the reply, drumming his fingers on the table in his excitement.

"Not more than sixteen hours, _Good Company_," the Ganymede operator
finally answered. "Where are you now?"

Tom quickly ascertained his position and relayed it to the tiny
Jovian-moon station. "Space sector fourteen, chart B for baker." After
the metallic voice had repeated the information, Tom asked for
information on Roger Manning.

"No such person has reported to this office, Cadet Corbett," came the
negative reply. "End transmission."

"End transmission," said Tom gloomily and slumped back into his chair.
Something had happened to Roger, or he had completely blown his top. And
in the light of past performances by the blond-haired radar expert, Tom
could not decide which. Roger had threatened many times that if he
should ever leave the Academy, he would do it quietly, without fanfare.

There was no better place to drop out of sight than on Ganymede, for it
was here that the deep spacers, gigantic spaceships that hauled supplies
to the colonies of Alpha Centauri, Tara, and Roald made their last stop.
If Roger had finally made good his threat to leave the Academy, Ganymede
was the logical place to do it.

But why?

[Illustration]