Stand by for Mars! Part 4

"My answer to your--" she paused, smiled and continued, "your enthusiastic welcome is simply--thank you. But we'll have no further repet.i.tions. This is s.p.a.ce Academy--not a primary school!"

Turning abruptly, she stood beside a round desk in the well of an amphitheater, and held up a thin tube about an inch in diameter and twelve inches long.

"We will now begin your cla.s.sification tests," she said. "You will receive one of these tubes. Inside, you will find four sheets of paper.

You are to answer all the questions on each paper and place them back in the tube. Take the tube and drop it in the green outline slot in this wall."

She indicated a four-inch-round hole to her left, outlined with green paint. Beside it, was another slot outlined with red paint. "Remain there until the tube is returned to you in the red slot. Take it back to your desk." She paused and glanced down at her desk.

"Now, there are four possible cla.s.sifications for a cadet. Control-deck officer, which includes leaders.h.i.+p and command. Astrogation officer, which includes radar and communications. And power-deck officer for engine-room operations. The fourth cla.s.sification is for advanced scientific study here at the Academy. Your papers are studied by an electronic calculator that has proven infallible. You must make at least a pa.s.sing grade on each of the four cla.s.sifications."

Dr. Dale looked up at the rows of upturned, unsmiling faces and stepped from the dais, coming to a halt near the first desk.

"I know that all of you here have your hearts set on becoming s.p.a.cemen, officers in the Solar Guard. Most of you want to be s.p.a.ce pilots. But there must be astrogators, radar engineers, communication officers and power-deck operators on each s.h.i.+p, and," she paused, braced her shoulders and added, "some of you will not be accepted for any of these.

Some of you will wash out."

Dr. Dale turned her back on the cadets, not wanting to look at the sudden pallor that washed over their faces. It was brutal, she thought, this test. Why bring them all the way to the Academy and then give the tests? Why not start the entrance exams at the beginning with the cla.s.sification and apt.i.tude? But she knew the answer even before the thoughtful question was completed. Under the fear of being washed out, the weaker ones would not pa.s.s. The Solar Guard could not afford to have cadets and later Solar Guard officers who could not function under pressure.

She began handing out the tubes and, one by one, the green-clad candidates stepped to the front of the room to receive them.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," said one cadet falteringly. "If--if--I wash out as a cadet--as a Solar Guard officer cadet"--he gulped several times--"does that mean there isn't any chance of becoming a s.p.a.ceman?"

"No," she answered kindly. "You can become a member of the enlisted Solar Guard, if you can pa.s.s the acceleration tests."

"Thank you, Ma'am," replied the boy and turned away nervously.

Tom Corbett accepted the tube and hurried back to his seat. He knew that this was the last hurdle. He did not know that the papers had been prepared individually, the tests given on the basis of the entrance exams he had taken back at New Chicago Primary s.p.a.ce School.

He opened the tube, pulling out the four sheets, printed on both sides of the paper, and read the heading on the first: ASTROGATION, COMMUNICATIONS, SIGNALS (_Radar_)

He studied the first question.

" ... What is the range of the Mark Nine radar-scope, and how far can a s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p be successfully distinguished from other objects in s.p.a.ce?..."

He read the question four times, then pulled out a pencil and began to write.

Only the rustle of the papers, or the occasional sigh of a cadet over a problem, disturbed the silence in the high-ceilinged room, as the hundred-odd cadets fought the questions.

There was a sudden stir in the room and Tom looked up to see Roger Manning walk to the slot and casually deposit his tube in the green-bordered slot. Then he leaned idly against the wall waiting for it to be returned. As he stood there, he spoke to Dr. Dale, who smiled and replied. There was something about his att.i.tude that made Tom boil. So fast? He glanced at his own papers. He had hardly finished two sheets and thought he was doing fine. He clenched his teeth and bent over the paper again, redoubling his efforts to triangulate a fix on Regulus by using dead reckoning as a basis for his computations.

Suddenly a tall man, wearing the uniform of a Solar Guard officer, appeared in the back of the room. As Dr. Dale looked up and smiled a greeting, he placed his finger on his lips. Steve Strong, Captain in the Solar Guard, gazed around the room at the backs bent over busy pencils.

He did not smile, remembering how, only fifteen years before, he had gone through the same torture, racking his brains trying to adjust the measurements of a magnascope prism. He was joined by a thin handsome young man, Lieutenant Judson Saminsky, and finally, Warrant Officer McKenny. They nodded silently in greeting. It would be over soon. Strong glanced at the clock over the desk. Another ten minutes to go.

The line of boys at the slots grew until more than twenty stood there, each waiting patiently, nervously, for his turn to drop the tube in the slot and receive in return the sealed cylinder that held his fate.

Still at his desk, his face wet with sweat, Astro looked at the question in front of him for the fifteenth time.

" ... Estimate the time it would take a 300-ton rocket s.h.i.+p with half-filled tanks, cruising at the most economical speed to make a trip from t.i.tan to Venusport. (a) Estimate size and maximum capacity of fuel tanks. (b) Give estimate of speed s.h.i.+p would utilize...."

He thought. He slumped in his chair. He stared at the ceiling. He chewed his pencil....

Five seats away, Tom stacked his examination sheets neatly, twisted them into a cylinder and inserted them in the tube. As he pa.s.sed the line of desks and headed for the slot, a hand caught his arm. Tom turned to see Roger Manning grinning at him.

"Worried, s.p.a.ceboy?" asked Roger easily. Tom didn't answer. He simply withdrew his arm.

"You know," said Roger, "you're really a nice kid. It's a shame you won't make it. But the rules specifically say 'no cabbageheads.'"

"No talking!" Dr. Dale called sharply from her desk.

Tom walked away and stood in the line at the slots. He found himself wanting to pa.s.s more than anything in the world. "Please," he breathed, "please, just let me pa.s.s--"

A soft gong began to sound. Dr. Dale stood up.

"Time's up," she announced. "Please put your papers in the tubes and drop them in the slot."

Tom turned to see Astro stuffing his papers in the thin cylinder disgustedly. Phil Morgan came up and stood in back of Tom. His face was flushed.

"Everything O.K., Phil?" inquired Tom.

"Easy as free falling in s.p.a.ce," replied the other cadet, his soft Georgian drawl full of confidence. "How about you?"

"I'm just hoping against hope."

The few remaining stragglers hurried up to the line.

"Think Astro'll make it?" asked Phil.

"I don't know," answered Tom, "I saw him sweating over there like a man facing death."

"I guess he is--in a way."

Astro took his place in line and shrugged his shoulders when Tom leaned forward to give him a questioning look.

"Go ahead, Tom," urged Phil. Tom turned and dropped his tube into the green-bordered slot and waited. He stared straight at the wall in front of him, hardly daring to breathe. Presently, the tube was returned in the red slot. He took it, turned it over in his hands and walked slowly back to his desk.

"You're washed out, cabbagehead!" Manning's whisper followed him. "Let's see if you can take it without bawling!"

Tom's face burned and he fought an impulse to answer Manning with a stiff belt in the jaw. But he kept walking, reached his desk and sat down.

Astro, the last to return to his desk, held the tube out in front of him as if it were alive. The room was silent as Dr. Dale rose from her desk.

"All right now, boys," she announced. "Inside the tubes you will find colored slips of paper. Those of you who have red slips will remain here. Those who find green slips will return to their quarters. Blue will go with Captain Strong, orange with Lieutenant Saminsky, and purple with Warrant Officer McKenny. Now--please open the tubes."

There was a tinkling of metal caps and then the slight rustle of paper as each boy withdrew the contents of the tube before him.

Tom took a deep breath and felt inside for the paper. He held his breath and pulled it out. It was green. He didn't know what it meant. He looked around. Phil was signaling to him, holding up a blue slip. Tom's heart skipped a beat. Whatever the colors meant, he and Phil were apart. He quickly turned around and caught Astro's eye. The big Venusian held up a green slip. Tom's heart then nearly stopped beating. Phil, who had breezed through with such confidence, held a blue slip, and Astro, who hadn't even finished the test, held up the same color that he had. It could only mean one thing. Failure. He felt the tears welling in his eyes, but had no strength left to fight them back.

He looked up, his eyes meeting the insolent stare of Roger Manning who was half turned in his seat. Remembering the caustic warning of the confident cadet, Tom fought back the flood in his eyes and glared back.

What would he tell his mother? And his father? And Billy, his brother, five years younger than himself, whom he had promised to bring a flask of water from the Grand Ca.n.a.l on Mars. And his sister! Tom remembered the s.h.i.+ning pride in her eyes when she kissed him good-bye at the Stratoport as he left for Atom City.