desk and wrote quickly on six slips of paper. He
folded each one, dumped them in his cap, and offered it to Astro.

"All right, Astro," said Connel, "draw!"

Astro licked his lips and stuck in his big paw. The Venusian fingered
several, then pulled out a slip of paper. He opened it and read aloud.
"Number two! I go!" He turned and grinned at the others.

Connel offered his cap to Alfie. Alfie dipped in two fingers and pulled
out a slip. "Number four! I go!" he squealed.

Roger and Shinny drew numbers one and three. Tom looked at the major.
"Go ahead, Corbett," said Connel.

"After you, sir," said Tom.

"I said draw one!" roared Connel.

"Yes, sir," said Tom. He reached in and quickly pulled out one of the
two remaining slips.

"Number six," he said quietly. "I stay."

Connel, not bothering to open the last one, slapped the hat on his head
and turned away.

"But, sir," said Tom, "I--ah--"

Connel cut him off with a wave of his hands. "No _buts_!" He turned to
the others. "Manning, Higgins! Get me a course back to Junior and make
it clean and straight. Astro, Shinny, stand by on the power deck for
course change. Tom, get on the control deck. We're going back to snatch
a hot copper filling right out of a sun's teeth!"

Once again the energy of the six spacemen was burned in twenty-four hour
stretches of improvisation and detailed calculations. Roger and Alfie
redesigned the fuse to ensure perfect co-ordination of the explosions.
Astro and Shinny surpassed their previous efforts by putting enough
power in the five small reaction units to more than do the job required.
Tom, standing long watches on the control deck, devoted his spare time
to the torturous equations that would mean failure or success to the
whole project. And Major Connel, alert and alive once more, drove his
crew toward greater goals than it had achieved before.

Nearly three days later, the _Polaris_ appeared over the twin oceans of
Tara and glided into an orbit just beyond the pull of the planet's
gravity. Aboard the spaceship, last-minute preparations were made by the
red-eyed spacemen.

In constant contact with Space Academy, using the resources of the
Academy's scientific staff to check the more difficult calculations, the
six men on the _Polaris_ worked on.

Connel appeared on the radar bridge and flipped on the long-range
scanner.

"Have to find out where Junior is," he said to Roger and Alfie.

"That doesn't work, sir," said