"Are you sure they went south, Astro?"

Major Connel was examining a map of the Southern Hemisphere of Venus. The three cadets were grouped around him in the small control room of the jet ship.

"I think so, sir," replied Astro. "I watched them circle and then climb. There would be no reason to climb unless they were going over the mountains."

"What do you think, Tom?" asked Connel.

"I don't know, sir. The map doesn't show anything but jungle for about a thousand square miles. Unless there's a secret base somewhere between here and there"—he placed his fingers on the map where the Sharkey and Sinclair plantations were marked—"I don't see where they could have gone."

"Well, that must be the answer, then," sighed the gruff spaceman. "Our alert to the patrol ships in this area narrows it down. Nothing was spotted in the air. And they couldn't have blasted off into space. All their ships were low-flying stuff."

Blasting off from the Sinclair plantation immediately, the three cadets and the major had hoped to find the operations base of the green-clad invaders, but the ships had disappeared. The ship they had captured proved to be a freighter with no name and all identifying marks removed. They had asked the Solar Guard ship registry in Venusport to check on the vessel's title but so far had received no answer.

Now blasting back to Venusport at full speed, Connel told the boys the real nature of his mission to Venus. The boys were shocked, unable to believe that anyone, or any group of persons, would dare to buck the authority of the Solar Guard. Yet they had seen with their own eyes a demonstration of the strength of the Nationalists. Roger had sent a top-secret teleceiver message to Commander Walters at Space Academy, requesting an immediate conference with Connel, and had received confirmation within a half-hour.

"I think Captain Strong will be along too," said Roger to Tom after Connel had retired to a compartment with a recorder to transcribe a report of the affair at Sinclair's. "The message said we were to prepare a full report for consideration by Commander Walters, Professor Sykes, and Captain Strong."

"Boy," said the curly-haired cadet, "this thing is too big for me to swallow. Imagine a bunch of dopes dressing up in uniforms and burning a guy's buildings because he wrote a letter to his delegate!"

"I'd hate to be a member of that organization when Commander Walters gets through with them," said Roger in a slow drawl. "And particularly the guy that ordered Connel blasted with that ray gun. Ten shots at once! Wow! That guy must have nerves made of steel!"

Within an hour the jet freighter was circling Venusport and was given priority clearance for an immediate landing. Immediately upon landing, the ship swarmed with Solar Guardsmen, grim-faced men assigned to guard it, while technicians checked the ship for identification. The three boys were still wearing the jungle garb when they presented themselves to Major Connel with the request for a little sleep.

"Take an aspirin!" roared Connel. "We've got important work to do!"

"But, sir," said Roger, his eyes half-closed, "we're dead on our feet! We've been out in the jungle for three days and—"

"Manning," interrupted the spaceman, "everything you saw during that business back at Sinclair's might be valuable. I'm sorry, but I'll have to insist that you talk to the Solar Guard security officers first. As tired as you are, you might forget something after a heavy sleep."

There was little else the boys could do but follow the burly officer out of the ship to a well-guarded jet cab which took them through the streets of Venusport to the Solar Guard headquarters.

They rode the elevator to the conference room in silence, each boy feeling at any moment that he would collapse from exhaustion. In the long corridor they passed tough-looking enlisted guardsmen who were heavily armed, and before being allowed into the conference room, they were scrutinized by a burly officer. Finally inside, they were allowed to sit down in soft chairs and were given hot cups of tea to drink while precise, careful interrogators took down the story of their first meeting with the Venusian Nationalists. They were forced to repeat details many times, in the hope that something new might be added. Groggy after nearly two hours of this, the boys felt sure that the time had come for them to be allowed to get some sleep, but after the last question from the interrogators, they were ushered into the presence of Commander Walters, Major Connel, Professor Sykes, Captain Strong, and several recording secretaries. Before the conference began, Delegate E. Philips James arrived with his personal secretary. He offered his excuses for being late and took his place at the long table. Tom shot a glance at the secretary. The man looked vaguely familiar to him. The cadet tried to place him, but he was so tired that he could not think.

"Major Connel," began Commander Walters abruptly, "what do you consider the best possible move for the Solar Guard to make? Under the present circumstances, do you think we should undertake a full-scale investigation? We talked to Al Sharkey, and while he admits being head of an organization known as the Venusian Nationalists, he denies any knowledge of any attack on Sinclair such as you describe. And he claims to have been in Venusport when the incident happened."

Connel thought a moment. "I don't know about Sharkey, but I don't think a public investigation should be made yet. I think it would arouse a lot of speculation and achieve no results."

"Then you think we should move against them merely on the basis of this encounter at the Sinclair plantation," asked E. Philips James in his smoothest manner.

Connel shook his head. "I think our best bet is to locate their base. If we can nail them with solid evidence, we'll have a good case to present before the Grand Council of the Solar Alliance."

"I agree with you, Major." James smiled. Behind him, his secretary was busy transcribing the conversational exchange on his audioscriber.

"What would you require to locate the base?" asked Walters.

"I haven't worked out the details yet," said Connel, "but a small expedition into the jungle would be better than sending a regiment of guardsmen, or a fleet of ships."

"Do you have any idea where the base might be?" Sykes suddenly spoke up. "Most of those men were supposed to be planters who know the jungle well. Isn't it possible that they might have their base well hidden and a small party, such as you suggest, could cover too little ground?"

Connel turned to Astro. "Astro, do you know that section of the belt?"

"Yes, sir," replied Astro. "I hunted all over that area when I was a boy." The big cadet went on to explain how he had become so familiar with the jungle, and described briefly their experience with the tyrannosaurus. All of the men at the table were impressed by his knowledge of jungle lore.

"I gather you plan to take these cadets on your expedition, Major," commented James.

"Yes, I do. They work well together and have already been in the jungle," answered Connel.

"What do you three boys think of the idea?" asked Walters. "I don't have to remind you that you'll be up against two kinds of danger: the jungle itself, and the Nationalists."

"We understand, sir," replied Tom, without even waiting for his unit mates' quick nods.

"There's another factor," Captain Strong broke in. "You'll be giving up your leave. There won't be any extra time off. Should this mission be completed before the next term at the Academy begins, fine. But if not, you'll have to return to work immediately."

"We understand that too, sir," said Tom. "We're willing to do anything we can. And if I might offer a personal opinion"—he glanced at Astro and Roger—"I think the Polaris unit appreciates the seriousness of the situation and we agree with the major. A small party, especially ours, since we're already established as hunters, would be less suspect than a larger one."

"I think we all agree that the Polaris unit is qualified for the mission, Corbett," said Walters, who saw through Tom's eagerness to be assigned to go with the major.

The meeting broke up soon afterward. Connel remained with Strong and Walters to work out the details of the mission and to draft a top-secret report to the Grand Council of the Solar Alliance.

The three weary cadets were quartered in the finest hotel in Venusport and had just stumbled into bed when the room teleceiver signal buzzed. Tom shuffled over to the screen near the table where the remains of a huge supper gave mute evidence of their hunger. Switching on the machine, he saw Strong's face come into focus.

"I hope you boys aren't too comfortable," announced Strong. "I'm afraid the sleep you're so hungry for will have to wait. This is an emergency!"

"Oh, no!" groaned Roger. "I can't understand why emergencies come up every time I try to pound the pillow!"

Astro fell back onto his bed with the look of a martyred saint and groaned.

"What is it, sir?" asked Tom, who was as tired as the others. Nonetheless he felt the urgency in Strong's voice.

"You blast off in half an hour," said the Solar Guard captain. "The Polaris has been refitted and you're to check her over before returning to Sinclair's. Everything has been prepared for you. Get dressed and you'll find a jet cab waiting for you in front of the hotel. I had hoped to see you again before you left, but I've been ordered back to the Academy with Commander Walters. We've got to report to the Solar Council, personally."

"O.K., sir," said Tom, then smiled and added, "We're sorry your fishing was interrupted."

"I wasn't catching anything, anyway." Strong laughed. "I've got to go. See you back at the Academy. Spaceman's luck!"

"Same to you, sir," replied Tom. The screen blurred and the image faded as the connection was broken. Tom turned to face his sleepy-eyed unit mates. "Well, I guess we'd better take another aspirin. It looks like a hard night!"

Hastily donning fresh jungle gear supplied the night before in anticipation of the mission, the three cadets trouped wearily out of their rooms and rode down to the lobby in the vacuum elevator. They walked across the deserted lobby as though in a trance and outside to the quiet street. A jet cab stood at the curb, the driver watching them. He whistled sharply and waved at them. "Hey, cadets! Over here!"

Still in a fog, the three cadets climbed into the back seat, flopping into the soft cushions with audible groans as the cab shot away from the hotel and sped into the main highway which led to the spaceport.

The traffic was light and the cab zoomed along at a smooth, fast clip, lulling the boys into a fitful doze. But they were rudely awakened when the car spun into a small country lane and the driver slammed on the brakes. He whirled around and grinned at them over a paralo-ray pistol. "Sorry, boys, the ride ends here. Now climb out and start stripping."

The three sleepy cadets came alive instantly. Without a word they moved in three different directions simultaneously. Tom dived for one door, Astro the other, while Roger flopped to the floor. The driver fired, missing all of them, and before he could fire again he was jerked out of his seat and held in a viselike grip by Astro. Tom quickly wrenched the paralo-ray gun from his hand.

"All right, you little space crawler," growled Astro, "start talking!"

"Take it easy, Astro," said Tom. "How do you expect him to talk when you've got him around the Adam's apple!"

"Yeah, you big ape," said Roger in a slow drawl. "Find out what he has to say before you twist his head off!"

Astro released the man, pushing him against the cab door and pinning him there.

"Now let's have it," he growled. "What's this all about?"

"I didn't mean any harm," whined the cab driver. "A guy calls me and says for me to meet three Space Cadets."

"What guy?" snapped Tom.

"A guy I once knew when I was working the fields in the jungle belt. I worked on a plantation as a digger."

"What's his name?" asked Roger.

"I don't know his name. He's just a guy. He calls me and says it's worth a hundred credits to pick up three Space Cadets from the hotel and hold 'em for an hour. I figured the best way to hold you would be to make you take your clothes off."

"What did he look like?" asked Roger.

"A little guy, with a bald head and a limp. That's all I know—honest."

"A limp, eh?" asked Tom. "A little fellow?"

"How little?" asked Astro, getting the drift of Tom's question.

"Real little. About five feet maybe, not much more'n that!"

The three boys looked at each other and nodded.

"The guy we bought our jungle gear from in the pawnshop!" exclaimed Astro.

"Yeah," said Tom. "It sure sounds like him. But why would he want to stop us? And more important, who told him that Captain Strong was sending a cab for us?"

They turned back to the cab driver for further explanation, but the man was now actually crying with fright.

"We won't get anything more out of this little creep," said Astro. "Let's just turn him over to the Solar Guard at the spaceport. They'll know how to handle him."

"Right," Tom agreed. "We've lost enough time as it is."

"No, no—please!" moaned the cabman. "Lemme go! Take the cab. Drive it to the spaceport and just leave it, but please don't turn me over to the Solar Guard. If I'm seen with them, I'll be—" Suddenly the man darted to one side, eluded Astro's lunge, and scampered away. In a moment he was swallowed up in the darkness.

"Boy," breathed Astro, "he was sure scared of something!"

"Yes," said Tom. "And I'm beginning to get a little scared myself!"

The cadets climbed into the cab and roared off toward the spaceport, each boy with the feeling that he was sitting on a smoldering volcano that was suddenly starting to erupt around him.