Tom Swift and His Atomic Earth Blaster

THE TOM SWIFT INVENTION ADVENTURES

TOM SWIFT

AND HIS ATOMIC

EARTH BLASTER

BY VICTOR APPLETON II

This unauthorized tribute is based upon the original TOM SWIFT JR. characters.

As of this printing, copyright to The New TOM SWIFT Jr. Adventures is owned by SIMON & SCHUSTER

This edition privately printed by RUNABOUT © 2011
www.tomswiftlives.com

"MAN, look at this earth blaster go to town!" yelled Bud Barclay from the cab of a big tractor trailer.

Tom Swift, standing on the ground next to the vehicle’s wide tractor-treads, looked up from his notebook in good-humored surprise. "Bud—we haven’t started it yet."

"Oh, I know. Just practicing." He joined in his best pal’s laughter. "I mean, hey, it’s a Tom Swift invention. It’ll work like a charm!"

The blond, rangy young scientist and his muscular, dark-haired pal were testing Tom’s latest invention—an atomic-powered earth-digging machine, nested in a cradle of cushioned brackets in the oversize truck-bed. Tom hoped to use his invention for road and bridge construction work and for drilling tunnels.

The young inventor had obtained permission from a farmer to dig on a vacant section of partially wooded land adjacent to the right of way for a water conduit. Tom had chosen this spot, a quarter of a mile off the highway near Shopton, because its rocky formation would provide a better test than the loamy ground of Swift Enterprises, where Tom and his father developed the astonishing inventions that had brought worldwide fame to the Swift family and the little town of Shopton, New York. Tom and Bud had spent the first hour of their morning checking out the various controls and mechanisms of the earth blaster to make certain it had not suffered from its fifteen-minute road trip. Now it was time to test the device in action.

Bud raised the machine from the truck-bed using a portable derrick clamped to the body of the tractor-truck. He swiveled the derrick crane and gently lowered the earth blaster to ground level, dipping its nose so that it rested upon the ground. The machine looked like a ten-foot torpedo and was comprised of three main parts. The main body of the gleaming steel cylinder housed a compact atomic pile to power the implement. Extending forward from the cylinder was a slightly narrower shaft, containing transmission gears to convey the atom-powered strength of the device to its business end. This narrow "neck" could be pivoted smoothly in any direction, as flexible as an earthworm. The nose of the earth blaster was a tapering segment armed with a cluster of twenty forward-thrusting spikes—the "teeth" of the ingenious machine—which could chew into the hardest rock as they pulsed and vibrated at hypersonic speed.

At Tom’s signal Bud gunned the electro-kinetic engines concealed within the main chassis of the device. The grinding hum of the earth blaster burst forth in an ear-shattering roar that rose to a high-pitched whine as the penetrator vanes approached their prescribed vibratory rate. The nose of the machine blurred into a haze of motion.

Bud let out the cables that attached the earth blaster to its crane, and the machine bored into the ground. As Bud eased the big truck forward on its treads, a clean furrow seemed to materialize around the blaster as if by magic.

Bud gave a happy thumbs-up to his friend, who was jogging along next to the cab. Tom’s atomic earth blaster was a success!

As the heavy truck rumbled along, the machine was dragged forward and plowed a deep trench in the ground. A steady stream of dirt and rock, pulverized almost to dust, spewed out of the rear of the main cylinder into a wide flexible hose which whisked the suspended debris into a holding container in the truck-bed.

After traveling along for a few dozen yards there was a moment of hesitation, as if the blaster had encountered an obstacle in the ground. Then with no more warning than that, Tom and Bud were jolted by a loud clash of metal on metal. A split second later a geyser of water shot up one hundred feet into the air!

Hastily Bud jammed the truck into reverse and backed away from the drenching outburst, shutting down the earth blaster. But it was too late—the damage was done!

"We’ve hit an aqueduct!" Tom shouted, as he drew up alongside. "Hand me the cellphone!"

In stunned silence, Bud grabbed the portable unit off the cab shelf behind him and tossed it down to Tom. Quickly Tom made contact with Swift Enterprises.

"We’ve had an accident," he explained to Munford Trent, the two Swifts’ secretary. "The digging machine broke a conduit. Phone the water company right away, and—also see if Hank Sterling can get a repair crew out here pronto!"

"Will do, Tom," Trent responded. "You boys all right?"

"For the moment," Tom replied. He added wryly: "Ask me again after we’ve had to face Mr. Greenup!"

Within minutes an emergency crew from the Enterprises plant had arrived on the scene. It was headed by Hank Sterling, square-jawed chief engineer for Swift Enterprises projects and general trouble shooter for the outfit. A young man, only a handful of years older than Tom and Bud, he had become a close friend.

By now, however, the geyser had stopped, indicating that the water company had either shut off pressure at the pumps or closed a valve somewhere in the system.

As Tom pointed out the damage, other vehicles began to pull up at the scene—two police cars, several fire trucks, and a number of private cars containing curious townspeople who had glimpsed the column of water.

While Hank supervised the unloading of a section of replacement pipe from the repair truck, Tom turned his attention to the police and firemen, who were doing their best to keep the growing crowd in check.

"Think you can handle the situation?" asked the burly chief in charge of the fire trucks.

"I’m quite sure we can," Tom said. "Sorry you had to call out all this fire equipment."

"Don’t worry about that," replied the fire chief. "Makes for good practice, and it’s safer that way."

"Maybe you won’t find it so easy to handle Old Man Greenup," remarked a uniformed police sergeant. He jerked his thumb toward a long, black car which had just pulled up. A man with iron-gray hair climb out of the car. Frowning, he hurried toward them with decisive strides.

Bud jumped down from the truck cab. "Who’s he?" Bud asked in a low voice.

"The president of the water company," Tom said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the newcomer. He knew he was in for trouble, and hoped he could avoid involving his father and Swift Enterprises.

Greenup’s face was calm and composed, but streaked with angry red.

"Well, here’s the young man who’s responsible for this mess!" he snapped at Tom.

"It was strictly an accident, Mr. Greenup," explained Tom respectfully. "I’m sorry if we caused any inconvenience, but it—"

"Inconvenience?" Greenup interrupted. "Is that what they call it out at that big installation of yours—an
inconvenience?
That must be a scientific term I never learned back in college."

"Sir, if—"

"Do you realize that that was the principal transmission line you burst? We had to stop the pumps and shut off water to the whole community! Suppose a bad fire broke out—what would the fire department do for water? And what about the Shopton Hospital—suppose they need water there?"

Sensing trouble, and grateful for it, the spectators crowded closer.

"I understand all that, sir," Tom said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I realize that an accident of this kind could lead to a mighty serious situation. But our men will soon have the main repaired, and I can promise you that Swift Enterprises will pay for any damage."

Greenup nodded noncommittally. "How did it happen in the first place?"

"It was my new earth-digging machine," explained Tom. "We accidentally plowed into the water main."

"I see. Just a little accident." Greenup looked off into the distance. "And you
accidentally
decided to dig around without concerning yourself with our city water mains." As his voice became quieter, it grew even more menacing. "I know what you’re up to. I know what your company’s trying to do. As for you, in my opinion you’re a public menace. Your father should be hailed into court for not keeping you under better control!"

Bud Barclay shouldered his way forward. Tom saw that his friend was about to blaze back angrily, and put a firm hand on Bud’s muscular arm. "Listen—
Sir!"
Bud exclaimed. "If it weren’t for the Swifts this town would still be a way-station for watering horses!"

"Bud!" Tom warned in a quiet voice. "Mr. Greenup, please keep my father out of this." The man began to edge away. "If you think my inventions haven’t benefited anyone, that’s your privilege."

Greenup paused and looked back. "You’re right, young man. It
is
my privilege."

Hearing Greenup’s angry voice, Hank Sterling left the repair crew and stepped over. "We’ll have your pipe fixed in half an hour," he said.

Greenup snorted. "Oh? Fine. Our water situation is bad enough even when we don’t have to cope with trouble like this! The water reserve was already dangerously low. We need at least fifty percent more capacity, especially during this dry spell of ours."

Tom recalled that a town order recently had been issued banning the sprinkling of lawns during the peak hours of the day.

After a few more grumbling remarks, Mr. Greenup wandered off to inspect the work of the repair crew. The men, stripped to the waist, were dripping with sweat as they labored under the hot Autumn sun.

"Say, pal, I’m sorry I got you into all this," Bud apologized, an embarrassed look on his face.

"Forget it," Tom replied. "Greenup’s been ticked at Swift Enterprises for quite a while. He tried to make trouble for Dad at the last meeting of the Town Council."

Bud continued, "I don’t get what happened. I followed the map provided by the water company as carefully as I could. You looked it over too—we weren’t anywhere near where the conduits were marked!"

"Let’s go back and take a second look," Tom suggested. The youths turned back towards the earth blaster truck.

"I left the map behind—" Bud broke off abruptly, a concerned expression on his face. "Hey, we’ve got a tourist!"

A man, whose face was unknown to Tom and Bud, had climbed up on the tractor-treads and was panning the earth blaster from end to end with what appeared to be a hand-held camera. Having evidently completed this task, he then climbed up further, entering the cab. It seemed he wanted an unobstructed top-view image of the machine.

"Hey there!" Tom called out mildly. He was not especially alarmed by the fact that some townsperson wanted to photo-record his new invention, only curious and slightly concerned for the man’s safety.

But the man’s response was anything but reassuring. He glanced expressionlessly in Tom and Bud’s direction, then shinnied across the seat of the cab and out the door on the far side.

"I think I want to talk to that guy," Bud muttered. Before Tom could comment he was off like a shot, loping around the truck with Tom at his heels.

"Hightailed it into the woods," exclaimed Bud in disgust. "I’d say that counts as suspicious behavior."

"Why don’t you go off left, and I’ll work my way up towards the farmhouse," suggested Tom in response. Bud nodded, and Tom plunged into the thick underbrush that divided this unworked section of the farm from the rest of it.

Between the scrubby fall-colored trees, among clumps of coarse grass, Tom spied marks of heavy heelprints and crumpled stalks just beginning to spring back, showing that they had been underfoot only moments before. He followed the trail without any thought that danger might lie ahead.

A minute later the young inventor came in sight of the man himself, hunched over and scurrying through the trees in the general direction of the road that served as a driveway to the farmhouse.

"Hey, you!" shouted Tom angrily. "What’s the big idea?"

The stranger looked up with a startled expression, then jerked himself sideways. He made a dash for a densely wooded area, but Tom quickly caught up with him and grabbed him by the coat collar.

As the tall stranger spun around, Tom saw that he was gaunt and hollow-cheeked. His green eyes glittered with contempt and glaring determination. One hand whipped inside his coat and came out again clutching a snub-nosed blue-steel automatic of unusual design.

Tom was shocked at this reaction, but he had seen the move in time. With his left hand he grabbed the man’s wrist. The stranger tried desperately to wrench his gun hand free.

For a moment the two struggled furiously. Tom, though not so tall as his opponent, had the wiry, muscular strength of a well-trained gymnast. He twisted the man’s wrist further and further until he gasped in pain and dropped the weapon to the ground.

"Now you’re going to tell me what this is all about!" Tom growled angrily. "And then I’m—"

His words were choked off as he was grabbed from behind. Turning his head, he glimpsed that his assailants were two rough-looking men.