"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. "h.e.l.lo, s.p.a.ceman!" he cried. "Long time, no see!"

"h.e.l.lo, 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 s.p.a.ce 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 a.s.signment."

"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 s.p.a.cemen 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 s.p.a.ceman 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 s.p.a.ceman inquiringly, but he was not smiling, and they suddenly felt a strange chill of apprehension.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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 s.p.a.ceman 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 go. No use getting Strong down on us before we even get started."

"Steve Strong doesn't scare me," replied Miles.

"All right! He doesn't scare you. He doesn't scare me, either," said Brett irritably. "Now that we both know that neither of us is scared, let's get going."

Quent smiled again and rose slowly. "You know something, Charley?" he said in a deceptively mild voice. "One of these days you're going to get officious with the wrong s.p.a.ceman, one that isn't as tolerant as I am, and you're going to be pounded into s.p.a.ce dust."

Quent Miles stood in front of Brett's desk and stretched like a languid cat. Brett noted the powerful hands and arms and the depth of the shoulders and chest, all emphasized by the tight-fitting clothes the s.p.a.ceman affected. The man was dark and swarthy, and dressed all in black. Brett had often imagined that if the devil ever took human form it would look like Quent Miles. He shivered uncontrollably and waited.

Finally Miles turned to him, a mocking smile on his face.

"Well, Charley? What are we waiting for?"

A few moments later they were speeding through the broad streets of Atom City in a jet cab on the way to the Atom City s.p.a.ceport.

"What's this all about?" demanded Quent, settling back in his seat. "Why the rush call?"

"I didn't get the contract to haul the crystal," replied Brett grimly.

"All the bids were so close the Solar Council decided to have a s.p.a.ce race out to t.i.tan to pick the outfit that would get the job."

Quent turned toward him, surprised. "But I thought you had all that sewed up tight!" he exclaimed. "I thought after you got your hands on the--"

"Shut up!" interrupted Brett. "The details on the specifications leaked out. Now the only way I can get the contract is to win the race."