“Roger’s my name,” the third cadet said quickly. “Won’t you sit down, sir?”
“No use wasting time,” said Bernard. “Let’s go right into the dining car.” The cadets were in no mood to argue with him. They picked up the small microphones beside their chairs and sent food orders to the kitchen; and by the time they were seated in the dining car, their orders were ready on the table.
Mr. Bernard, with a twinkle in his eye, watched them enjoy their food. In particular, he watched Astro.
“I warned you, sir,” whispered Tom, as the Venusian went to work on his second steak.
“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything,” said Bernard. He smiled, lit a cigar of fine Mercurian leaf tobacco and settled back comfortably.
“And now,” he said, “let me explain why I was so anxious to have dinner with you. I’m in the import-export business. Ship to Mars, mostly. But all my life I’ve wanted to be a spaceman.”
“Well, what was the trouble, Mr. Bernard?” asked Roger.
The man in black sighed. “Couldn’t take the acceleration, boys. Bad heart. I send out more than five hundred cargoes a year, to all parts of the solar system; but myself, I’ve never been more than a mile off the surface of the earth.”
“It sure must be disappointing—to want to blast off, and know that you can’t,” said Tom.
“I tried, once,” said Bernard, with a rueful smile. “Yup! I tried.” He gazed thoughtfully out the window.
“When I was your age, about twenty, I wanted to get into Space Academy worse than anybody I’d ever met.” He paused. “Except for one person. A boyhood buddy of mine—named Kenneth—”
“Excuse me, sir,” cut in Roger quickly, “but I think we’d better get back to our car. With this big liberty in front of us, we need a lot of rest.”
“But, Roger!” exclaimed Tom.
Bernard smiled. “I understand, Roger. Sometimes I forget that I’m an old man. And when you’ve already tasted the excitement of space travel, talk like mine must seem rather dull.” He stood up and faced the three cadets. “It’s been very pleasant, Corbett, Astro, Roger. Now run along and get your rest. I’ll just sit here for a while and watch the scenery.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Tom, “for the dinner—your company—and everything,” he finished lamely.
There was a chorus of good-byes and the boys returned to their car. But there was little conversation now. Gradually, the lights in the cars dimmed to permit sleep. But Tom kept listening to the subdued click of the monorail—and kept wondering. Finally Roger, sleeping next to him, wakened for a moment.
“Roger,” said Tom, “I want to ask you something.”
“Wait’ll the mornin’,” mumbled Roger. “Wanta sleep.”
“The way you acted with Bernard,” Tom persisted. “You ate his dinner and then acted like he was poison. Why was that, Roger?”
The other sat bolt upright. “Listen,” he said. “Listen!” Then he slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Lemme sleep, Corbett. Lemme sleep, I tell you.” He turned his back and in a moment was making sounds of deep slumber, but Tom felt sure that Roger was not asleep—that he was wide awake, with something seriously bothering him.
Tom leaned back and gazed out over the passing plains and up into the deep black of space. The Moon was full, large and round. He could distinguish Mare Imbrium, the largest of Luna’s flat plains visible from Earth, where men had built the great metropolis of Luna City. Farther out in the deep blackness, he could see Mars, glowing like a pale ruby. Before long he would be up there again. Before long he would be blasting off in the Polaris with Astro and with Roger—
Roger! Why had he acted so strangely at dinner?
Tom remembered the night he saw Roger in Galaxy Hall alone at night, and the sudden flash on the field a few days before when they had won the mercuryball game. Was there some reason behind his companion’s strange actions? In vain, Tom racked his brain to find the answer. There had to be some explanation. Yet what could it possibly be? He tossed and turned and worried and finally—comfortable as the monorail car was—he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
Atom City! Built of the clear crystal mined so cheaply on Titan, moon of Saturn, Atom City had risen from a barren North American wasteland to become a show place of the universe. Here was the center of all space communications—a proud city of giant crystal buildings. Here had been developed the first slidewalks, air cars, three-dimensional stereos and hundreds of other ideas for better living.
And here at Atom City was the seat of the great Solar Alliance, housed in a structure which covered a quarter of a mile at its base and which towered three thousand noble feet into the sky.
The three cadets stepped out of the monorail and walked across the platform to a waiting air car—jet-powered, shaped like a teardrop and with a clear crystal top.
“We want the best hotel in town,” said Astro grandly to the driver.
“And get this speed bug outa here in a hurry,” Roger told him. “There’s a lot we want to do.”
The driver couldn’t help smiling at the three cadets so obviously enjoying their first leave.
“We’ve got three top hotels,” he said. “One’s as good as the other. They’re the Earth, the Mars and the Venus.”
“The Earth,” voted Tom.
“The Mars,” shouted Roger.
“The Venus!” roared Astro.
“All right,” said the driver with a laugh, “make up your minds.”
“Which of ’em is nearest the center of the city?” Tom asked.
“The Mars.”
“Then blast off for Mars!” ordered Tom, and the air car shot away from the station and moved up into the stream of expressway traffic fifty feet above the ground.
As the little car sped along the broad avenue, Tom remembered how often, as a boy, he’d envied the Space Cadets who’d come to his home town of New Chicago on leave. Now here he was—in uniform, with a three-day pass, and all
