"Ganymede!" Tom was thunderstruck. "But--but--how did he do it?"

Kit shook his head. "I don't know, Tom, but he sure has some speed in that black ship of his."

"Ganymede!" Tom repeated in bewilderment. It was beyond belief. The _Polaris_, using hyperdrive, could scarcely have made the flight any faster. Tom felt his heart sinking. The hope that Kit Barnard could catch the black _s.p.a.ce Knight_ was faint now.

"Shall I call Ganymede again and see if they have anything new?" Tom asked finally.

"Yes, do that, Tom," Kit replied.

The curly-haired cadet quickly climbed the ladder to the radar bridge and sat wearily in front of the teleceiver.

"s.p.a.ceship _Good Company_ to Ganymede s.p.a.ceport," he called. "Come in, Ganymede."

Seconds later, the voice of the Ganymede control operator crackled over the loud-speaker in reply. "Ganymede station to _Good Company_. Go ahead."

"Can you give me any information on the departure time of _s.p.a.ce Knight_ from Ganymede?"

"She has not blasted off yet. She is having trouble in her after burners."

"How long do you estimate it will take for her to effect repairs and blast off?" asked Tom, a note of rising hope in his voice. While the black ship had made it to Ganymede under full power without refueling, the strain might have damaged her seriously. Tom waited patiently for the reply, drumming his fingers on the table in his excitement.

"Not more than sixteen hours, _Good Company_," the Ganymede operator finally answered. "Where are you now?"

Tom quickly ascertained his position and relayed it to the tiny Jovian-moon station. "s.p.a.ce sector fourteen, chart B for baker." After the metallic voice had repeated the information, Tom asked for information on Roger Manning.

"No such person has reported to this office, Cadet Corbett," came the negative reply. "End transmission."

"End transmission," said Tom gloomily and slumped back into his chair.

Something had happened to Roger, or he had completely blown his top. And in the light of past performances by the blond-haired radar expert, Tom could not decide which. Roger had threatened many times that if he should ever leave the Academy, he would do it quietly, without fanfare.

There was no better place to drop out of sight than on Ganymede, for it was here that the deep s.p.a.cers, gigantic s.p.a.ceships that hauled supplies to the colonies of Alpha Centauri, Tara, and Roald made their last stop.

If Roger had finally made good his threat to leave the Academy, Ganymede was the logical place to do it.

But why?

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER 11

"Yeow!"

Astro's bull-like roar echoed through the _Good Company_. Tom and Kit jumped around in their seats to stare dumfounded at the half-stripped cadet climbing through the hatch into the power deck, followed by Sid.

Sweating, his body streaked with grease, the belt of rocketman's tools swinging from his hips, Astro pounded the two s.p.a.cemen on the back. "We did it!" he roared, turning to hug Sid who was equally grimy and naked to the waist.

"Did what?" demanded Kit.

"You know that by-pa.s.s feeder you said wouldn't hold a pressure of more than D-18 rate?" said Astro eagerly.

When Kit nodded, Astro roared triumphantly, "Well, it'll hold more than D-18 rate now!"

"What do you mean?" demanded Kit.

Astro's involved and detailed reply in engineering terms was almost gibberish to Tom, but he understood enough of the unit construction to sense that Astro had done something extraordinary.

"And he did it all himself, too," said Sid quietly. "I didn't do any more than hold the tools."

"But I still don't understand," protested Kit. "The by-pa.s.s won't take more than D-18."

"We built another one," said Astro proudly. "Since you were making a small unit, you naturally built a small by-pa.s.s feeder. We made a big one." Astro grinned. "I admit that it looks a little lopsided, with that tank joint on the side nearly twice as big as the whole cooling unit, but if you'll cut your motors and give me fifteen minutes to change that line, I'll give you a reactant feed at D-30 rate."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"D-D-30," stammered Kit. "You're s.p.a.ce happy!" He glanced over at Sid.

"Is that right, Sid?" he asked, almost hesitantly.

The youth nodded. "It'll work, Kit. And believe me, I didn't have a thing to do with it. It was his idea and I thought he was nuts too. But he can holler louder than I can and--well, he's bigger'n I am and--" Sid shrugged his shoulders. "He went and did it."

"I want to see that thing for myself!" exclaimed Kit, jumping out of his seat. "Take over for a while, Tom."

Tom slid under the controls of the sleek ship, and while Astro, Sid, and Kit went below to the power deck, he began to figure their speed at a D-30 rate. He used a pencil at first, scribbling on a piece of paper, but the answer he reached was so fabulous, he put the ship on automatic gyro control and climbed to the radar deck where he checked the figures on the electronic calculator. When the result was the same, he let out a whoop.

When he returned to the control deck again, Astro, Kit, and Sid were already working the master control panel, adjusting some of the controls to take the enormous increase in speed. Kit grinned up at Tom. "Here we go, Tom," he said. "This is going to be the fastest ride you've ever had next to hyperdrive."

"Then it really works?" yelled the cadet.

"It not only works, but from the looks of that thing, we'll use very little more fuel. So now it's our turn to by-pa.s.s a fuel stop! We're going right on through to t.i.tan!"

"You're whistling into the wind, Barnard!" Quent Miles' voice was harsh and derisive as it crackled over the audioceiver. "You could never catch up with me in a hundred light years! This race is in the bag for yours truly!"

Across the vast distance of s.p.a.ce that separated the two speeding ships, Tom, Astro, and Kit Barnard listened to Miles' bragging voice and smiled at each other. All Kit ever wanted was a fair chance, and now, thanks to Astro and Sid, he had better than a fair chance. With their added speed, Tom calculated that the two ships would arrive at the t.i.tan s.p.a.ceport at about the same time. Only scant minutes separated their estimated times of arrival.

"How much farther do you think that wagon of yours will hold out, Barnard?" continued Miles over the audioceiver. "You'll burn it up or shake it apart. This race is in the bag!"

"All right, Miles," interrupted Tom. "We'll do our talking at the t.i.tan s.p.a.ceport. Now let me talk to Roger."

"You mean, Manning?" asked Miles, after an almost imperceptible pause.

"Yes, I mean Manning!" snapped Tom.

"Can't oblige, Corbett," said Quent Miles. "Your pal took it on the lam back at Ganymede. He ran out on me. As far as I know, he's still there.

Didn't you see him when you stopped for refueling?"