Treachery in Outer Space | Page 7

weaker contenders and reduce the chance of
accidents taking place millions of miles out in space. Also, it will result
in a faster time for the winner. Now, the details of the race will be
given to your chief pilots, crew chiefs, and power-deck officers at a
special meeting in my office here in the Tower building tomorrow. You
will receive all information and regulations governing the minimum
and maximum size of the ships entered, types of reactor units, and
amount of ballast to be carried."

"How many in the crew?" asked a man in the front.
"Two," replied Steve, "or if the ship is mostly automatic, one. Either
can be used. The Solar Guard will monitor the race, sending along one
of the heavy cruisers." Strong glanced at his notes. "That is all,
gentlemen. Are there any questions?"
There were no questions and the men began to file out of the room.
Strong was relieved to see Brett was among the first to leave. He didn't
trust himself to keep his temper with the man. As the room emptied,
Strong stood at the door and grabbed Kit Barnard by the sleeve. "Hello,
spaceman!" he cried. "Long time, no see!"
"Hello, Steve," replied Kit, with a slow, warm smile.
"Say! Is that the way to greet an old friend after four, or is it five
years?"
"Five," replied Kit.
"You look worried, fellow," said Strong.
"I am. This race business leaves me holding the bag."
"How's that?"
"Well, I made a bid on the strength of a new reactor unit I'm trying to
develop," explained Kit. "If I had gotten the contract, I could have
made a loan from the Universal Bank and completed my work easily.
But now--" Kit stopped and shook his head slowly.
"What is this reactor?" Strong asked. "Something new?"
"Yes. One quarter the size of present standard reactors and less than
half the weight." Kit's eyes began to glow with enthusiasm as he spoke.
"It would give me extra space in my ships and be economical enough
on fuel for me to be able to compete with the larger outfits and their
bigger ships. Now, all I've got is a reactor that hasn't been tested
properly, that I'm not even sure will work on a long haul and a hot

race."
"Is there any way you can soup up one of your present reactors to make
this run?" asked Strong.
"I suppose so," added Kit. "I'll give the other fellows a run for their
money all right. But it'll take every credit I have. And if I don't win the
race, I'm finished. Washed up."
"Excuse me, Captain Strong," said Tom Corbett, coming to attention.
"Major Connel ordered us to report here for special assignment."
"Oh, yes," said Strong, turning to Tom, Roger, and Astro with a smile.
"Meet Kit Barnard. Kit--Tom Corbett, Roger Manning, and Astro, the
Polaris unit. My unit," he added proudly.
The boys saluted respectfully, and Barnard smiled and shook hands
with each of them.
"You've heard about the race now," said Strong to Tom.
"Yes, sir," replied the young cadet. "It sounds exciting."
"It will be, with spacemen like Kit Barnard, Charley Brett, and the
other men of the big outfits competing. You're going to work with me
on the time trials, and later the Polaris will be the ship that monitors
the race. But first, you three will be inspectors."
"Of what, sir?" asked Roger.
"You'll see that all regulations are observed--that no one gets the jump
on anyone else. These men will be souping up their reactors until those
ships will be nothing but 'go,' and it's your job to see that they use only
standard equipment."
"We're going to be real popular when we tell a spaceman he can't use a
unit he's rigged up specially," commented Astro with a grin.
Tom laughed. "We'll be known as the cadets you love to hate!"

"Especially when you run up against Charley Brett," said Kit.
The cadets looked at the veteran spaceman inquiringly, but he was not
smiling, and they suddenly felt a strange chill of apprehension.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER 3
"It's about time you got here!"
Charley Brett glared angrily at his chief pilot, Quent Miles, as he
sauntered into the office and flopped into a chair.
"I had a heavy date last night. I overslept," the spaceman replied,
yawning loudly.
"We're late for Strong's meeting over at the Academy," Brett snapped.
"Get up! We've got to leave right away."
Quent Miles looked at the other man, his black eyes gleaming coldly.
"I'll get up when I'm ready," he said slowly.
The two men glared at each other for a moment, and finally Brett
lowered his eyes. Miles grinned and yawned again.
"Come on," said Brett in a less demanding tone. "Let's