Fire danced in the cadet's brain as Ross Miles' steely fingers closed around his windpipe. Slowly, with every ounce of strength he had in his body, Astro grasped Miles' wrists in his hands and began squeezing. The fingers around the muscular wrists were the fingers of a boy filled with hate and revenge. Slowly, very slowly, as the seconds ticked away and the wind whistled raggedly in his throat, Astro increased the enormous pressure.
Now he felt the fingers around his throat begin to relax a little, and then a little more, and he kept tightening the pressure of his mighty hands. Expressions of surprise and then pain spread across Miles' face and he finally relaxed his grip around Astro's throat. He struggled to free himself from the viselike grip but it was hopeless.
Astro continued to apply pressure. He forced Miles up from his chest and then up on his feet, never relenting. Miles' face was now twisted in agony.
They stood on the deck, face to face, for almost a minute in silent struggle. There seemed to be no end to the power in the cadet's hands.
Suddenly Ross Miles slumped to his knees and sprawled on the deck as Astro let him go. The black-clad spaceman had fainted.
"They got a couple of hard bumps, but they'll be all right," announced the medical officer, straightening up. "But that man outside, Ross Miles, is going to stand trial with a broken wrist!" He turned to Strong. "What do you feed these cadets?"
Strong smiled and replied, "These are special types we train to take care of space rats!"
Tom and Roger lay stretched out on emergency cots set up on the control deck of the Polaris. They grinned weakly at Astro, who hovered over them solicitously.
"This is the first time we've ever wound up an assignment on our backs, you big Venusian hick!" said Roger. "And I suppose I'll have to thank you for saving my life!"