quickly stepped between them. Hey, Stow it, both of you, he shouted. We're in this room together, so we might as well make the best of it. Of course, Corbett, of course, came back on Astro, who stood feet wide apart, neck muscles tight and hands clenched and ham-like fists. One of these days, Manning, I'll break you in two.  Astro's voice was low growl. Roger stood near to the window port and appeared to have forgotten the incident. The light shining in from the hallway darkened, and Tom turned to see three blue-clad senior cadets arranged in a row just inside the door. Congratulations, gentlemen, you're now qualified cadets of Space Academy, said a red-headed lad about 21. My name is Al Dixon. He turned to his left and right, and these are cadets Bill Houseman and Rodney Rithrup. Hiya, replied Tom. Glad to know you. I'm Tom Corbett. This is Astro and Roger Manning. Astro shook hands, the three senior cadets giving a long glance at the size of the hand he offered. Roger came forward smartly and shook hands with a smile. We're sort of like a committee, began Dixon. We've come to sign you up for the Academy Sports Program. They made themselves comfortable in the room. You have a chance to take part in three sports, free-fall, wrestling, mercury ball, and space chess. Dixon glanced at Houseman and Rithrup. From the looks of Cadet Astro, free-fall, wrestling should be a child's play for him. Astro merely grinned. Mercury ball is pretty much like the old game of soccer, explained Houseman.  It has to be pretty fast, even to touch it.  You do, replied Dixon. Oh, yes, you three played it. Competition starts in a few days. So if you've never played before, you might want to go down to the gym and start practicing. You mentioned space chess, asked Roger. What's that? It's really nothing more than maneuvers. Space maneuvers, said Dixon. A glass case, seven-foot cube, is divided by a light shaft into smaller cubes of equal size and shape. Each man has a complete space quadrant, three model rocket cruisers, six destroyers, ten scouts. The ships are filled with gas to make them float, and their powers derive from magnetic force. The problem is to get a combination of cruisers and destroyers and scouts into a space section where it can knock out your opponent's ship. You mean, interrupted astro? You've got to keep track of all those ships at once. Ah, don't worry astro, commented Roger quickly. You use your muscles to win for dear old 42D in freefall wrestling. Corbett here can pound down the grassy field for a goal in mercury ball and all do the brain work of space chess. The three visiting cadets exchange sharp glances. Everybody plays together, Manning, said Dixon. You three take part in each sport as a unit. Of course, not did Roger. Of course, a unit. The three cadets stood up, shook hands all around and left. Tom immediately turned to Manning. What was the idea of that crack about brains? Manning slashed over to the windowpour and set over his shoulder. I don't know how your king-sized friend here passed classification test Corbett. I don't care. But as you say, we're a unit. So we might as well make adjustments. He turned to face them with cold stare. I know the academy like the palm of my hand. Never mind how. Just take it for granted. I know it. I'm here for the ride. For a special reason I wouldn't care to have you know. I'll get my training and then pull out. He took a step forward. His face a mask of bitterness. So from now on, you two guys leave me alone.  This, this he paused and spit the last out cynically. Space kindergarten. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of Stand by for Mars. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Sean O'Hara. Stand by for Mars by Carrie Rockwell. Chapter 3. I just can't understand it, Joan. I have a circular desk. The psychographs of Corbett, Manning and Astro fit together like gears. And yet the solar guard officer suddenly rose and walked over to a huge window that filled the entire north wall of his office. A solid sheet of glass that extended from the high dome ceiling to the translucent flooring. Through the window he stared mootily down towards the grassy quadrangle where at the moment several hundred cadets were marching information under a hot sun. And yet, continued strong, every morning for the last three weeks I've got a report from McKinney about some sort of friction between them. I think it'll work out, Steve," answered the pretty girl in the uniform of the Solar Guard, seated in an easy chair on the other side of the desk. Joan Dale held a distinction of being the first woman ever admitted into the Solar Guard in a capacity other than administrative work. Her experiments in atomic fissionables was a subject of recent scientific symposium held on Mars. Over 50 of the leading scientists of the Solar Alliance had gathered to study her latest theory on hyperdrive, and had unanimously declared her idea as valid. She had been offered the chair as Master of Physics at the Academy as a result, giving her access to the finest laboratory in Triplanet Society. Now facing the problem of personality adjustment in Unit 42D, she sat across the desk from her childhood friend, Steve Strong, and frowned. What's happened this time? Manning, he paused. It seems to be all manning. You mean he's more aggressive of the three? No, not necessarily. Corbett shows signs of being a number one spaceman and that big, dead astro, strong flash to white smile that contrasted with this deep space tan. I don't think he could make a manual mistake on the power deck if he tried. You know, I actually saw him put an auxiliary rocket motor together blindfolded. The pretty scientist smiled. I could have told you that after one look at his classification tests. Owl. On the questions concerning the power deck operation, he was letter perfect, and on the others, astrogation and control deck. He just skimmed by. But even where the problem involved fuel, power, supply of energy, he offered some very practical answers to the problem. She smiled. Astro is just much an artist on that power deck as Lydia Tamal doing Juliet in the stereos. Yes, he's strong. And Corbett is the same on the control deck. Good instinctive intelligence.  Thassel mind, quick to grasp the essentials. She smiled again. Seems to me I remember a few years back when young lieutenants successfully put down a mutiny in space and had his promotion to captain. The citation included the fact that he was quick to grasp the essentials. Strong, written sheepishly. A routine flight to Titan had misfired into open rebellion by the crew. Using a trick picked up in ancient history books of sea roving pirates in the 17th century, he had joined a mutiny, gained control of the ship, sought out the ringleaders, and restored discipline. And Manning. Asked strong. What about Manning? One of the hardest, brightest minds I've come across in the academy.  He never misses. Then do you think he's acting up because Corbett is the nominal head of the unit? Does he feel that he should be the command cadet in the control deck instead of Corbett? No, replied Dr. Dale. Not at all. I'm sure he intentionally missed problems about control deck and command in his classification test. He concentrated on estrogation, communications, and signal radar. He wanted to be assigned to the radar deck. And he turned in the best paper I've ever read from a cadet to get the post. Strong threw up his hands. Then what is it? Here we have a unit. On paper at least. That could be number one. A good combination of brains, experience, and knowledge. Everything that's needed. And what is the result? Friction. Suddenly a buzzer sounded. And on Steve Strong's desk, a small teleceiver screen glowed into life. Gradually the stern face of Commander Walters emerged. Sorry to disturb you, Steve. Can you spare me a minute? Of course, Commander, replied Strong. Is anything wrong? Very wrong, Steve. I've been looking over the daily performance reports on Unit 42D. Dr. Dale and I have just been discussing that situation, sir. A relieved expression passed over the Commander's face. Good. I wanted to get to your opinion before I broke up the unit. No, sir. Said Strong quickly. Don't do that. Uh-oh. Replied the Commander. On the screen he could be seen settling back into his chair. And why not? Well, Joan, or Dr. Dale and myself, feel that the bullies of Unit 42D make it potentially the best in the Academy. If they stay together, sir. Walters considered this for a moment and then asked thoughtfully, Give me one good reason why the unit shouldn't be washed out. The Academy needs boys like these, sir, Steve answered flatly. Needs their intelligence, their experience. They may be a problem now, but if they're handled right, they'll turn out to be a spaceman, though. The Commander interrupted. You're pretty sold on them, aren't you, Steve? Yes, sir, I am. You know, tomorrow all units will be assigned their personal instructors. Yes, sir, I've selected Lieutenant Volchek for this unit. He's tough and smart. I think he's just a man for the job. I don't agree, Steve. Volchek is a fine officer, and if any other unit there'd be no question. But I think we have a better man for the job. Whom do you suggest, sir? The Commander leaned forward in his chair. You, Steve. Me? What do you think, Joan? I wanted to make the same suggestion, Commander. Smiled Joan. But I didn't know if Steve really wanted the assignment. Well, what about it, Steve? Asked Commander. This is no reflection on your present work. But if you're so convinced that 42D is worth the trouble, then take them over and mold them into spacemen. Otherwise, I'll have to wash them out. Strong, hesitated moment. All right, sir. I'll do my best. On the screen, the stern lines in Commander Walter's face relaxed, and he smiled approvingly. Thanks, Steve. He said softly. I was hoping you'd say that. Keep me posted. The screen blacked out abruptly, and Captain Strong turned to Joan Dale, a troubled frown wriggling his brow. Huh, I really walked into that one, didn't I? He muttered. It isn't going to be easy, Steve, she replied. Easy. He snorted and walked over to the window to stare blankly at the quadrangle before. I'd almost rather try landing on the hot side of Mercury. It'd be icy compared to this situation. You can do it, Steve. I know you can. Joan moved to a side which placed a reassuring hand on his arm. The Solar Guard officer didn't answer immediately. He kept on staring at the Academy grounds and buildings spread out before him. When he finally spoke, his voice rang with determination. I've got to do it, Joan. I've got to whip those boys into a unit, not only for their sakes, but for the sake of the Academy. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Standby for Mars This LibriVox recording is in a public domain. Recording by Sean O'Hara. Standby for Mars by Kerry Rockwell. Chapter 4 The first three weeks of an Earthworm's life at Space Academy are filled with never-ending physical training and conditioning to meet the rigors' rocket flight and life on distant planets. And under the grueling pressure of 14-hour days, filled with backbreaking exercises and long, forced marches, very few of the boys can find anything more desirable than sleep and more sleep. Under this pressure, the friction in Unit 42-D became greater and greater. Roger and Astro continually needled each other with insults, and Tom gradually slipped into the role of Arbiter. Returning from a difficult afternoon of endless marching in the hot sun, with the prospect of an evening of freefall wrestling before them, the three cadets drag themselves whirling into the slide stairs leading up to their quarters, their muscles screaming for rest. Another day like this began Astro listlessly, and I'm going to melt down to nothing. Doesn't McKinney have a heart? No, just an asteroid, Tom grumbled. He'll never know how close he came to getting a spaceboot in space when he woke us up this morning. Ah, man, was I tired. Stop complaining, will ya? Snarled Roger. All I've heard from you two space crawlers is gripes and complaints. If I wasn't so tired, Roger, said Astro, I'd give you something to gripe about. Fat lip. Knock it off, Astro, said Tom Whirly. The role of keeping them apart was getting tiresome.  Yeah, I know, and you've got an electronic calculator for a brain. All I have to do is push a button and get the answer all laid out for you. They had reached their quarters now and were stripping off their sweat-soaked uniforms in preparation for a cool shower. You know, Roger, continued Astro, you've got a real problem ahead of you. Any problem you think I have is no problem at all. It was a cool reply. Yes, it is, insisted, Astro. When you're ready for your first top into space, you won't be able to make it. Why not? They don't have a space helmet in the academy large enough to fit that over-inflated head of yours. Roger turned slowly and spoke to Tom without looking at him. Close the door, Corbett. Why? asked Tom, puzzled. Because I don't want any interruptions. I'm going to take that big hunk of Venusian space junk apart. Anything you say, big mouth squirt, roared Astro? Hey, knock it off! Y'all, Tom, jumping between them and grabbing Astro's arm. If you guys don't lay off each other, you're going to be thrown out of the academy and I'll be thrown out with you. I'll be blasted if I'll suffer for your mistakes. That's a very interesting statement, Corbett. A deep voice purred in the doorway, and three boys were able to see Captain Strong walk into the room. His black and gold uniform, fitting snugly around his shoulders, portrayed his laden strength. Stand to, all of you. As the boys quickly snapped to attention, Strong eyed them slowly and then moved casually around the room. He picked up a book, looked out the window-port, pushed a boot to one side, and, finally, removed Tom's sweat-stained uniform from a chair and sat down. The cadets held their rigid poses back stiff, eyes looking straight ahead. Corbett snapped Strong. Yes, sir? What was the meaning of that little speech I heard a moment ago? I, uh, don't quite understand what you mean, sir, stumbled Tom. I think you do, said Strong. I want to know what provoked you to make such a statement. I'd rather not answer that, sir. Don't get cute, Corbett, barked Strong. I know what's going on in this unit. Remaining an Astro squaring off to fight? Yes, sir, replied Tom slowly. All right, at ease, all of you, said Strong. The three boys relaxed and faced the officer. Manning, do you want to be a successful cadet here at the academy? Yes, sir, answered Roger. Then why don't you act like it? Asked Strong. Is there something wrong with my work, sir? Tom recognized a smooth manning confidence begin to appear, and he wondered if Captain Strong would be taken in. Everything's wrong with your work, barked Strong. You're too smart. Know too much. You stopped short and then added softly with biting sarcasm. Why do you know so much, cadet Manning? Roger hesitated. I've studied very hard. Studied for years and become a space cadet, he replied. Just to be a cadet? Or a successful cadet and solar guard officer? To be successful at both, sir? Tell me, Manning, do you have any ideas on life? That's a pretty general question, sir. Do you mean life as a whole or a specific part of life? They're fencing with each other, thought Tom. He held his breath as Strong eyed the relaxed, confident cadet. A spaceman was supposed to have but one idea in life, Manning. And that idea is space. I see, sir, replied Roger as a far away look came into his eyes. Yes, sir, I have some ideas about space. I'd like to hear them. Requested Strong coldly. Very well, sir. Roger relaxed his shoulders and leaned against the bunk. I believe space is the last frontier of man, Earthman. It's the last place for man to conquer. It's the greatest adventure of all time and I want to be part of that adventure. Thank you, Manning. Strong's voice was even colder than before. But as it happens, I can read too. That was a direct quote from the closing paragraph of John Bulacur's book on his trip to the stars. He paused. Couldn't think of anything original to say? Roger flushed and gritted his teeth. Tom could hardly keep himself from laughing. Captain Strong had scored heavily. Astro. Where in the name of the universe did you get an idea you could be an officer in Solar Guard? I can handle anything with pushin' it, sir. Astro smiled his confidence. Know anything about hyperdrive? Um, no, sir. Then you can't handle everything with, as you say, pushin' it. Snapped Strong. Er, no, sir. Answered Astro, his face clouding over. There was a long moment of silence while Strong lifted one knee, swung it over the arm of his chair and looked steadily at the two half-naked boys in front of him. He smiled lazily. Well, for two earthworms you've certainly been acting like a couple of space aces. He let that soak in while he toyed with gleaming Academy ring on his finger. He allowed it to flash in the light of the window-port, then slipped it off his finger and flipped it over to Corbett. Know what that is? He asked the curly hair cadet. Yes, sir, replied Tom. Air Academy graduation ring. Uh-huh. Now give it to our friend from Venus. Tom gingerly handed Astro the ring. Try it on, Astro, invited Strong. The big cadet tried it on all of his fingers, but couldn't get it past the first joint. Give it a manning. Roger accepted the ring and held it in the palm of his hand. He looked at it with a hard stare, then dropped it in the outstretched hand of the Solar Guard officer. Placing it on his finger, Strong spoke casually. All units designed their own rings. There are only three like this in the universe. One is drifting around in space on the finger of Sam Jones. Another is blasting a trail to the stars on the finger of Addy Garcia. He held up his finger. This is the third one. Strong got up and began to pace in front of the boys. Addy Garcia couldn't speak a word of English when he first came to the academy. And for eight weeks, Sam and I sweated to figure out what he was talking about. I think we spent over a hundred hours in Galley doing KP because Addy kept following things up. But that didn't bother us because we were a unit. Unit 33V, class 2338. Strong turned to face the silent cadets. Sam Jones was pretty much like you, Astro. Not as big, but with the same love of that power deck. He could always squeeze a few extra pounds of thrust out of those rockets. What he knew about estrogation and control, he could stick on the head of a pin. On long flights, he wouldn't even come up to the control deck. He just sat in the power holes singing loud, corny songs about the Arkansas mountains to those atomic motors. He was a real power deck man, but he was a unit man first. The only reason I'm here to tell you about it is because he never forgot the unit. He died saving Addy and myself. The room was still. Down the long hall, the lively chatter of other cadets could be heard as they showered and prepared for dinner. In the distance, the rumble of slide walks and test firing of rockets said Spaceport was dim, subdued. Powerful. The unit is the backbone of the academy. Continued strong, it was set up to develop three men to handle a solar guard rocket cruiser. Three men who could be taught to think, feel, and act as one intelligent brain. Three men who would respect each other and who would depend on each other. Tomorrow you begin your real education. You will be supervised and instructed personally. Many men have contributed to the knowledge that will be placed in front of you. Brave, intelligent men who blasted through the atmosphere with a piece of metal under them for a spaceship and a fire in their tail for rockets. But everything they accomplish goes to waste if this unit can't be a single personality. It must be a single personality or it doesn't exist. The unit is the ultimate of hundreds of years of research and progress. But you have to fight to create it and keep it living. Either you want it or you get out of the academy. Kevin Strong turned away momentarily and Tom and Astor looked at Roger significantly. Stand to. The three boys snap to attention as his wide-shoulder captain addresses him again. Tomorrow you begin to learn to think as a single brain. Taxed with combined intelligence as one person. You either make up your minds to start tomorrow or you report to Commander Walters and resign. There isn't any room here for individuals. He stepped to the door and paused. One more thing. I've been given the job of making you over into Spaceman. I'm your unit commander. If you're still here in the morning I'll accept that as your answer. If you think you can't take, he paused. When I'm going to dish out, then you know what you can do. And if you stay, you'll be the best unit or I'll break you in two in the attempt. Unit dismissed and he was gone. The three cadets stood still, not knowing quite what to do or say. Finally Tom stepped before Astor and Roger. Well, he said quietly. How about it, you guys? Are you going to lay off each other now? Astor flushed but Roger eyed Corbett Cooley. Were you really taken in by that space gas, Tom? He turned to this shower room. If he were, you're even more childish than I thought.  I never knew him but I've met Kevin Strong and I believe that he would have done the same thing for Jones. Very noble, commented Roger from the doorway. But I'll tell you this manning. Said Tom, following him, fighting for self control. I wouldn't want to have to depend on you to save my life and I wouldn't want to be faced with a situation where I would have to sacrifice mine to save yours. The Academy regs say the man on control deck is the boss of the unit. But I have my private opinion of the man who has that job now. What's that supposed to mean? Asked Tom. Justice space boy. There's a gym below where I'll take you and your big friend on, together or one at a time. He paused, a cold smile twisting his lips. And that offer is good as of right now. Tom and Astro looked at each other. I'm afraid, began Astro slowly, that you wouldn't stand much of a chance with me manning. So if Tom wants a chance at buttoning your lips, he's welcome to it. Thanks, Astro. Said Tom evenly. It'll be my pleasure. Without another word, the three cadets walked out of the door. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of Stand by for Mars. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Sean O'Hara. Stand by for Mars by Cary Rockwell. Chapter 5 Will this do manning? Asked Tom. The three boys were in a secluded corner of the gym, a large hall on the 14th floor of the dormitory building. At the far end of the gym, a group of cadets had just finished a game of mercury ball and were sauntering to the showers. When the last boy had disappeared, the floor was deserted except for Tom, Roger, and Astro. This will do fine Corbett, said Roger. The boxing ring had been taken down the week before to make room for the drills and physical exercises of the earthworms. So the three boys had to improvise a ring. They dragged four large tumbling mats together, spreading them side by side to form a square close to the size of an actual ring. Astro went to one of the small lockers under the balcony and returned with two pairs of boxing gloves. Here, offered Astro. Put these on. Gloves? Asked Roger in a voice of mock surprise. I thought this was going to be a battle of blood. Any way you want it, Manning. Any way at all. You're going to use gloves, growled Astro. I don't want anybody killed. He threw a pair at each of them. It'll be three minute rounds with one minute rest. He continued. Go off the mat and you'll be counted out. Usual rules otherwise. Any questions? Clear to me, Astro, said Tom. Let's go. Noted Roger. One more thing, said Astro. I hope Tom pins your ears back, Manning. But I'm going to see that both of you get a fair deal. So keep the punches up and fight it out. All right? Time! The two boys moved carefully to the center of the improvised ring. The guards up. While Astro stood off the edge of the mat and watched the sweeping second hand of his wrist chronograph. Shuffling forward, Tom pushed out a probing left and tried to cross his right. But Manning stepped back easily, countering with a hard left to Tom's heart.  He called out. I'm considered a counterpuncher.  Good. Very good, Corbett. Then, with lightning speed and grace of cat, Roger slipped inside Tom's guard, punching hard and true. A left to right and a left pounded into Tom's midsection.  They circled. Tom kept leading with sharp lefts that popped in and out like a piston. Always connecting and keeping Roger off balance, Roger concentrated on penetrating Tom's defense. Methodically penning his ribs and heart, trying to wear him down. Time. Bald Astro. The two boys dropped their hands and turned back to their corners. They squatted on the floor, breathing slowly and easily. Astor stood in the middle of the ring, glaring at both of them in turn and shaking his head. Huh. I expect to see you two try to wallop each other in immediate dust. Keep fighting like that and we'll be here all night. Talked to Corbett. Sneered Roger. Looks like he's afraid and mix it up.  And I'll fight mine, replied Tom. His voice cold and impersonal. Time. Suddenly yelled Astro and stepped back off the mat. The two cadets jumped to their feet and met in the center of the ring again. With a bull-eye crush, Roger changed tactics and began to rain punches all over Tom's body, but a curly-haired cadet stood his ground coolly, picking some off in midair with his gloves and sliding under the others. Then, as Roger slowed down, Tom took the offensive, popping his left into his opponent's face, steadily and methodically while keeping his right cocked for a clear opening to the chin. Roger danced in and out, watching Tom's left as though it was a snake and trying unsuccessfully to get through his guard. But the sharp lefts kept snapping his head back, and his face began to redden, not only from the sting of the blows, but with mounting fury of his frustration. Suddenly, as Astro raised his arms to call time for the end of the round, Roger jumped forward and reigned another series of harmless blows on Tom's shoulders and arms. But then, the big Venusian called time. He stepped back and Tom dropped his guard. Instantly, Roger threw right with all his weight behind it. It landed flush in Tom's jaw and he dropped, sprawling full length on a mat and lying still. Smiling, Roger sauntered to his corner while Astro charged in and bent over the fallen cadet. None of that, Astro, snapped Roger. Since when does the referee take sides? Leave him alone. If he doesn't come out for the next round, you have to count him out. The big Venusian straightened and walked menacingly towards Roger's corner. You hit him after I called time, he growled. So I have to take you on too, huh? Roger jumped to his feet. All right, come on, you big blast of space gas. Wait, Astro, wait! Astro suddenly wheeled around to see Tom shaking his head weakly and trying to rise up on his elbows. He rushed back to the fallen boy's side. Roger shouted at him angrily. Leave him alone!  Was Astro snarling reply as he bent over Tom, who's now sitting up. Tom, are you okay? Yeah. He replied weakly.  How much time left? Twenty seconds, said Astro. Roger smacked you after I called time. If he did, I didn't know a thing about it. I was out. Tom managed to cold smile. Nice punch, Roger. Ten seconds, said Astro, stepping back off the mat. Thanks for the compliment, Corbett. Roger eyed the other cadets speculatively. But are you sure you want to go on? I was saved by the bell, wasn't I? Yeah, sure. But if you'd rather quit, Tom cried Astro. Tom rose to his feet, shook his head, and brought up his hands. He wasn't a moment too soon. Roger had rushed across the mat, trying land another murderous right. Tom brought up his shoulder just in time, slipping with a punch, and at the same time, bringing up a terrific left to Roger's midsection. Manning let out a grunt and clinched. Tom pursued his advantage, pumping rights and lefts into the body, and he could feel the arrogant cadet weakening. Suddenly, Roger crowded in close, wrestling Tom around so that Astro was on the opposite side of the mat. Then brought his head under Tom's chin. The pop of Tom's teeth could be heard all over the Great Hall. Roger quickly stepped back and backpedaled until Astro called time. Thanks for teaching me that one, Roger. Learn two tricks from you today, said Tom, breathing heavily, but with the same cold smile on his face. That's all right, Corbett. Any time, said Manning. What tricks, asked Astro. He looked suspiciously at Manning, who was doubled over, finding it hard to breathe. Nothing I can't handle in time, said Tom, looking at Roger. Time, called Astro, and stepped off the mat. Two boys got to their feet slowly. The pace was beginning to show on them, and they boxed carefully. The boys were perfectly matched. Tom, constantly snapping Roger's head back with the jolting left jabs, and following to the head or heart with the right cross. And Roger, counter-punching, slipping hooks and body punches in under Tom's long leads. It was a savage fight. The three weeks of hard physical training had conditioned the boys perfectly. At the end of the twelfth round, both boys showed many signs of wear. Roger's cheeks were as red as a glow of a jet blast deflector. From the hundreds of lefts, Tom had pumped into his face, while Tom's ribs in the midsection were bruised and raw, where Roger's punches had landed successfully. It couldn't last much longer, thought Astro, as he called time for the beginning of the thirteenth round. Roger quickened his pace, dancing in and out, trying to move in under Tom's lefts. But suddenly, Tom caught him with the right hand that was cocked and ready. It staggered him, and he fell back, covering up. Tom pressed his advantage, showering right and lefts everywhere he could find an opening. In desperation, his knees buckling. Roger clinched tightly, quickly brought up his open glove, and gouged his thumb into Tom's eyes. Tom pulled back, instinctively pawing at his eye with his right glove. Roger, spotting the opening, immediately took advantage of it, shooting a hard, looping right that landed flush in Tom's jaw. Tom went down. Unaware of Roger's tactics, Astro jumped into the ring, and his arm pumped to deadly count. One, two, three, four. It was going to be tough if Roger won, Astro thought, as he counted, five, six. Errigan enough now, he would be impossible to live with. Seven, eight. Tom struggled up to his sitting position, and stared angrily at his opponent in the far corner. Nine, with one convulsive effort, Tom regained his feet. His left eye was closed and swollen, his right blurry with fatigue. He wobbled drunkenly to his feet, but he pressed forward. This was one fight he had to win. Roger moved in for the finish. He slammed the left into Tom's shell, trying to find an opening for the last finishing blow. But Tom remained in the shell, four arms picking off the smashes that even hurt his arms, as he waited for the strength to return to his legs and arms and his head to clear. He knew he couldn't go another round, he wouldn't be able to see. It would have to be this round, and he had to beat Roger, not because he wanted to, but because Roger was a member of the unit, and he had to keep the unit together. He circled his unit mate with care, shielding himself from the shower of rights and lefts that rained round him. He waited, waited with one perfect opening. Come on, open up and fight, Corbett! Panted Roger. Tom snapped his right in reply. He noticed that Roger moved in with a hook every time he tried to cross his right. He waited, his legs began to shake. Roger circled, and Tom shot out his left again, dropping into a semi-crouch and fainted with his right cross. Roger moved in, cocking his fist for the left hook, and Tom was ready for him. He threw the right, threw with every ounce of strength left in his body. Roger was caught moving in and took the blow flush on the chin. He stopped as if pole axed. His eyes turned glassy, and then he dropped to the mat. He was out cold. Astro didn't even bother to count. Tom squatted on the mat beside Roger and rubbed the blonde head with his glove. Get some water, Astro, he said, gasping for breath. I'm glad I don't have to fight this guy again, and I'll tell you something else. What? asked Astro. Anybody that wants to win as much as this guy does is going to win, and I want him on my side. Astro merely grunted and turned towards the water cooler. Maybe, he called back, but he ought to read a book of rules first. When he came back to the mat with the water, Roger was sitting up, fighting knots of laces on his gloves.  Well, Roger, I'm ready to forget everything we said and start over again. Roger looked at the extended hand for a moment, his eyes blank and expressionless. Then, with a quick movement, he slapped it away and lurched to his feet.  Tom watched him go, bewilderment and pain mirrored on his face. I thought for sure this would work, Astro, he sighed.  Astro broke in disgustedly, at least nothing short of an atomic warhead.  Putting his arm around Tom's shoulder, the big venution led him across the floor of the deserted gym. An essay disappeared through the automatic sliding door, a tall figure in the uniform and the solar guard stepped out of the shadows of the balcony above. It was Captain Strong. He stood silently at the rail, looking down at the mats and the soggy discarded boxing gloves. Tom had won the fight, he thought, but he'd lost the war. The unit was no farther apart than it had ever been. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of Stand By for Mars This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Sean O'Hara. Stand by for Mars by Kerry Rockwell. Chapter 6 Well, Steve, how's everything going? Captain Steve Strong didn't answer right away. He returned to salute of his space cadet passing on the opposite sidewalk, and then faced Commander Walters, who stood beside him, eyeing him quizzically. Things are shaping up pretty well, Commander. He replied finally, with an air of unconcern. The earthworm cadets buckling down to business. Commander Walters' voice matched Strong's and Anchelon's. Yes, I'd say so, sir. Speaking generally, of course. Strong felt the back of his neck begin to flush as Commander Walters kept eyeing him. And speaking specifically, Steve. Why, um, what do you mean, sir? Let's stop fencing with each other, Steve. Commander Walters spoke kindly, but firmly. What about Manning and Unit 42D? Are those boys learning to work together, or not? And I want facts, not hopes. Strong hesitated, trying to word his reply. In these weeks that had followed Tom's fight with Roger in the gym, there had been no further incidents of open warfare. Roger's attitude, once openly defiant, had now subsided into a stream of never-ending sarcasm. The sting had been taken out of his attack, and he seemed satisfied and merely to annoy. Astra had withdrawn into a shell, refusing to allow Roger to bother him, and only an occasional rumble of anger indicated his true feelings towards the troublesome Unit Mate. Tom maintained his role as a peacemaker, and daily, in many ways, showed his capacity for leadership by stirring his Unit Mates away from storm-provoking activities. Strong finally broke the silence. It's difficult to answer that question with facts, Commander Walters. Why, insisted Walters. Well, nothing's really happened, answered Steve. You mean nothing since that fight in the gym? Oh, Strong flushed. You know about that. Commander Walters smiled.  Ah, no, sir, was Strong's lame reply. What I want to know is, pursued Walters, did the fight prove anything? Did the boys get it out of their systems? And are they concentrating on becoming a unit? Right now, Commander, they're concentrating on passing their manuals. They realize that they have to work together to get through this series of tests. While Dr. Dale told me the other day that she's sure Thompson giving Roger a few pointers on control deck operation, and one night I found Manning giving us her lecture and compression ratios. Of course, Manning's way of talking is the way that would confuse the Venusian more than would help them, but at least they weren't snarling at each other. Hmm, Walters nodded. Sounds hopeful, but still not conclusive. After all, they have to help each other in the manuals. If one member of the unit fails, it will reflect on the marks of the other two, and they might be washed out too. Even the deadliest enemies will unite to save their lives. Perhaps, sir, replied Strong. But we're not dealing with the deadly enemies now. These are three boys with three distinct personalities who've been lumped together in strange surroundings. It takes time and patience to make a team that will last for years. You may have patience, Steve, but the academy hasn't the time. Commander Walters will suddenly hurt. Quentin does Unit 42D take its manuals. This afternoon, sir, replied Strong. I'm on my way over to the examination hall right now. Very well. I won't take any action yet. I'll wait for the results of the test. Perhaps they will solve both of our problems. See you later, Steve. Turning abruptly, Commander Walters stepped off the sidewalk onto the steps of the administration building and rapidly disappeared from view. Left alone, Strong pondered the commander's parting statement. The implications were clear. If the unit failed to make a grade high enough to warrant the trouble it took keeping it together, it would have to be broken up. Or even worse, one or more of the boys would be dismissed from the academy. A few minutes later, Strong arrived in the examination hall. A large barren room with a small door in each of the three walls other than one containing the entrance. Tom Corbett was waiting in the center of the hall and saluted smartly his strong approach. Cadet Corbett reporting for manual examination, sir. Stand easy, Corbett. Replied Strong, returning with salute. This is going to be a rough one. Are you fully prepared? I believe so, sir. Tom's voice wasn't too steady. A fleeting smile passed over Strong's lips and he continued. He'll take the control deck examination first. Manning will be next on the radar bridge and after a last on a power deck. They'll be here according to schedule, sir. Very well. Follow me. Strong walked quickly to the small door in the left wall. Tom staying respectful step behind. When he reached the door, the officer pressed a button in the wall beside it and the door slid open. All right, Corbett. Inside, Strong nodded towards the interior of the room. The boys stepped in quickly then stopped in amazement. All around him was a maze of instruments and controls. And in the center, twin pilot's chairs. Captain Strong! Tom was so surprised that he could hardly get the words out. It's a real control deck. Strong smiled. As real as you could make it, Corbett, without allowing the building to blast off, he gestured towards the pilot's chairs. Take your place and strap in. Yes, sir! His eyes still wide with wonder. Tom stepped over to the indicated chair and Strong followed him. Leaning casually against the other, he watched the young cadet nervously adjust his seat strap and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Nervous, Corbett? Yes, sir. Just a little, replied Tom. Don't worry, said Strong. You should have seen the way I came into this room 15 years ago. My cadet officer had dragged me into the control pilot's seat. Tom managed a fleeting smile. Now, Corbett, Strong's voice became business-like.  In the past weeks, you cadets have been subjected to every possible examination to discover any flaw in your work that might later crop up in space. This manual operations test with the control board, like Manning's on the radar bridge and Astra's on the power deck, is designed to test you under simulated space conditions. If you pass this test, your next step will be real space. Yes, sir.  I understand, sir, said Tom. All right, then we'll begin. Your cruise board, the airlock is closed. What's the first thing you do? Adjust the air circulating system to ensure standard earth conditions. How do you do that? By pressing this button, which will activate the servo units, they automatically keep the circulating pumps in operation, based on thermostatic readings from the main gauge.  All right, carry on, said Strong. Tom reached over for the huge control board that extended around him for some two feet on three sides. He placed a nervous finger on a small button, waited for the gauge below to register with a swing of the hand, and then released it. All pressure steady, sir. What next? Check the cruiser, all departments, replied Tom. Carry on, said Strong. Tom reached out and pulled a microphone towards him. All hands, station check, said Tom, and then was startled to hear a metallic voice answer him. Power at ready for last fall. And then another voice. Radar at ready for last fall. Tom leaned back into pilot's seat and turned to the captain. All stations ready, sir. Good. What next? Asked Strong. Asked Spaceport Tower for blast-off clearance. Strong nodded. Tom turned back to the microphone and, without looking, punched a button in front of him. Rocket cruiser? He paused and turned back to Strong. What name do I give, sir? Strong smiled. Nozark. Rocket cruiser Nozark to spaceport control. Request blast-off clearance in orbit. Once again, a thin metallic voice answered and gave the necessary instructions. On and on through every possible command, condition or decision that would be placed in front of him, Tom guided his imaginary ship on his imaginary flight through space. For two hours, he pushed buttons, snapped switches, and jockey controls. He gave orders and received them from the thin metallic voices. They answered him with such accuracy, and sometimes with seeming hesitation, that Tom found it difficult to believe that they were only electronically controlled recording devices. Once when supposedly blasting through space at three-quarters space speed, he received a warning from the radar bridge of an approaching asteroid. He asked for a course change, but an reply only received static. Believing the recording to have broken down, he turned inquiringly to Captain Strong, but received only a blank stare in return. Tom hesitated for a split second, then turned back to the controls. He quickly flipped the teleceiver button on and began plotting the course of the approaching asteroid, ignoring for the moment his other duties on the control deck. When he'd finished, he gave the course shift to the power deck and ordered to blast at the starboard jet. He waited for the course change, saw it register on the gauges in front of him, then continued his work. Strong suddenly leaned over and clapped him on the back enthusiastically. Good work, Corbett. That broken recording was put there to intentionally trap you. Not one cadet in twenty would have had the presence of a mind you showed in planning the course of that asteroid yourself. Thank you, sir. Stammered, Tom. That's all. The test is over. Return to your quarters. He came over and laid a hand on Tom's shoulder. And don't worry, Corbett. While it isn't customary telecadet, I think you deserve it. You've passed with a perfect score. I have, sir. You mean, I really passed? Next step is manning, said Strong. You've done about as much as one cadet can do. Thank you, sir. Tom could only repeat it over and over. Thank you, sir. Thank you. Dazed, he sleuded his superior and turned to the door. Two hours in the pilot's chair had made him dizzy, but he was happy. Five minutes later, he slammed back the sliding door and entered the quarters of 42D with a lusty shout. Meet Space Cadet Corbett. An earthworm has just passed his control deck manual operations exam. Astro looked up from book of tables on astigation and gave Tom a one smile. Congratulations, Tom. He said and turned back to his book, adding bitterly, Sir, I don't get these tables down by this afternoon for my power deck manual. You're sunk. Say, what's going on here? Asked Tom. Where's Roger? Didn't he help you with him? He left. Said he had to see someone before taking his radar bridge or manual. He helped me a little. But when I asked him a question, you'd just rattle off the answer so fast. Well, I just couldn't follow him. Suddenly slamming the bookshot, he got up. Me and these tables indicated the book just don't mix. What's the trouble? I can get the easy ones about astrogation. They're simple. What's the ones where I have to combine it with the power deck? Well, I mean, what specifically? Asked Tom softly. For instance, I've got to find a ratio for compression of the main firing tubes, using given amount of fuel, heading for a given destination, and taking a given amount of time for passage. But that's control deck operations, as well as astrogation and power. Exclaimed Tom. Yeah, I know. Answered Astro. But I've still got to be able to do it. If anything happened to you two guys and I didn't know how to get you home, then what? Tom hesitated. Astro was right. Each member of the unit had to depend on the others in any emergency. And if one of them failed, Tom saw why the ground manuals are so important now. Look, offered Tom. Suppose we go over the whole thing again together. Maybe you're followed up on the basic concept. Tom grabbed a chair, hitched it close to the desk, and pulled Astro down beside him. He opened the book and began studying the problem. Now look, you have 22 tons of fuel, and considering the position of your ship in space. As two boys, their shoulders hunched over the table, began reviewing the table of ratios, crossed the quadrangle in the examination hall, Roger Manning stood in replica of Rocket Ship's radar bridge, and faced Captain Strong. Cadet Manning reporting for manual examination, sir. Roger brought up his arm in a crisp salute to Captain Strong, who returned it casually. Stand easy, Manning, replied Strong. Do you recognize this room? Yes, sir. It's a mock-up of radar bridge. A workable mock-up, Cadet. Strong was vaguely irritated by Roger's nonchalance in accepting the situation that Tom had marveled at. You will take your manuals here. Yes, sir. On these tests, you will be timed for both efficiency and speed, and you'll use all the table's charts and astrogation equipment that you'd find on a spaceship.   Strong handed Roger several sheets of paper containing written problems. Roger shuffled them around in his fingers, giving each a quick glance. You may begin any time you're ready, Manning, said Strong. I'm ready now, sir, replied Roger calmly. He turned to the swivel chair located between the huge communications board, the adjustable chart table, and the astrogation prism. Directly in front of him was a huge radar scanner, and to one side and overhead was two-mounted-on swivel joint that looked like a small telescope, but which was actually an astrogation prism for taking sights on celestial bodies in space. Roger concentrated on the first problem. You are now in the northwest quadrant of Mars, chart M, Area 28. You've been notified by the control deck that it has been necessary to jettison three-quarters of your fuel supply. For the last 579 seconds, you've been blasting at one-quarter space speed. The four main drive rockets were cut at 30-second intervals, making adjustments for degree of slip from each successive rocket cutout, finding present position by using crossfix with regularis as a starboard fix, Alpha Centauri's report fix.  Without hesitation, he adjusted the dial to brought the radar scanner into focus. When the screen remained blank, he made a second adjustment, and then a third and a fourth, until the bright white flash of a meter was seen on the scanner. He quickly grabbed two knobs, one in each hand, and twisted them to move two thin plotting lines, one horizontal and one vertical, across the surface of the scanner. Setting the vertical line, he figured the tabulating machine with his right hand, as he adjusted second line with his left, thus cross-fixing the meter. Then he turned his whole attention to the tabulator, repped off the answer with lightning moves of his fingers, and began talking rapidly into the microphone. Radar bridge control deck, alien body bearing 015, 1.7 degrees over plane of the ecliptic on intersecting orbit. Change course 2 degrees, hold for 15 seconds and resume original heading, will compensate for change near a destination. Roger watched the scanner a moment longer. When the rumbling blast of the stirring jet sounded in the chamber, and a meter of flash shifted on the scanner screen, he returned the problem in his hand. Seven minutes later, he turned to strong and handed him the answer. Present position by dead reckoning is northwest quadrant of Mars, chart 0 area 39 sir. He answered confidently. Strong tried to mask his surprise, but a lifted eyebrow gave him away. And how did you arrive at that conclusion, Manning? I was unable to get to sight on Alpha Centauri due to the present position of Jupiter, sir, applied Roger easily. So I took a fix on Earth, led for its rotational speed around the Sun, and took the cross-fix with the regular as ordered in the problem. Of course, I included all the other factors of speed and heading of our ship. That was routine. Strong accepted the answer with a curtain nod, motioning for Roger to continue. It would not do, thought Strong. To let Manning know that he was first cadet in 39 years to make the correct selection of Earth in working up the fix with Regulus, and still have the presence of mind clotting meteor without so much as half degree error. Of course, the problem varied with each cadet, but it remained essentially the same. Seven and a half minutes, Commander Walters would be surprised, say the least, thought Steve. Forty-five minutes later, Roger, as unlawful as if he'd been sitting listening to a lecture from the sand slide, handed in the rest of his papers, executed a sharp salute, and walked out. Two down and one to go, thought Strong, and toughest one of them all coming up, Astro. The big venution was unable to understand anything that couldn't be turned with a wrench. The only thing to prevent Unit 42D from taking Academy Unit honors over Unit 77K, the unit assigned to Lieutenant Volchek, would be Astro. While none of the members of the other units could come up to the individual brilliance of Corbett or Manning, they worked together as a unit, helping one another. They might make a higher unit rating simply because they were better balanced. He shrugged his shoulders and collected the papers. It was as much torture for him as it was for any cadet, he thought, and turned to the door. All right, Astro, he said to himself, in 10 minutes it'll be your turn, and I'm going to make it tough. Back in the quarters of Unit 42D, Tom and Astro still poured over the books and papers on the desk. Let's try it again, Astro. Besides Tom, as he hitched his chair closer to the desk, you've got 30 tons of fuel. You want to find a compression ratio on the number one firing tube chamber. So what do you do?  The big cadet replied, that's the way I did it on space freighters. But you're not on a space freighter now, exclaimed Tom. You've got to do things the way they want it done here at the Academy, by the book. These tables have been figured out by great minds to help you, and you just want to burn a little of the stuff and guess what it'll be? Tom threw up his hands and discussed. Seems to me I heard an old saying back in teen centuries, about leading a horse to water but not being able to make him drink. Drawed Roger from the doorway. He strolled in and kicked at the crumpled sheets of paper that littered the floor. Stark evidence of Tom's efforts for Astro. All right, wise guy, said Tom. Suppose you explain it to him. No can do, replied Roger. I tried. I explained it to him 20 times this morning while you were taking your control deck manual. He tapped his head delicately with his forefinger. Can't get through. Too thick. Astro turned to the window to hide the mist in his eyes. Lay off, Roger. Snapped Tom. He got up and walked over to the big cadet. Come on, Astro. We haven't got much time. You're doing the examination hall in a few minutes. It's no good, Tom. I just can't understand that stuff. Astro turned and faced his unit mates. His voice charged with sudden emotion. Just 15 minutes on the power deck of anything with rockets in her, and I'll run her from here to the next galaxy. I can't explain it. When I look at those motors, I can read them like you read an Astrogation chart, Roger. Or use the gauges on the control deck, Tom. But I just can't get those ratios out of a book. I gotta put my hands on those motors. Touch them. I mean really touch them. Then I know what to do. As suddenly as he started, he stopped in turn, leaving Tom and Roger staring at him, startled by this unusual outburst. Cadets! Stand too! Roared a voice from the doorway. The three cadets snapped to attention and faced the entrance. Take it easy, Earthworms. Said Tony Richards.  Lay off, Richards. Said Tom. We have time for gags now. Astro's going to take his power deck manual in a few minutes, and we're climbing with him. Okay, okay.  Said Richards. I just wanted to see if there are any bets on which unit would cop honors in the manuals this afternoon. I suppose you think your unit 47K will finish on top. Draw, Roger. I like to put all the galley demerits we have in 77K against yours. With Astro on our team? Completed, Roger. What's the matter with Astro? Asked Richards. From what I hear, he's hot stuff. It wasn't a compliment, but a sharp dig made with a sly smile. Astro bawled his huge hands into fists. Astro, said Roger, is tight that can smell out trouble on any power deck, but today he came down with a cold. Now I'm afraid no bet, Richards. I'll give you two to one, Richards offered. Nothing doing. Not even at five to one. Not with Astro. Richards grinned. Not even disappeared. Roger turned to face the hard stare of Tom. That was the dirtiest sell-out I've ever seen, Manning. Tom growled. Sorry, Corbett, said Roger. I only bet on sure things. That's okay with me, Manning, said Astro. But I'm afraid you sold yourself a hot rocket, so I'm going to pass. Who are you kidding? Roger laughed and sprawled on his bunk. Astro took a quick step forward.  You'll be late for the exam, Astro, he shouted. Get going, Earl, count against your mark. Less a few more points, more or less, when you're going to fail anyway. Snorted Roger from the bunk. Again, Astro started to lunge forward, and Tom braced himself against the Venusian's charge, but suddenly the burly cadet stopped. Disengaging Tom's restraining arms, he spoke coldly to the sneering boy on the bed. I'm going to pass the exam, Manning. Get that.  Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the room.  What's the idea of giving Astro a hard time? Demanded Tom. Cool off, Corbett. Replied Roger whirly.  You bet I'm hot. Hot enough to blast you. Again! Tom deliberately spat out the last word. Roger flushed and brought his fists up quickly as though to charge in. Then suddenly he dropped them again. He turned to the door slowly and walked out.  His voice drifted back to Tom as he disappeared. Tom stood there, looking at the empty door, almost blind with rage and frustration. He was failing in the main job assigned to him, that of keeping the unit on even keel and working together. How could he command a crew out in space if he couldn't keep the friction of his own unit under control? Slowly he left the room to wait for Astro in the recreation hall, where the results of the manuals would be announced. He thought of Astro, now probably deep in his exam, and wondered how bad it would be for him. Then another thought crossed his mind. Roger had said nothing of his own test, and neither he nor Astro had thought to inquire. He shook his head. No matter where the unit placed in the manuals, it just couldn't stay together. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of Standby for Mars This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Sean O'Hara. Standby for Mars by Karrie Rockwell. Chapter 7 It was customary for all earthworm cadets to gather in the main recreation hall to wait the results of the manuals, which would be announced on the huge teleceiver screen. Since all the units were taking their tests this afternoon, the hall was crowded with green clad cadets, talking low murmurs and waiting intensely for the outcome of the exam. Tom entered the huge room, looked around, and then drifted toward Al Dixon, the senior cadet who had greeted them as a unit after passing classification tests. The blue clad cadet was listening to a story spool, a device that told a story, rather than let the person read it from the book. Hey, Corbett! Said Dixon, smiling. Drag up a chair. Listening to a terrific yarn about the guy stranded on an asteroid, and then he finds the red-headed cadet's voice trailed off when he knows that Tom wasn't listening. Say, what's the matter with you?  Not yet, but it won't be long now, commented Tom, trace the bitterness creeping into his voice. Anastro is taking his power deck manual. What he knows about those compression ratios just isn't known, but he just can't get it down on paper. Don't sell your unitmate short, said Dixon, sensing something beneath Tom's comment. I've heard that big fellow knows more about a rocket deck than McKinney. Yeah, that's true, said Tom, but you know Corbett, said Dixon, switching off the story spool. Here's something screwing that outfit of yours. You can say that again, I could read Tom bitterly.  Manning? What about that space gassing hot shot? Manning just tore through the wreck hall, trying to get some of the other earth room units to bet their galley demerits against your outfit. Tom's mouth sagged open. You mean he actually wanted to bet that Astro would pass? Not just pass, Corbett. He wanted to bet that your unit would be the top rocket of the earthworms. The head of the list. But he told Astro that he stopped. Told him what? Ah, nothing, said Tom. He jumped up and headed for the door. Hey, where are you going? To find Manning. There are a couple things I want to clear up. Tom left Dixon shaking his head in bewilderment and jumped on the slide stairs. He was going to have it out with Roger once and for all. Hopping off the slide stairs on the 42nd floor, he started down the long hall to his quarters.  Sure, they're dumb, but they're not bad guys, said Roger. Tom walked into the room. Roger was sitting inside of his bunk facing Tony Richards. Hey, Corbett, said Roger. Did you hear how Astro made out yet? Tom ignored the question. I want to talk to you, Roger. Roger eyed him suspiciously. Sure, Corbett. Go right ahead. Well, I'll be going along, said Richards. He had heard about the previous fight between Manning and Corbett and didn't want to be hauled up as a witness if they started again. Remember Manning? He called from the doorway. Bed is two to one. And are you going to get tired of washing pots and pans? He waved his hand at Corbett and disappeared. All right, Corbett. Roger turned to Tom. What's frying you? I just saw Al dixing down in the wreck hall, answered Tom. He told me you were looking for bets on unit ratings. Is that why Richards was here? That's right. What made you say those things to Astro before he went to his manual? Very simple. I wanted to make him pass, and that was the only way. You're pretty sure of yourself, Roger. I'm always sure of myself, Corbett. And the sooner you learn that, the easier it'll be for all of us. I never bet unless it's in the bag. I know Astro is going to pass.  Astro's one of them. That doesn't answer my question, said Tom. Why did you say the things you did before Guy goes to an exam?  We're a cinch to win, and Richards' outfit will be indebted to us for years with galley demerits. You smiled easily. Smooth, huh? I think it's rotten, said Tom. Astro left here feeling like a plugged credit. And if he does fail, it'll be because you made him think he was the dumbest guy in the universe. Eh, he probably is, news, Roger, but he still won't fail that manual. From the hallway behind them, a loud blasting yell was suddenly heard, echoing from somewhere in the lower floors. Tom and Roger waited, their eyes wide and hopeful. There's only one person at Space Academy capable of making that noise. He made it, Tom exclaimed. Of course he made it, said Roger casually. Astro torn to 42D in a mad rush. NOOOOO! He grabbed the two cadets and picked them up, one in each hand. I admit it. Hands down, I handle those rocket motors like they were babes in arms. I told you that all I had to do was touch them and I'd know. I told you. Congratulations, Astro, said Tom with a wide grin. I knew you'd do it.  Astro released a smaller cadet and faced him. Well, hot shot, I promised you something when I got back, didn't I? Make it later, will ya? And I'll be glad to oblige. You walked towards the door. I've gotta go collect a bet. What bet? Asked Astro. With Tony Richards. But I thought you were afraid to bet on me. Not at all, Astro. I just wanted to make sure you were mad enough to ensure my winning. That sounds like you were more worried about your bet than you were about Astro passing, snap Tom. You're exactly right, Space Boy, purred Roger, standing in the doorway. That's our boy, Manning, growled Astro. The great team man. Team? Roger took a step back into the room. Don't make me laugh, Astro. For your information, tomorrow morning I'm putting in a transfer to another unit. What? exclaimed Tom. You can't transfer. Yes, I can, interrupted Roger. Read your Academy rags. Anyone can request a transfer once the unit has passed its manuals. And what excuse are you going to use? Snapped Astro bitterly. Said he can't take it. Personality difference, Astro, my boy. You hate me?  That's good enough reason, I think. It's just as well, hot shot. Because if you don't transfer, we will. Roger merely smiled, flipped his fingers through his forehead in an arrogant gesture of farewell, and turned to leave again. But his path was blocked by the sudden appearance of Captain Steve Strong. The three cadets quickly braced. The Solar Guard officer strode into the room, his face beaming. He looked at each of the boys, pride shining out of his eyes, and then brought his hand up and held it in salute. I just want to tell you boys one thing, he said solemnly. It's the highest compliment I can pay you, or anyone. He paused.  Tom and Astro couldn't repress smiles. Roger's expression never changed. Then we passed as a unit, sir, asked Tom eagerly. Not only past Corbett, Strong's voice boomed in small room, but with honors. You're the top rockets of this earthworm group. I'm proud to be your commanding officer. Again, Tom and Astro fought back smiles and happiness, and even Roger managed a small grin. This is the fightingest group of cadets I've ever seen. Strong continued. Frankly, I was a little worried about your ability to pull together, but the results of the manual showed that you have. You could have made it without being a unit. Strong failed to notice Roger's face darken, and Tom and Astro looked at each other meaningfully. My congratulations for having solved the problems, too. Strong saluted them again and walked towards the door, where he paused. By the way, I wanted you to report to the Academy spaceport tomorrow at 800 hours. Warren Officer McKenia is something out there he wants to show you. Tom's eyes bugged out and stepped forward. Sir, he gasped, scarcely able to get the question past his lips. You don't mean we're going to- You're absolutely right, Corbett. There's a brand new rocket cruiser out there. Your ship. Your future classroom. You'll report to her in the blues of space cadets. And from now on, your unit identification is the name of your ship. The Rocket Cruiser Polaris. A second later, strong and vanished down the corridor, leaving Tom and Astro hugging each other and clapping each other on the back in Deliri's joy. Roger merely stood to one side, a sarcastic smile on his face. And now, we prepare to face the unknown dangers of space. He said, bitingly, Let us unite our voices and sing the Academy hymn together. He strode towards the door. Don't they ever get tired of waving that flag around here? Before Tom and Astro could reply, he had disappeared. The big Venusian shrugged his shoulders. I just don't understand that guy. But Tom failed to reply. He had turned towards the window, and was staring out past the gleaming white tower of Galileo, into the slowly darkening skies of the evening to the east. For a moment, the problems of Roger Manning and the unit were far away. He was thinking of the coming morning, when he would dress in the blues of a space cadet for the first time, and step into his own ship as command pilot. He was thinking of the morning, when he would be a real spaceman. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of Stand by for Mars This Librivox recording is in a public domain. Recording by Sean O'Hara Stand by for Mars by Kerry Rockwell Chapter 8 The campus of Space Academy was quiet that evening, only a few cadets were still out on the quadrangle, lounging around in the open, before returning to their quarters for bed check. On the 42nd floor of the dormitory building, two-thirds of the newly formed Polaris unit were in a heated argument. All right, all right, so the guy's brilliant, said Astro. But who can live with him, not even himself? Maybe he is a little difficult, replied Tom, but somehow we've got to adjust to him. How about him adjusting to us? It is two against one. Astro shambled to the window and looked at Moodley. Besides, he's putting in for a transfer, and there's nothing we can do about it. Maybe he won't now, not after that little speech Kevin Strong made this afternoon. If he doesn't, then blasted I will. Ah, now take it easy, Astro. Take it easy, nothing. Astro is building him ahead of steam. Where is that space crawler right now? I don't know, he never came back. Wasn't even down at mess tonight. There, that's just what I mean. Astro turned to Tom and pressed his point. It's close to bed check and he isn't in quarters yet. If the MBs catch him outside after hours, the whole unit will be logged, and there goes our chance of blasting off tomorrow. But there's still time, Astro, replied Tom lamely. Not much there isn't. It just shows you what he thinks of the unit. He doesn't care. Astro paced the floor angrily. There's only one thing to do. He gets us transferred, or we do. Or he paused and looked at Tom meaningfully. Or I do. You're not thinking, Astro, argued Tom. How will that look on your record? Every time there's a trip in deep space, the anchor at your final see how you operate under pressure with other guys. When they see that you asked to be transferred from your unit, that's it. Yeah, yeah, I know. Incompatible. But honest, Tom, the curly haired cadet felt his big friend weaken and he pressed his advantage. It isn't every day that a unit gets a ship right after finishing ground manuals. Captain Strong said he waited four months after manuals before getting his first stop into space. Yeah, but what do you think is going to be like in space with Manning making sour cracks all the time? Tom hesitated before answering his Venetian friend. He was fully aware that Roger was going to play a lone hand, and that they would never really have unity among them unless some drastic measure was taken. After all, Tom thought, some guys don't have good hearts or eyes, a defect to prevent them from becoming spacemen. Roger is just mixed up inside, and the handicap is just as real as if he had a physical flaw. Well, what do you want to do, asked Tom finally?  Tell him we want to transfer. But tomorrow we blast off. We might not have another chance for months. Certainly not until we get a new astrogator. I'd rather wait and have a guy on the radar bridge I know isn't going to pull something behind my back, said Astro, and blast off tomorrow with Manning aboard. Again, Tom hesitated. He knew what Astro was saying was the truth. Life, so far at the Academy, had been tough enough, but with mutual dependence and security, even more important out in space, the danger of their constant friction was obvious. Okay, he relented. If that's the way you really want it, come on. Well, go seek Captain Strong now. You go, said Astro. You know how I feel. Whatever you say, goes for me too. Are you sure you want to do it, asked Tom. He knew what a request would mean. A black mark against Roger for being rejected by his unitmates, and a black mark against Astro and himself for not being able to adjust. Regardless of who was right and who was wrong, there'd always be a mark on their records. Look, Tom, said Astro. If I thought it was only me, I'd keep my mouth shut. But you'd let Manning get away with murder, because you wouldn't want to be the one to get him into trouble. Now I wouldn't, said Tom. I think Roger would make a fine spaceman. He's certainly smart enough and a good unitmate. If he'd only snap out of it. But I can't let him or anyone else stop me from becoming spaceman, or remember the solar guard. Then he'll go seek Captain Strong. Yes, said Tom. If he had been in that before, now that he'd made the decision, he felt relieved. He slipped on his space boots and stood up. The two boys looked at each other, each realizing the question in the other's mind. No, said Tom decisively. It's better for everyone, even Roger. He might find two other guys who will fit him better. He walked from the room. The halls were silent as he strode towards the slide stairs. They would take him to the 19th floor and Captain Strong's quarters. Passing one room after another, he glanced in and saw other units studying, preparing for bed, or just sitting around talking. There weren't many units left. The tests had taken their tolls on the earthworms. But those that remained were solidly built. Already friendships had taken deep root. Tom found himself wishing he had become a member of another unit. Where the comrade ship was taken for granted in other units. He was about to make a request to dissolve his because of friction. Completely discouraged, Tom stepped onto the slide stairs and started down. As he left the dormitory floors, noise of young cadet life was lost in the passing floors containing offices and departments of the administration staff of the solar guard. As he drew a level with the floor that was the galaxy hall, he glanced at the lighted plaque, and for the hundredth time he read the inscription. To the brave man who sacrificed their lives in the conquest of space, the galaxy hall is dedicated. Something moved in the darkness of the hall. Tom strained his eyes for a closer look and just managed to distinguish the figure of a cadet standing for the wreckage of the space queen. Funny thought Tom. Why should anyone be wandering around the hall at this time of night? And then as the floor slipped past, the figure turned slightly and was illuminated by the dim lights that came from the slide stairs. Tom recognized sharp features and close cropped blonde hair of Roger Manning. Quickly changing over to the slide stairs, going up, Tom slipped back to the hall floor and stepped off.  Tom started to speak, but stopped when he saw Roger take out a handkerchief and dab his eyes. The movements of the other boy were crystal clear to Tom.  He kept watching as Roger put away the handkerchief, slewed it sharply and turned towards the slide stairs. Ducking behind a glass case that held the first spacesuit ever used, Tom held his breath as Roger passed him. He could hear Roger mumble. He got to you, but it 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 all alone in Galaxy Hall. Finally, blonde 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, in the shower. Astro gestured to the bathroom, where Tom could hear the sound of running water. What made you change your mind about seeing Captain Strong? Asked Astro. I think we've misjudged Roger Astro, said Tom slowly, and then related what he'd seen and heard. Well, blast my jets! exclaimed Astro when Tom finished. What's behind it, do you think? I don't know, Astro, but I'm convinced that any guy that'll visit Galaxy Hall by himself late at night and cry, while he couldn't be entirely off-based regardless of what he does. Astro studied his work-hardened palms. You wanted to keep it this way for a while? He asked. I mean, forget about talking to Captain Strong. Roger's the best instigator and radar man in the Academy, Astro. There's something bothering him. I'm willing to bet that whatever it is, Roger will work it out. And if we're really unit mates, then we won't sell him out now when he may need us the most. That's it then, said Astro.  Come on, let's turn in. We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. The two boys began to prepare for bed. Roger came out of the shower wearing pajamas. All excited, spaceman, he drawled, leaning against the wall, brushing his short hair. I'm about as excited as we can get, Roger, smiled Tom. Yeah, you space-blasting jerk, growled Astro good-naturedly. Turn out the lights before I introduce you to my space boot. Roger eyed the two cadets quizzically, puzzled by the strange good humor of both boys. He shrugged his shoulders, flipped out the light, and crawled into bed. But if he could have seen the satisfied smile on Tom Corbett, Roger would have been more puzzled. We'll just kill him with kindness, thought Tom, and fell fast asleep.