"No rights under the Universal Bill of Rights of the Solar Alliance have been denied you, except that of actively participating in the flight of a spaceship!"
The signal bell of the teleceiver began to chime softly, and on the desk the teleceiver screen glowed again. "Cadets Corbett, Manning, and Astro are here for their assignments, sir," announced the enlisted man outside.
Loring glared at Strong. "I suppose you're going to send some punk kids out on the next trip to Tara and leave us experienced spacemen to rot on the ground, huh?"
Strong didn't see the door slide open to admit the three cadets who entered quietly. His whole attention was focused on the ugly glaring faces of Bill Loring and Al Mason.
"Get this, Loring!" snapped Strong hotly. "The assignments of the Polaris unit, whether it be to Tara or the Moon, has nothing to do with your own breech of conduct. In any case, if they were to be assigned, they'd do a better job than you 'experienced' spacemen who are disrespectful of your superior officers and break regulations! If either of you makes one more crack about the Solar Guard or Space Cadets, or anything at all, I'll take you out on the quadrangle and pound some common courtesy into your heads! Now get out!"
"All right, all right—" muttered Loring retreating, but with a sneer on his lips. "We'll meet again, Mr. Bigshot Spaceman!"
"I hope so, Loring. And if we do, I hope you've taken a bath. You even smell bad!"
From the rear of the room came a burst of laughter. Tom, Roger, and Astro, unobserved, had been listening and watching their skipper in action. When Loring and Mason had left the room, they advanced to the desk, came to attention, and saluted.
"Polaris unit reporting for duty, sir!" snapped Tom crisply.
"At ease," said Strong. "Did you hear all of that?"