"Bring that dirty little space crawler in here!"

Captain Strong had never seen Commander Walters so angry. The cords stood out in his neck and his face was red with fury as he paced up and down the Solar Guard office in Venusport. "A spy," he roared. "A spy right in the heart of our organization!" He shook his head.

The door opened and two burly Solar Guardsmen entered, saluted, and turned to flank the doorway, hands on their paralo-ray pistols. The private secretary of E. Philips James shuffled in slowly, followed by two more guards. Walters stepped up to the thin, intense young man and glared at him. "If I had my way, I'd send you out to the deepest part of space and leave you there!"

The man bit his lip but said nothing.

"Where is your secret base?" demanded Walters.

"I don't know," replied the secretary nervously.

"Who told you to intercept this message from Mercury?" Walters tapped a paper on his desk. "Who gave you your orders?"

"I receive orders on an audioceiver in my home," answered the man, a slight quaver in his voice. "I have never seen my superior."

"And you followed the Nationalist movement blindly, doing whatever they told you, without question, is that it?"

"Yes."

"Yes, sir!" roared Walters.

"Yes, sir," corrected the secretary.

"Who told you to forge those orders for priority seats on the Venus Lark?"

"My superior," said the man.

"How did you know Major Connel was coming here to investigate the Nationalists?"

"I read the decoded message sent to the Solar Delegate, Mr. James."

"Who told you to send men to bomb the Polaris?"

"My superior," said the man.

"Your superior—your superior!" Walters' voice was edged with contempt. "What else has your superior told you to do?"

"A great many things," said the young man simply.

Walters studied the thin face and then turned to Captain Strong. "There's only one thing to do, Steve. There's no telling how many of these rats are inside our organization. Relieve every civilian in any position of trust and put in our own man. I'll make a public teleceiver broadcast in half an hour. I'm declaring martial law."

"Yes, sir," replied Strong grimly.

"If you hadn't been in the code room when this message from Mercury came in, we would never have known the Nationalists were trying to get the Mercurians to join them in their attack on us until it was too late. It's the only break we've had, so far, learning that the Mercurians are still decent, loyal Solar citizens. I hate to think of what would have happened if they hadn't warned us."

"He very nearly got away with it, sir," said Strong. "If I hadn't heard the signal for a top-secret message come through on the coding machine, I never would have suspected him. He tried to hide it in his tunic. He also confessed to trying to kidnap the cadets when he heard me tell them that a cab would be waiting for them."

"Well, we know now," said Walters. He turned to one of the guardsmen. "Sergeant, I'm holding you personally responsible for this man."

"Aye, aye, sir," said the guard, stepping toward the secretary, but Walters stopped him and addressed the man.

"I'll give you one last chance to tell me where your base is and how many ships you have," he said.

The secretary looked down at his feet and mumbled, "I don't know where the base is, and I don't know how many ships there are."

"Then what does this list we found in your tunic mean?" snapped Strong. "These are the names of ships that have been lost in space."

"I don't know. That list was sent to me over the audioceiver by my superior. I was to relay it to Mercury should they accept our proposal to join forces against—" He stopped.

"Get him out of my sight!" barked Walters.

The guards closed in around the little man and he slowly shuffled out of the office.

"I wonder how many more there are like him in our organization, Steve?" The commander had turned to the window and was staring out blindly.

"I don't know, sir," replied Strong. "But I think we'd better be prepared for trouble."

"Agreed," said Walters, turning to the Solar Guard captain. "What do you suggest?"

"Since we don't know how many ships they have, where their base is, or when they plan to attack, I suggest putting the Venus squadrons in defense pattern A. Meanwhile, call in three additional squadrons from Mars, Earth, and Luna. That way, we can at least be assured of an even fight."

"But we don't know if they'll attack here on Venus. Suppose we weaken Earth's fleet and they attack there?" Walters paused, looking troubled. Then he sighed. "I guess you're right. Put the plan into effect immediately. It's the only thing we can do."

At exactly midnight every teleceiver on Venus was suddenly blacked out for a moment and then came into focus again to reveal the grim features of Commander Walters.

In homes, restaurants, theaters, arriving and departing space liners, in every public and private gathering place, the citizens of Venus heard the announcement.

"As commander in chief of the Solar Guard, I hereby place the entire planet of Venus under martial law. All public laws are suspended until further notice. All public officials are hereby relieved of their authority. A ten P.M. until six A.M. curfew will go into effect immediately. Anyone caught on the streets between these hours will be arrested. An attack is expected on the city of Venusport, as well as other Venusian cities, momentarily. Follow established routine for such an occurrence. Obey officers and enlisted men of the Solar Guard who are here on Venus to protect you and your property. That is all!"

In the living room of Sinclair's house Tom waited impatiently for the sound of Sinclair's yacht taking off before attempting to free himself from the rope on his wrists. But when a half-hour had passed with no sound from outside, he decided not to waste any more time.

Relaxing completely, the curly-haired cadet began working his wrists back and forth in the loop of rope. It was slow, painful work, and in no time the skin was rubbed raw. George and Mrs. Hill watched him, wide-eyed. They saw the skin of his wrists gradually turn pink, then red, as the cadet pulled and pushed at the rope. A half-hour had passed before he felt the rope slipping down over the widest part of his hand. Slowly, so as not to lose the precious advantage, he pulled with all his strength, unmindful of the pain. He heard a sharp gasp from Mrs. Hill and then felt the rope become damp. His wrists were bleeding. But at the same time he felt the rope slipping over his hands. He gave a quick tug and the rope slipped off and dropped to the floor, a bloody tangle. He spun around and untied the foreman and his wife quickly, removing the gags from their mouths gently.

"Your wrists!" cried Mrs. Hill.

"Don't worry about them, ma'am," said Tom. He looked at Hill. "How long have you been tied up?"

"Just about an hour before you came," answered the foreman. "I found Sinclair in front of a teleceiver in his room. It's in a secret panel and I didn't know it was there. I waited and heard him talking to someone in Venusian. But he spotted me and pulled a ray gun."

"Do you know where he's gone?" asked Tom.

"No, but I sure wish I did!" said the burly foreman stoutly. "I have something to settle with him."

"That'll have to wait until the Solar Guard is finished with him. Come on!" Tom started toward the door.

"Where are we going?" asked Hill.

"To the Polaris! I've got to warn the Solar Guard of their plans. They're going to attack the Venusport garrison and take over Venus!"

"By the stars!" gasped Mrs. Hill. "Here I've been feeding that man all these years and didn't know I was contributing to a revolution!"

Tom was out of the door and running toward the Polaris before she had finished talking. George followed right behind him.

As the cadet raced across the dark clearing one hope filled his mind—that the Polaris would be in the same condition in which they had left it.

The port was still open where Sinclair had caught him and he climbed inside the giant ship quickly. As soon as he entered, he snapped on the emergency lights and searched the ship carefully. After examining every compartment, and satisfied that there was no one aboard, he made his way back to the radar bridge. There, he saw immediately why Sinclair had felt free to leave the ship. All radar and communications equipment had been completely smashed.

The young cadet returned to the control deck and called down to George Hill, waiting in the air lock. "George! Get Mrs. Hill aboard quickly. We're blasting off!"

"Blasting off?" the foreman called back. "But I thought you were going to contact Venusport!"

"I can't," replied Tom. "Sinclair has smashed the communications and the radar. We'll have to take our information to Venusport in person. I only hope he's left the rockets and atomic motors alone."

"How about using the teleceiver in the house?" asked the foreman, climbing up to the control deck.

"Can't take a chance," said Tom. "This is top secret. They might have the teleceiver tapped."

"Do you know how to handle this ship alone?" asked George, glancing around at the great control board. "I don't know anything about a ship this size."

"I can handle it," said Tom. "Get Mrs. Hill aboard!"

"Here I am, Tommy," said Mrs. Hill, climbing up into the control deck. "I have some bandages and salve for your wrists."

"There's no time, Mrs. Hill," said Tom. "We've got to—"

"Nonsense!" she interrupted firmly. "You just give me your hands. It'll take only a minute!"

Tom reluctantly held out his wrists and Mrs. Hill expertly applied the salve and bandaged the cadet's raw wrists. Admittedly feeling better, Tom turned to the master switch and found it missing. For a second panic seized him, until he remembered that Major Connel had hidden it. He felt under the pilot's chair and breathed easier, pulling out the vital instrument.

"Better get into acceleration chairs," said Tom, strapping himself into his seat. "This might be a rough take-off."

"Watch yourself, Tom," cautioned George. "We aren't afraid for ourselves, but you've got to get to Venusport!"

"If he's left the power deck alone, everything will be O.K."

The young cadet stretched out a trembling hand and switched on the automatic firing control. Then, crossing his fingers, he flipped on the main generator and breathed easier as the steady hum surged through the ship. He thought briefly of Astro and Roger, wishing his two unit mates were at their stations, and then switched on the power feed to the energizing pumps. There was a second's wait as the pressure began to build, and he watched the indicator over his head on the control panel carefully. When it had reached the proper level, he switched in the reactant feed, giving it full D-12 rate. He glanced at the astral chronometer over his head automatically and noted the time.

"Stand by!" he called. "Blast off minus five—four—three—two—one—zero!"

He threw the master switch and a roaring burst of power poured into the main tubes. The ship bucked slightly, raised itself from the ground slowly, and then suddenly shot upward. In less than a minute the Polaris had cleared atmosphere and Tom turned on the artificial-gravity generators. He made a quick computation on the planetary calculator, fired the port steering rockets, and sent the ship in a long arching course for Venusport. Then, unstrapping himself, he turned to see how Mr. and Mrs. Hill had taken the blast-off.

The foreman and his wife were shaking their heads, still in acceleration shock, and Tom helped them out of their cushions.

"Oh, my! Do you boys have to go through this all the time?" Mrs. Hill asked. "It's a wonder to me how a human body can take it."

"I feel pretty much the same way," muttered George.

"A cup of hot tea will fix you up fine," Tom reassured them, and leaving the ship on automatic control, he went into the small galley off the control deck and brewed three cups of tea. In a few moments the elderly couple felt better, and Tom told them of the Nationalists' base and Connel's plan to wreck the radar station at noon the next day. Both Mr. and Mrs. Hill were shocked at the scope of the Nationalists' plan.

"Well, they bit off more than they could chew when they decided to buck the Solar Guard," asserted Tom. "When Commander Walters gets finished with them, Sinclair and the rest won't have anything left but memories!"

"Tell me something, Tom," said George, looking at the control panel thoughtfully. "Have you figured out how you're going to land this ship alone and with no radar?"

"I'll have to use the seat of my pants." Tom smiled, and turned back to his seat. George and his wife looked at each other and quickly strapped themselves into their acceleration cushions.

A few moments later Tom began braking the ship with the nose rockets. It made a slow-climbing arc over the spaceport and then settled slowly, tailfirst. The stern teleceiver was out of order, and the young cadet had to rely entirely on "feel," to get the Polaris in safely. He had calculated his rate of fall, the gravity of Venus, and the power of the rockets, and was dropping at a predetermined rate. At the critical point he increased power on the drive rockets, continuing to fall slowly until he felt the jarring bump of the directional fins touching the ground.

"Touchdown!" he roared triumphantly.

He closed the master switch and turned to look at the smiling faces of Mr. and Mrs. Hill.

"That was fine, Tom," said George, "but I don't want to do it again."

"Don't be a scaredy cat, George Hill!" taunted Mrs. Hill. "Tom handles this ship as if he were born on it."

Tom grinned. "We'd better hurry up. There must be something going on. There aren't any lights on here at the spaceport and all the administration buildings are dark."

He hurried to the air lock and swung it open, jumping lightly to the ground.

"Halt!" growled a rough voice. "Get your hands in the air and stay right where you are!"

Puzzled, Tom did as he was told, announcing, "I'm Space Cadet Tom Corbett, Polaris unit. I request immediate transportation to Commander Walters. I have important information for him."

He was momentarily blinded by the glare of a ring of lights around him, and when he finally could see, he found himself in the middle of a squad of Solar Guardsmen in battle dress.

"What's the password?" asked a tough sergeant whose shock rifle was aimed right at Tom's midsection.

"Juggernaut!" replied Tom quietly.

The word sent the sergeant into a frenzy of action. "Peters, Smith, get the jet car around here!"

"What's up, Sergeant?" asked Tom. "Why is everything so dark?"

"Martial law!" replied the guardsman. "Curfew from ten until six."

"Whew!" gasped Tom. "It looks as if I just made it!"

As George and Mrs. Hill climbed out of the air lock, a jet car raced up and skidded to a stop in front of them. A moment later Tom and the couple, accompanied by two of the guardsmen, were speeding through the dark and empty streets of Venusport. The car was stopped once at a mid-town check point, and Tom had to repeat the password. They picked up another jet car, full of guardsmen as escorts, and with the echo of the exhausts roaring in the empty avenues, they sped to central Solar Guard headquarters.

Tom had never seen so many enlisted guardsmen in one spot before except on a parade ground. And he noted with a tinge of excitement that each man was in battle dress. Arriving at headquarters, they were whisked to the top floor of the building and ushered into Commander Walters' office. The commander smiled broadly as the young cadet stepped to the front of his desk and saluted smartly.

"Cadet Corbett reporting, sir," he said.

In a moment the office was filled with men; E. Philips James, the Solar Delegate, Captain Strong, fleet commanders, and officers of the line.

"Make your report, Cadet Corbett," said Walters.

Tom spoke quickly and precisely, giving full details on the location of the base, the approximate number of fighting ships, the armament of each, the location of supply dumps, and finally of Major Connel's plan to sabotage the radar at noon the following day. Then, one by one, each official asked him questions pertinent to their tasks. Fleet commanders asked about the ships' speed, size, armor; Strong inquired about the stores and supporting lines of supply; Walters asked for the names of all people connected with the movement. All of these questions Tom answered as well as he could.

"Well, gentlemen," said Walters, "thanks to Corbett and the others on this mission, we have all the information we need to counter the Nationalists. I propose to follow Major Connel's plan and attack the base at noon tomorrow. Squadrons A and B will approach from the south and east at exactly noon. Squadrons C, D, and E will come in from the north and west as a second wave at 1202. The rest of the fleet will go in from above at 1205. Supporting squadrons are now on their way from Earth and Mars. Blast off at six hundred hours. Spaceman's luck!"

"Good work, Tom," said Strong, when the conference broke up.

"Yes, sir," said Tom. "But I can't help worrying about Roger and Astro and Major Connel. What's going to happen to them, sir?"

Strong hesitated. "I don't know, Tom. I really don't know."