"That's right," replied the crew chief. "I was on the control deck checking out the panel and I happened to look down. I couldn't see too well, but it was a big guy."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Messing around the reactor, huh?" mused Kit, almost asking the question of himself.

"That's right. I checked it right away, but I couldn't find anything wrong."

"Well, it's too late now, anyway. I blast in three minutes." Grimly Kit Barnard looked up at the sky where the black ship had just vanished.

"s.p.a.ceman's luck, Kit," said Sid, offering his hand. Kit grasped it quickly and jumped into his ship, closing the air lock behind him.

As Sid climbed down from the ramp, the three cadets rushed up breathlessly, disappointed at being unable to give Kit their personal good wishes.

"Well, anyway, I gave the new reactor my blessing last night," said Astro as they walked away from the ramp.

"You were aboard the ship last night?" Sid exclaimed.

"Uh-huh," replied Astro. "Hope you don't mind."

"No, not a bit!" Sid broke into a smile. "Whew! I thought for a while it was Quent."

"What about Quent?" asked Tom.

"I saw someone messing around on the power deck last night and thought it might be Quent. But now that you say it was you, Astro, there isn't anything to worry about."

Reaching a safe distance from the ramp, they stopped just as Strong finished counting off the seconds to blast off.

"_Zero!_"

The three cadets and Sid waited for the initial shattering roar of the jets, but it did not come. Instead, there was a loud bang, followed by another, and then another. And only then did the ship begin to leave the ground, gradually picking up speed and shooting s.p.a.ceward.

"What was wrong?" asked Tom, looking at Sid.

"The feeders," replied the young engineer miserably. "They're not functioning properly. They're probably jamming."

Astro looked puzzled. "But I checked those feeders myself, just before you closed the casing," he said. "They were all right then."

"Are you sure?" asked Sid.

"Of course I'm sure," said Astro. "Checking the feeders is one of my main jobs."

"Then it must be the reactant," said Tom. "Did Kit use standard reactant?"

Sid nodded. "Got it right here at the s.p.a.ceport. Same stuff everyone else is using."

Gloomily the four young s.p.a.cemen turned away from the ramp and headed for the control tower to hear the latest reports from the ships already underway. There were only a few more ships scheduled to blast off, and the cadets had already inspected them.

"Wait a minute," said Tom, stopping suddenly. "The fuel tanks are on the portside of the ship, and the feeders are on the starboard. Where did you see this fellow messing around, Sid?"

Sid thought a moment and then his face clouded. "Come to think of it, I saw him on the portside."

"I wasn't even close to the tanks!" exclaimed Astro.

"There was someone messing around them, then," said Roger.

"Yes," said Tom grimly. "But we don't know _who_--or _what_ he did."

"From the sound of those rockets," said Astro, "Kit's feeders are clogged, or there's something in his reactant that the strainers are not filtering out."

"Well," sighed Roger, "there isn't anything Kit can do but keep going and hope that everything turns out for the best."

"_If_ he can keep going!" said Tom. "You know, there are some things about this whole race that really puzzle me."

"What?" asked Roger.

"Impure reactant in Kit's ship, after fellows like Kit, Astro, and Sid checked it a hundred times. Gigi Duarte crashing after making record speed to the Moon. The minimum specifications being stolen from Commander Walters...." Tom stopped and looked at his friends. "That enough?"

Roger, Astro, and Sid considered the young cadet's words. The picture Tom presented had many curious sides and no one had the slightest idea of how to go beyond speculation and find proof!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER 6

"The winners are--" Captain Strong's voice rang loud and clear over the loud-speakers--"first place, Captain Stic.o.o.n, piloting the Marsopolis Limited entry, _s.p.a.ce Lance_! Second place, Captain Miles, piloting the Charles Brett Company entry, _s.p.a.ce Knight_! Third place, Captain Barnard, piloting his own ship, _Good Company_!"

There was a tremendous roar from the crowd. In front of the official stand, Tom, Roger, and Astro pounded Sid Goldberg on the back until he begged for mercy. On the stand, Strong and Kit shook hands and grinned at each other. And Commander Walters stepped up to congratulate the three winners. Walters handed each of them a personal message of good wishes from the Solar Council, and then, over the public-address system, made a short speech to the pilots of the losing ships thanking them for their co-operation and good sportsmanship. He paused, and in a voice hushed with emotion, offered a short prayer in memory of Gigi Duarte.

The entire s.p.a.ceport was quiet for two minutes without prompting, voluntarily paying homage to the brave s.p.a.ceman.

After Walters left and the ceremonies were over, the three winners stood looking at each other, sizing up one another. Each of them knew that the winner of this race probably would go down in the history of deep s.p.a.ce.

There was fame and fortune to be won now. Quent Miles ignored Stic.o.o.n and swaggered over to Kit Barnard.

"You were lucky, Barnard," he sneered. "Too bad it won't last for the race."

"We'll see, Quent," said Kit coolly.

Stic.o.o.n said nothing, just watched them quietly. Quent Miles laughed and walked off the stand. Kit Barnard looked at Stic.o.o.n. "What's the matter with him?" he asked.

The Martian shrugged. "Got a hot rocket in his craw," he said quietly.

"But watch your step with him, Kit. Personally, I wouldn't trust that s.p.a.ceman as far as I could throw an asteroid."

Kit grinned. "Thanks--and good luck."

"I'll need it if you get that reactor of yours working," said the Martian.