"All O.K. here on the relay circuit," yelled Astro through the intercom from the power deck.

"O.K.," answered Tom. "Now try out the automatic blowers for the main tubes!"

"Wanta give me a little juice for the radar antenna, Astro?" called Roger from the radar deck.

"In a minute, Manning, in a minute," growled Astro. "Only got two hands, you know."

"You should learn to use your feet," quipped Roger. "Any normal Venusian can do just as much with his toes as he can with his fingers!"

Back and forth the bantering had gone for twelve hours, while the three members of the Polaris unit tested, checked, adjusted, and rechecked the many different circuits, relays, junction boxes, and terminals in the miles of delicate wiring woven through the ship. Now, as dawn began to creep pink and gray over the eastern horizon, they made their last-minute search through the cavernous spaceship for any doubtful connections. Satisfied there were none, the three weary cadets assembled on the control deck and sipped the hot tea that Manning had thoughtfully prepared.

"You know, by the time we get out of the Academy I don't think there'll be a single inch of this space wagon that I haven't inspected with my nose," commented Roger in a tired voice.

"You know you love it, Manning," said Astro, who, though as tired as Tom and Roger, could still continue to work if necessary. His love for the mighty atomic rocket motors, and his ability to repair anything mechanical, was already a legend around the Academy. He cared for the power deck of the Polaris as if it were a baby.

"Might as well pack in and grab some sleep before we report to Captain Strong," said Tom. "He might have us blasting off right away, and I, for one, would like to sleep and sleep and then sleep some more!"

"I've been thinking about what Alfie had to say," said Roger. "You know, about this being a great adventure."

"What about it?" asked Astro.

"Well, you don't give this kind of overhaul for just a plain, short hop upstairs."

"You think it might be something deeper?" asked Astro softly.

"Whatever it is," said Tom, getting up, "we'll need sleep." He rose, stretched, and walked wearily to the exit port. Astro and Roger followed him out, and once again they boarded the slidewalk for the trip back to the main dormitory and their quarters on the forty-second floor. A half hour later the three members of the Polaris were sound asleep.

Early morning found Captain Steve Strong in his quarters, standing at the window and staring blankly out over the quadrangle. In his left hand he clutched a sheaf of papers. He had just reread, for the fifth time, a petition for reinstatement of space papers for Al Mason and Bill Loring. It wasn't easy, as Strong well knew, to deprive a man of his right to blast off and rocket through space, and the papers in question, issued only by the Solar Guard, comprised the only legal license to blast off.

Originally issued as a means of preventing overzealous Earthmen from blasting off without the proper training or necessary physical condition, which resulted in many deaths, space papers had gradually become the only effective means of controlling the vast expanding force of men who made space flight their life's work. With the establishment of the Spaceman's Code a hundred years before, firm rules and regulations for space flight had been instituted. Disobedience to any part of the code was punishable by suspension of papers and forfeiture of the right to blast off.

One of these rules stated that a spaceman was forbidden to blast off without authorization or clearance for a free orbit from a central traffic control. Bill Loring and Al Mason were guilty of having broken the regulation. Members of the crew of the recent expedition to Tara, a planet in orbit around the sun star Alpha Centauri, they had taken a rocket scout and blasted off without permission from Major Connel, the commander of the mission, who, in this case, was authorized traffic-control officer. Connel had recommended immediate suspension of their space papers. Mason and Loring had petitioned for a review, and, to assure impartial judgment, Commander Walters had sent the petition to one of his other officers to make a decision. The petition had landed on Strong's desk.

Strong read the petition again and shook his head. The facts were too clear. There had been flagrant disregard for the rules and there was no evidence to support the suspended spacemen's charge that they had been unjustly accused by Connel. Strong's duty was clear. He had to uphold Major Connel's action and suspend the men for a year.

Once the decision was made, Strong put the problem out of his mind. He walked to his huge circular desk and began sorting through the day's orders and reports. On the top of the pile of papers was a sealed envelope, bordered in red and marked "classified." It was from Commander Walters' office. Thoughtfully he opened it and read:

"So that's it," he thought. "A hop into deep space for the Polaris unit!" He smiled. "The cadets of the Polaris unit are in for a little surprise in two ways," he thought. "One from the mission and one from Major Connel!"

He almost laughed out loud as he turned to the small desk teleceiver at his elbow. He pressed a button immediately below the screen and it glowed into life to reveal a young man in the uniform of the enlisted guard.

"Yes, Captain Strong?" he asked.

"Call the cadets of the Polaris unit," Strong ordered. "Have them report to me here on the double!"

"Aye, aye, sir."

Strong started to turn the set off, but the enlisted man added, "By the way, sir, Al Mason and Bill Loring are here to see you."

"Oh—well—" Strong hesitated.

"They're quite anxious to know if you've reached any decision regarding their petition for reinstatement."

"Mmm—yes, of course. Very well, send them in."

"Aye, aye, sir."

The teleceiver screen blackened. In a moment the door opposite Strong's desk slid back, and Loring and Mason stepped into the office. They shambled forward and stopped in front of the huge desk, obviously ill at ease.

Strong stood up, holding their petition in his hand, and glanced over it briefly even though he knew its contents by heart. He motioned to near-by chairs. "Sit down, please," he said.

The two spacemen settled themselves uncomfortably on the edge of their chairs and waited expectantly as Strong continued to look at the paper.

Loring finally broke the heavy silence.

"Well, Captain Strong, have you made a decision?" he asked. Loring was a heavy-set man, in his middle forties. He needed a shave, and when he talked, his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace.

"Hope it's in our favor, sir," suggested Mason. He was shorter than Loring and, seated, his feet hardly reached the floor. His eyes darted nervously about the huge room, and he kept rolling a dirty black spaceman's cap in his hands.

"Yes, I've reached a decision," said Strong slowly. He faced the two men and looked at both of them with a steady cold stare. "I've decided to sustain Major Connel's action. You are both grounded for the next twelve months. Earth months!"

"What?" shouted Loring, jumping to his feet. He banged his fist down on the desk and leaned over, his face close to Strong's. "You can't do that to us!"

Captain Strong didn't move. "I can," he said coldly. "And I have."

"But—but—" Mason began to whine. "But space flight is all we know! How will we live?"

Strong sat down and leaned back in his chair to get away from the foul odor of Loring's breath. He stared at the two men.

"You should have thought of that before you stole a rocket scout from the expedition and made an unauthorized flight while on Tara," Strong replied. "You're lucky you're not accused, tried, and convicted of theft of a Solar Guard spaceship!"

"We had permission to take that flight," snarled Loring. "That Major Connel is so blasted space happy he forgot he gave us permission. Then when we came back, he slapped us in the brig!"

"Do you have any proof of that?" asked Strong.

"No! But it's our word against his!" He slammed his hat down on the desk and shook his finger in Strong's face. "You haven't any right to take away our papers just on the say-so of a lousy Solar Guard officer who thinks he's king of the universe!"

"Take your filthy hat off my desk, Loring!" barked Strong. "And watch your language!"

Loring realized he had made a mistake and tried to backtrack. "Well, I apologize for that. But I don't apologize for saying he thinks he's—"

"Major Connel has been in the Solar Guard for thirty years," said Strong emphatically. "He's been awarded the Solar Medal three times. No other living spaceman has achieved that! Not even Commander Walters! He rose through the ranks of the enlisted Solar Guard and was commissioned as an officer of the Solar Guard in space during an emergency. He qualifies higher than any other spaceman, and he has never been found to be unjust! He's one of the finest spacemen ever to hit the wide, deep, and high!" Strong stopped, choked for breath, and turned away. It wasn't often he lost his temper, but something had to be said in defense of his fellow officer, and particularly since that officer was Connel. He turned back to face the two spacemen, and his voice was hard and cold again.

"You are hereby suspended from space flight for twelve Earth months. Any further petition for appeal of this decision will be denied!"

"All right! All right, Mr. Big!" snapped Loring. "Does this mean we can't even ride as passengers?"

"No rights under the Universal Bill of Rights of the Solar Alliance have been denied you, except that of actively participating in the flight of a spaceship!"

The signal bell of the teleceiver began to chime softly, and on the desk the teleceiver screen glowed again. "Cadets Corbett, Manning, and Astro are here for their assignments, sir," announced the enlisted man outside.

Loring glared at Strong. "I suppose you're going to send some punk kids out on the next trip to Tara and leave us experienced spacemen to rot on the ground, huh?"

Strong didn't see the door slide open to admit the three cadets who entered quietly. His whole attention was focused on the ugly glaring faces of Bill Loring and Al Mason.

"Get this, Loring!" snapped Strong hotly. "The assignments of the Polaris unit, whether it be to Tara or the Moon, has nothing to do with your own breech of conduct. In any case, if they were to be assigned, they'd do a better job than you 'experienced' spacemen who are disrespectful of your superior officers and break regulations! If either of you makes one more crack about the Solar Guard or Space Cadets, or anything at all, I'll take you out on the quadrangle and pound some common courtesy into your heads! Now get out!"

"All right, all right—" muttered Loring retreating, but with a sneer on his lips. "We'll meet again, Mr. Bigshot Spaceman!"

"I hope so, Loring. And if we do, I hope you've taken a bath. You even smell bad!"

From the rear of the room came a burst of laughter. Tom, Roger, and Astro, unobserved, had been listening and watching their skipper in action. When Loring and Mason had left the room, they advanced to the desk, came to attention, and saluted.

"Polaris unit reporting for duty, sir!" snapped Tom crisply.

"At ease," said Strong. "Did you hear all of that?"

"Yes, sir, skipper!" Roger smiled. "And believe me, you really gave it to those two space bums!"

"Yeah," agreed Astro, "but I don't think even you could do much for Loring. He's just born to smell bad!"

"Never mind that," said Strong. "I suppose you heard the part about the assignments?"

The three cadets assumed looks of pure innocence.

"We didn't hear a thing, sir," said Tom.

"You'll make a fine diplomat, Corbett," Strong laughed. "All right, sit down and I'll give it to you straight."

They hastily took seats and waited for their skipper to begin.

"You've been assigned as cadet observers on a mission to test the range of a new long-range audio transmitter." Strong paused, then added significantly, "The test is to take place in deep space."

The three cadets only beamed their enthusiastic approval.

"Tara," continued Strong, "is your destination—a planet like Earth in many respects, in orbit around the sun star Alpha Centauri. You'll take the Polaris directly to the Venus space station, where the transmitter has been given primary tests, outfit the Polaris for hyperdrive, and blast off!"

"Excuse me, sir," interrupted Tom, "but you say 'you'?"

"I mean," replied Strong, "you, in the sense that I won't be going along with you. Oh, don't worry!" said Strong, holding up his hand as a sudden look of anticipation spread over the faces of the three boys. "You're not going alone! You'll have a commanding officer, all right. In fact, you'll have the nearest thing to the perfect commanding officer in the Solar Guard!" He waited just long enough for each boy to search his mind for a suitable candidate and then added, "Your skipper will be Major Connel!"

"Major Connel!" the three cadets cried in unison.

"You mean Major 'Blast-off' Connel?" uttered Roger unbelievingly.

"That's who I mean," said Strong. "It's the best thing in the universe that could happen to you!"

Roger stood up and saluted smartly. "I request permission to be dismissed from this mission on the grounds of incompatibility, sir," he said.

"Incompatible to what?" asked Strong, amused.

"To Major Connel, sir," replied Roger.

"Permission denied," said Strong with a smile. "Buck up! It isn't so bad." Strong paused and stood up. "Well, that's it. It's close to eleven A.M. and you're to report to the major at eleven on the nose. I hope you've got the Polaris in good shape."

"We were up all night, sir," said Tom. "She's ready to go."

"She's in better shape than we are," said Astro.

"Very well, then. Report to Major Connel immediately. Your papers have been transferred, so all you have to do is report."

Strong rounded the desk and shook hands with each cadet. "This is an important mission, boys," he said soberly. "See that you give Major Connel all the support I know you're capable of giving. He'll need it. I doubt if I'll see you before you blast off, so this is it. Spaceman's luck to each of you!"