As Quent stood before the two cadets, his gun leveled, Ross strode to the audioceiver and flipped it on. "This is Quent Miles to Commander Walters aboard the Polaris," he called. "Come in, Walters."
Tom and Roger looked at each other, puzzled.
"If you can hear me, Walters, this is Quent Miles. I'm surrendering to you. And you alone! Call off your squadrons and come alongside in the Polaris by yourself. If you hear me, Walters, you better do what I say, or you'll never see Manning and Corbett again." He flipped the audioceiver off and grinned at his brother. "When Walters comes aboard, he's going to get a nice surprise."
"Like what?" demanded Tom.
Ross grinned wickedly, looking very much like the devil incarnate. "You heard Walters' order to open fire, didn't you?" he said. "It seems that Space Cadets aren't worth much as hostages. But what do you think it will be like with a full-fledged commander in our hands, eh? And a rocket cruiser like the Polaris to run around in."
"You wouldn't dare kidnap Commander Walters!" exclaimed Tom.
"Oh, no." Ross laughed. "Listen, punk, with a murder charge hanging over our heads, and a couple of million credits' worth of pitchblende in the holds, both of us would do anything! And don't you forget it!" He turned to his brother. "Come on over here, Quent, and I'll tell you what we're going to do."
When the two spacemen were out of earshot, Tom turned to Roger. "How do you feel, Roger?"
"As if I'm going to shake myself apart," replied the radar-deck cadet, his teeth still chattering from the effects of the paralo ray.
"Well, hold on just a little bit longer, boy, because the next few minutes might spell the difference between getting out of here and—"