The Revolt on Venus | Page 3

famed Polaris unit,
raced up the narrow ladder leading to the radar bridge to take command
of astrogation and communications.
While Captain Strong and the members of the Arcturus unit strapped
themselves into acceleration cushions, Tom conducted a routine check
of the many gauges on the great control panel before him. Satisfied, he
flipped open the intercom and called, "All stations, check in!"
"Radar deck, aye!" drawled Roger's lazy voice.
"Power deck, aye!" rumbled Astro.
"Energize the cooling pumps!" ordered Tom.
"Cooling pumps, aye!"
The whine of the mighty pumps was suddenly heard, moaning eerily

throughout the ship.
"Feed reactant!"
The sharp hiss of fuel being forced into the rocket engines rose above
the whine of the pumps, and the ship trembled.
"Stand by to blast," called Tom. "Standard space speed!"
Instantly the Polaris shot toward Earth in a long, curving arc. Moments
later, when the huge round ball of the mother planet loomed large on
the scanner screen, Roger's voice reported over the intercom,
"Academy spaceport control gives us approach orbit 074 for
touchdown on Ramp Twelve, Tom."
"074 Ramp Twelve," repeated Tom. "Got it!"
"Twelve!" roared Astro suddenly over the intercom. "Couldn't you
make it closer to the Academy than that, Manning? We'll have to walk
two miles to the nearest slidewalk!"
"Too bad, Astro," retorted Roger, "but I guess if I had to carry around
as much useless muscle and bone as you do, I'd complain too!"
"I'm just not as lucky as you, Manning," snapped Astro quickly. "I don't
have all that space gas to float me around."
"Knock it off, fellows," interjected Tom firmly. "We're going into our
approach."
Lying on his acceleration cushion, Strong looked over at Tony
Richards of the Arcturus unit and winked. Richards winked and smiled
back. "They never stop, do they, sir?"
"When they do," replied Strong, "I'll send all three of them to sick bay
for examination."
"Two hundred thousand feet to Earth's surface," called Tom. "Stand by
for landing operations."

As Tom adjusted the many controls on the complicated operations
panel of the ship, Roger and Astro followed his orders quickly and
exactly. "Cut main drive rockets and give me one-half thrust on
forward braking rockets!" ordered Tom, his eyes glued to the altimeter.
The Polaris shuddered under the sudden reverse in power, then began
an upward curve, nose pointing back toward space. Tom barked
another command. "Braking rockets full! Stand by main drive rockets!"
The sleek ship began to settle tailfirst toward its destination--Space
Academy, U.S.A.
In the heart of a great expanse of cleared land in the western part of the
North American continent, the cluster of buildings that marked Space
Academy gleamed brightly in the noon sun. Towering over the green
grassy quadrangle of the Academy was the magnificent Tower of
Galileo, built of pure Titan crystal which gleamed like a gigantic
diamond. With smaller buildings, including the study halls, the
nucleonics laboratory, the cadet dormitories, mess halls, recreation
halls, all connected by rolling slidewalks--and to the north, the vast
area of the spaceport with its blast-pitted ramps--the Academy was the
goal of every boy in the year A.D. 2353, the age of the conquest of
space.
Founded over a hundred years before, Space Academy trained the
youth of the Solar Alliance for service in the Solar Guard, the powerful
force created to protect the liberties of the planets. But from the
beginning, Academy standards were so high, requirements so strict,
that not many made it. Of the one thousand boys enrolled every year, it
was expected that only twenty-one of them would become officers, and
of this group, only seven would be command pilots. The great Solar
Guard fleet that patrolled the space lanes across the millions of miles
between the satellites and planets possessed the finest, yet most
complicated, equipment in the Alliance. To be an officer in the fleet
required a combination of skills and technical knowledge so demanding
that eighty per cent of the Solar Guard officers retired at the age of
forty.

High over the spaceport, the three cadets of the Polaris unit, happy
over the prospect of a full month of freedom, concentrated on the task
of landing the great ship on the Academy spaceport. Watching the
teleceiver screen that gave him a view of the spaceport astern of the
ship, Tom called into the intercom, "One thousand feet to touchdown.
Cut braking rockets. Main drive full!"
The thunderous blast of the rockets was his answer, building up into
roaring violence. Shuddering, the great cruiser eased to the ground foot
by foot, perfectly balanced on the fiery exhaust from her main tubes.
Seconds later the giant shock absorbers crunched on the ramp and Tom
closed the master switch cutting all power. He glanced at the astral
chronometer over his head and then