Part 37 (1/2)

When the men had secured the portal, Brooks turned and pushed Tom roughly along the pa.s.sageway. A moment later they reached the control deck where Bull c.o.xine was hunched over his charts.

”Here he is, Captain,” said Brooks. ”The other two are sealed up in the air lock like sardines!”

c.o.xine nodded and faced Tom, a thin smile on his face. ”I told you I would get the recognition signal, Corbett,” he said. ”And I will!”

c.o.xine walked over to a large valve on the after bulkhead and tapped the needle indicator right beside it. Satisfied, he turned back to the cadet.

”In two hours,” began c.o.xine, ”we'll be within range of the Ganymede garrison and its radar. It takes exactly eight turns on this valve to bleed the air out of the air lock where your two buddies are. So, every fifteen minutes I'm going to ask you for the recognition signal, and every time you say no, I'll turn the valve once. By the time we get close enough to Ganymede to be picked up on their radar, you'll either have given me the signal or your buddies will be dead!”

Tom stood listening to c.o.xine, his blood boiling at the giant s.p.a.ceman's cruelty. Suddenly he tore across the control deck and made a dive for c.o.xine's neck. But the big man met him coming on and with a powerful slap of his hand sent the boy sprawling back across the deck.

”You're a good man, Corbett,” said c.o.xine, standing over the fallen cadet, ”but you're a _little_ man, and a good big man can lick a good little man any time!”

Brooks and the crewmen laughed loudly as Tom dragged himself to his feet.

”Well, do I get the signal?” demanded c.o.xine. ”Or do your buddies get a little less air?”

Standing unsteadily on his feet, with four paralo-ray guns trained on his body, Tom thought quickly of Roger and Astro, alone in the darkness of the air lock, soon to be clawing their throats for air; of the merciless attack on the prison asteroid; of the helpless s.h.i.+ps c.o.xine had looted. All these things and more flashed through the curly-haired cadet's mind as he weighed his life and the lives of his unit-mates against an attack that would devastate the small satellite of Jupiter.

Tom could see through the pirate's demand for the recognition signal.

Once inside the Ganymede radar screen, he could attack the Solar Guard garrison and wipe it out before it could raise a s.h.i.+p in defense.

”Well?” demanded c.o.xine, placing his huge hand on the valve.

Tom knew that if he could stall long enough, the signal aboard the _Polaris_ might be picked up by the Solar Guard. Roger and Astro were in good physical condition. They could conserve their energy as soon as they discovered the trap. He had to stall and hope the signal would be picked up in time.

”The only thing I'll ever give you, c.o.xine,” said Tom through clenched teeth, ”is a blast of a paralo-ray!”

c.o.xine snarled in anger and turned the valve, shouting, ”One more thing, _Mister Hero_! The minute the air lock is empty, _you_ take a swim in s.p.a.ce too!”

Tom was prepared for that. He knew the pirate would not take defeat at the hands of a s.p.a.ce Cadet easily. Tom was resigned to his fate. He was ready to accept anything if it would serve the purpose of ridding the solar system of Bull c.o.xine.

”Tie him to that chair,” snarled the giant pirate captain. ”And make sure he's secure, or you'll go swimming in s.p.a.ce with him!”

Tom was shoved roughly into the copilot's chair in front of the control board and tied down with a thick rope. He winced as the heavy line dug into his arms. After inspecting the job, c.o.xine dismissed Brooks and the men with a curt nod and returned to his charts.

Tom sat in front of the control panel, his eyes sweeping the gauges and dials and at last fixing on the master acceleration lever. Two feet away was the lever that controlled all the power on the s.h.i.+p. If he could only reach it, he could stop the _Avenger_ dead, and possibly even put the s.h.i.+p completely out of commission. But try as he might, he could not get his hands free.

c.o.xine looked up at the astral chronometer and walked over to the valve.

”Well, Corbett,” demanded the burly s.p.a.ceman, ”what's the recognition signal?”

Tom only shook his head.

”Must be pretty bad, sitting down there in the dark, hearing the oxygen feed in slower and slower. You sure you won't change your mind?”

Tom looked squarely at c.o.xine, hatred in his eyes, and he watched the pirate captain shrug his shoulders, turn the valve again, and return to his charts.

The young cadet watched the astral chronometer, seeing the red hand sweep the seconds away, and the black minute hand inch around the dial.

Over and over, the curly-haired s.p.a.ce Cadet refused c.o.xine's demand for the recognition signal and then watched helplessly as the pirate gave the air-lock valve another twist.

Nearly two hours had pa.s.sed and Tom knew that they would soon be in radar range of the Ganymede garrison. The pressure in the air lock must now be within ten units of zero. Suddenly, overhead, the audioceiver loud-speaker crackled into life.