!"

"Listen, Manning!" snarled Loring. "If the crew gets hurt it ain't my
fault. If they're in the ship, that's tough. If not, then that's O.K.
with me. I ain't sending them any letter telling them I'm going to
blast their ship and then have them come up after me with a space
torpedo!"

Roger didn't answer. He turned away and climbed back to the radar
bridge. Loring followed him up the ladder.

"Don't get any ideas about warning your buddies, Manning, 'cause if you
do, I'll blast you before I blast them!"

"Don't worry," replied Roger. "It's daytime on the other side of Tara
now, where the _Polaris_ is. The crew might be out on a scouting mission
or making observations away from the ship. There's less chance of their
being on the ship. If we're going to do it, let's get it over with!"

"O.K. with me," said Loring. "Take this wagon up toward Alpha Centauri a
little way. Coming out of the sun, they won't see us. We'll use one of
the jet boats to deliver our little present. I'll set the fuse, put the
jet boat on automatic, and aim it right for the _Polaris_."

"All right," agreed Manning reluctantly. He turned to the chart table,
plotted a course, and issued orders to Shinny at the controls and to
Mason on the power deck. Soon the _Space Devil_ was blasting away from
the night side of the planet, heading toward the sun. When they reached
an altitude of a thousand miles above the surface of the planet, Loring
maneuvered the jet boat into position outside the ship and placed the
crude reactant bomb inside. Ready, he gave Roger the signal to make the
run out of the sun toward the _Polaris_. Roger relayed the orders to
Shinny and Mason, and the _Space Devil_ rocketed back toward the planet
again.

Loring, sitting inside the jet boat, waited until they had reached an
altitude of five hundred miles.

"All right, Manning," said Loring, "give me the course!"

Roger calculated the rotational speed of the planet, the _Space Devil's_
altitude, and the speed of the jet boat. He drew a line between the
_Space Devil_ and _Polaris_, checked it on the astro compass, and
reached for the intercom mike. He ran a dry tongue over his lips and
called out the course.

"Course is one forty-three--" He caught himself and stared at the chart.
Suppose Tom or Astro or anyone was near the ship? Even if he missed by
several hundred yards, the bomb would certainly be fatal. If he only
changed the course one degree, at a range of five hundred