"The winners are—" Captain Strong's voice rang loud and clear over the loud-speakers—"first place, Captain Sticoon, piloting the Marsopolis Limited entry, Space Lance! Second place, Captain Miles, piloting the Charles Brett Company entry, Space 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 spaceport was quiet for two minutes without prompting, voluntarily paying homage to the brave spaceman.

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 space. There was fame and fortune to be won now. Quent Miles ignored Sticoon 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.

Sticoon said nothing, just watched them quietly. Quent Miles laughed and walked off the stand. Kit Barnard looked at Sticoon. "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 spaceman 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.

He turned and left the stand without a word to Tom, Roger, or Astro. The three cadets looked at each other, feeling the tension in the air suddenly relax. Strong was busy talking to someone on the portable intercom and had missed the byplay between the three finalists.

"That Quent sure has a talent for making himself disliked," Tom commented to his unit mates.

"And all he's going to get for it is trouble," quipped Sid, who would not let any argument take away the pleasure he felt over winning the trials. "I'm going back to our ship and find out what happened to those feeders."

"I'll come with you," volunteered Astro.

"Just a minute, Astro," interrupted Strong. "I've been talking with Commander Walters. He's on his way back to the Tower of Galileo and called me from the portable communicator on the main slidewalk. He wants me to report to his office on the double. You three will have to take care of the final details here."

"Come down when you can," said Sid to Astro, and turned to leave with Kit.

"Something wrong, sir?" asked Tom.

"I don't know, Tom," replied Strong, a worried frown on his face. "Commander Walters seemed excited."

"Does it have anything to do with the race?" asked Roger.

"In a way it does," replied Strong. "I'm leaving on special assignment. I'm not sure, but I think you three will have to monitor the race by yourselves."

Major Connel sat to one side of Commander Walters' desk, a scowl on his heavy, fleshy face. The commander paced back and forth in front of the desk, and Captain Strong stood at the office window staring blankly down on the dark quadrangle below. The door opened and the three officers turned quickly to see Dr. Joan Dale enter, carrying several papers in her hand.

"Well, Joan?" asked Walters.

"I'm afraid that the reports are true, sir," Dr. Dale said. "There are positive signs of decreasing pressure in the artificial atmosphere around the settlements on Titan. The pressure is dropping and yet there is no indication that the force screen, holding back the real methane ammonia atmosphere of Titan, is not functioning properly."

"How about leaks?" Connel growled.

"Not possible, Major," replied the pretty physicist. "The force field, as you know, is made up of electronic impulses of pure energy. By shooting these impulses into the air around a certain area, like the settlement at Olympia, we can refract the methane ammonia, push it back if you will, like a solid wall. What the impulses do, actually, is create a force greater and thicker in content than the atmosphere of Titan, creating a vacuum. We then introduce oxygen into the vacuum, making it possible for humans to live without the cumbersome use of space helmets." Dr. Dale leaned against Commander Walters' desk and considered the three Solar Guard officers. "If we don't find out what's happening out there," she resumed grimly, "and do something about it soon, we'll have to abandon Titan."

"Abandon Titan!" roared Connel. "Can't be done."

"Impossible!" snapped Walters.

"It's going to happen," asserted the girl stoutly.

Connel sprang out of his chair and began pacing the floor. "We can't abandon Titan!" he roared. "Disrupt the flow of crystal and you'll set off major repercussions in the system's economy."

"We know that, Major," said Walters. "That's the prime reason for this meeting."

"May I make a suggestion, sir?" asked Strong.

"Go ahead, Steve," said Walters.

"While these graphs of Joan's show us what's happening, I think it will take on-the-spot investigations to find out why it's happening."

Connel flopped back in his chair, relaxed again. He looked at Walters. "Send Steve out there and we'll find out what's going on," he said confidently.

Walters looked at Strong. "When are the ships supposed to blast off for the race?"

"Tomorrow at 1800, sir."

"You planned to use the Polaris to monitor the race?"

"Yes, sir."

"Think we should send the Polaris unit out alone?"

"I have a better suggestion, sir," said Strong.

"Well?"

"Since there are only three finalists, how about putting one cadet on each ship? Then I can take the Polaris and go on out to Titan now. When the boys arrive, they could help me with my investigation."

Walters looked at Connel. "What do you think, Major?"

"Sounds all right to me," replied the veteran spaceman. "If you think the companies won't object to having cadets monitor their race for them."

"They won't have anything to say about it," replied Walters. "I'd trust those cadets under any circumstances. And the race won't mean a thing unless we can find the source of trouble on Titan. There won't be any crystal to haul."

"Fine," grunted Connel. He rose, nodded, and left the room. He was not being curt, he was being Connel. The problem had been temporarily solved and there was nothing else he could do. There were other things that demanded his attention.

"What about me going along too, Commander?" asked Joan.

"Better not, Joan," said Walters. "You're more valuable to us here in the Academy laboratory."

"Very well, sir," she said. "I have some work to finish, so I'll leave you now. Good luck, Steve." She shook hands with the young captain and left.

Walters turned back to Strong. "Well, now that's settled, tell me, what do you think of the race tomorrow, Steve?"

"If Kit Barnard gets that reactor of his functioning properly, he'll run away from the other two."

"I don't know," mused Walters. "Wild Bill Sticoon is a hot spaceman. One of the best rocket jockeys I've ever seen. Did I ever tell you what we went through a few years back trying to get him to join the Solar Guard?" Walters laughed. "We promised him everything but the Moon. But he didn't want any part of us. 'Can't ride fast enough in your wagons, Commander,' he told me. Quite a boy!"

"And with Quent Miles in there, it's going to be a very hot race," asserted Strong.

"Ummmmh," Walters grunted. "He's the unknown quantity. Did you see that ship of his? Never saw anything more streamlined in my whole life."

"And the cadets said he stripped her of everything but the hull plates."

"It paid off for him," said Walters. "He and Charley Brett are certainly working hard to get this contract."

"There's a lot of money involved, sir," said Strong. "But in any case we're bound to get a good schedule with the speeds established so far."

"Well, advise the cadets to stand by for blast-off with the finalists tomorrow."

"Any particular ship you want them each assigned to, sir?" asked Strong.

"No, let them decide," replied Walters. "But it would be best if you could keep Manning away from Miles. That's like putting a rocket into a fire and asking it not to explode."

The two men grinned at each other and then settled down to working out the details of Strong's trip. Before the evening was over, Walters had decided, if necessary, he would follow Strong out to Titan.

In the distance, they could hear the muffled roar of rocket motors as the three finalists tuned up their ships, preparing for the greatest space race in history. And it seemed to Strong that with each blast there was a vaguely ominous echo.

"I've strained that fuel four times and come up with the same answer," said Astro. The giant Venusian held up the oil-smeared test tube for Kit Barnard's inspection. "Impure reactant. And so impure that it couldn't possibly have come from the Academy supply depot. It would have been noticed."

"Then how did it get in my feeders?" asked Kit, half to himself.

"Whoever was messing around on the power deck just before you blasted off for the trials must have dumped it in," said Tom.

"Obviously." Kit nodded. "But who is that? Who would want to do a dirty thing like that?"

"Who indeed?" said a voice in back of them. They all spun around to face Quent Miles. He lounged against the stabilizer fin and grinned at them.

"What do you want, Miles?" asked Kit.

"Just stopped by to give you the proverbial handshake of good luck before we blast off," replied the spaceman with a mocking wink.

"Kit doesn't need your good wishes," snapped Sid.

"Well, now, that's too bad," said Quent. "I have a feeling that he's going to need a lot more than luck."

"Listen, Miles," snapped Kit, "did you come aboard my ship and tamper with the fuel?"

Quent's eyes clouded. "Careful of your accusations, Barnard."

"I'm not accusing you, I'm asking you."

"See you in space." Quent laughed, turning to leave, not answering the question. "But then, again, maybe I won't see you." He disappeared into the darkness of the night.

"The nerve of that guy," growled Tom.

"Yes," Kit agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "But I'm more concerned about this unit than I am about Quent Miles and his threats. Let's get back to work."

Renewing their efforts, Tom, Roger, Astro, Sid, and Kit Barnard turned to the reactor unit and began the laborious job of putting it back together again, at the same time replacing worn-out parts and adjusting the delicate clearances.

It was just before dawn when Strong visited Kit's ship. Seeing the cadets stripped to the waist and working with the veteran spaceman, he roared his disapproval. "Of all the crazy things to do! Don't you know that you could have Kit disqualified for helping him?"

The giant Venusian held up the oil-smeared test tube

"But—but—" Tom tried to stammer an explanation.

"I couldn't have done it alone," explained Kit. He looked at Strong and their eyes met. Understanding flowed between them.

"Very well," said Strong, fighting to control himself. "If no one makes a complaint against you, we'll let it pass."

"Thanks, Steve," said Kit.

"You should have known better, Kit," said Strong. "The Solar Guard is supposed to be neutral throughout the entire race and do nothing but judge it."

"I know, Steve," said Kit. "But someone dumped impure reactant into my—"

"What?" It was the first time Strong had heard of it and he listened intently as the cadets and Sid told him the whole story.

"Why didn't you make a complaint?" demanded Strong finally. "We'd have given you more time to get squared away."

"It's not important," said Kit. "I won a place in the finals and now the boys and Sid have helped me clean it out."

Strong nodded. "All right. I guess one seems to balance out the other. Forget it." He smiled. "And excuse me for jumping like that and thinking that you would do anything—er—" He hesitated.

"That's all right, Steve." Kit spoke up quickly to save his friend embarrassment.

Strong turned to the cadets. "I've got news for you three. You are going to monitor the race by yourselves."

Tom, Roger, and Astro looked at each other dumfounded as Strong quickly outlined the plan. Later, when Sid and Kit were working inside the ship, he told them of the sudden danger on Titan.

"So I'm going to leave it up to you which ship you want to ride," he concluded. "The commander has suggested that Roger not be sent along with Miles on the Space Knight. He seems to think the two of you wouldn't get along."

"On the contrary, skipper," said Roger, "I'd like the opportunity of keeping an eye on him."

Strong thought a moment. "Not a bad idea, Roger," he said as he turned to Astro. "And I suppose you want to ride with Kit and his reactor?"

Astro grinned. "Yes, sir. If I may."

"All right. Tom, I guess that means you ride with Wild Bill Sticoon."

"That's all right with me, sir," the young cadet said excitedly. "This is something I'll be able to tell my grandchildren—riding with the hottest spaceman in the hottest race through space."

Quent Miles spun around, his paralo-ray gun leveled. He saw a figure enter through the hatch, but when light revealed the face he relaxed.

"Oh, it's you!" he grumbled. "I thought you were setting things up back at Atom City."

"You fumble-fisted, space-gassing jerk!" snarled Charley Brett. "Depend on you to get things messed up! That Barnard guy is all set to roll with his reactor!"

"Then why didn't Ross take care of him on the Moon?" asked Miles.

"He didn't land," replied Brett. "He kept going and made the whole trip without refueling that new unit of his. It's so good that he got back here still carrying half a tank of reactant."

"Well, you haven't any kick with me," asserted Miles. "I dumped that stuff in his tanks."

"Then how come he made it so fast?" growled Brett. "How come he made it at all?"

"How should I know?" snapped Quent. "Listen, Charley, lay off me. You might be able to order Ross around, but you don't scare me. And I don't think you have Ross fooled either."

"Never mind that now!" said Brett irritably. "We've got to line things up for the race. Listen! Ross left Luna City this morning for the hide-out. Here's what I want you to do. After you blast off—" Brett's voice dropped to a whisper and Quent's eyes opened with understanding, and then his rugged features broke out into a grin as Brett continued talking.

Finally Brett straightened up. "I'm going on out to Titan now to see if things are O.K. You got everything clear?"

"Everything's clear," said Quent. "And you know something, Charley? You have a nasty way about you, but you certainly know how to figure the angles. This is perfect. We can't miss."

"I love you too, sweetheart," said Brett sourly. He turned and hurried out of the ship. Just before he stepped on the slidewalk that would take him to the monorail station, he saw the three members of the Polaris unit leaving Kit Barnard's installation. He grinned and made a mocking salute to them in the darkness.

"So long suckers!" he called softly.