Tom Swift and His Polar-Ray Dynasphere (6 page)

"Of course," he replied with brusque dignity. "But I suggest, sir, that we proceed to more sedate pursuits for a time."

Tom called George Dilling, head of Enterprises public relations, to take charge of the guests. As they waited silently, the prince said abruptly, "Am I to understand that we are suspected of spying, sir? For I heard what your assistant shouted."

Their youthful host struggled for the proper diplomatic language. "Bud had in mind a comment we received from an anonymous source, perhaps someone unfriendly to Vishnapur. We don’t mean to imply any sort of accusation."

The Crown Prince nodded but withheld any trace of a smile.

Dilling and an assistant arrived, and the eight Visnapurians were guided away to their quarters.

"S-sorry, Tom," Bud muttered. "I was just trying― "

"I know, pal. It was my fault that you couldn’t look before you leapt. Anyway, look at this mess." One of the panicked visitors had evidently knocked over a shelf of test tubes and equipment. "I’ll contact Custodial."

The young inventor plucked the phone from his pocket and pressed the button—and he and Bud winced as it erupted in a shrill, high-pitched squeal like a full-throated warning of danger!

HIS FINGERS fumbling, Tom switched off the phone unit and the lab fell silent.

"Are you giving me the razzberry?" Bud asked.

Tom examined his phone. "Strange. How could it..." He switched it on again, with the same alarming result!

But now Tom noticed something further. "Flyboy, something’s screwy," he stated as he switched it off. "Don’t you hear it? That screech is coming from two places!"

By switching the cellphone on and off, the boys finally discovered the other source, hidden on a shelf behind some equipment, next to the shelf that had been overturned.

Brushing asides some shards of glass Tom held up what he had found. It was Buddha!—a tiny bronze figure.

"One of the students must have put it there!" Bud pronounced.

"Maybe during the blackout."

"So what’s up with the thing?"

Tom tapped on the figure. It was heavy yet rang very slightly, as if hollow. He then commenced an examination with the lab’s detector instruments, including a device, called the leptoscope, which combined the key features of a microscope, telescope, and X-ray scanner. "There’s the answer," Tom declared, nodded toward the monitor screen. "Crammed with electronics!"

Bud rolled his eyes. "I get it. Our bi-weekly encounter with a bugging device. So what’s the gimmick with
this
baby?"

It took another half-hour of careful scrutiny before Tom had a confident response. "Buddha here is meant to listen in on cellphone conversations—namely mine!" He explained to Bud that the statue had super-miniaturized diode antennas behind each eye sockets. "It’s clearly intended to pick up a cellphone signal. We were just plain lucky that the antenna response set up a feedback resonance affecting the cellphone itself as well as the metal surface of the statue."

"I thought your cell signals were encrypted," Bud objected.

"They are. The local phone output, calls within the walls of the plant, is picked up by repeating transponders which rebroadcast a ‘scrambling’ signal that covers it up to outside receivers. What Buddha does is repeat the original signal in a way the transponders don’t pick up. A backup signal, in other words."

"Not bad for a guy in the lotus position. Think you can tell which of the students planted the statue, or where the signal’s going? It must be the spy you were warned about."

But Tom shrugged, hesitating for several long moments. "Unless that’s only what we’re
meant
to think, Bud. The message could have been a fake, with this to make it seem credible."

"But why?"

"Well, how about the business of the satellite knockout? Vishnapur was in the vicinity of the apparent source of that space-lightning bolt, if that’s what it was."

"True. Maybe Buddha has a thing against satellites." As Tom grinned, Bud added seriously, "At least you caught
it
before it caught
you
."

His chum raised an eyebrow. "Ah, but I’m going to
let
it catch me, flyboy! I’ll just set it right back in place. Now that we know what’s going on, we can let the plot go forward and let the plotters trip themselves up." After replacing it, Tom said, "Come on if you want—I need to report all this to Harlan Ames." The two left, continuing to discuss the matter in low tones.

The students had a busy day at Swift Enterprises, with Tom only one of their tour guides. At the end one of them said to Tom, "What wonders you have shown us! If only our own people could be shown such things."

"It’ll happen," Tom replied. "The tools of science are provided by nature, and can be found anywhere and everywhere."

That night Boris prepared a dinner in honor of the eight visitors, promising that the meal would consist of native dishes from their Himalayan homeland. "Pfah!" sniffed the native Russian. "I cannot account for how they can eat such things. Yak butter! Absurdity."

Tom smiled. "Thanks for preparing it, though, Boris."

"I did my duty, holding my nose."

To give the Vishnapurians some contact with American family life, Tom’s mother joined his father at the dinner, as did the young family of his friend and chief engineer Hank Sterling.

The foreign visitors seemed delayed. As they waited, Mrs. Swift wandered over to the window and suddenly exclaimed in alarm:

"
Oh my—look!
" The others ran to her side and gaped at what they saw in the twilight.

A weird procession of prancing figures was approaching the administration building. The creatures had huge, fantastic heads and wore gaudy robes of red, gold, and black!

"They’re coming inside!" gasped Hank Sterling’s wife.

They heard a thunderous pounding on the door. Then it was thrown open and in surged the nightmarish group, playing bells, drums, and cymbals. The crazy din continued as the people capered about the room.

Suddenly Mrs. Sterling giggled in slightly chagrined delight. "It’s a masquerade!"

Some of the figures wore grinning, goggle-eyed demon masks, each topped with a ring of tiny skulls. Another had on a deer’s head with flowers blooming from its antlers. Two more were giant-headed buffoons—a white-faced woman and a blue-faced, mustachioed man.

The invaders swirled around their audience, energetic yet graceful, with sudden lunges that startled. At last the wild dance came to a halt and the figures pulled off their masks. Tom and his companions applauded and cheered. The panting, laughing masqueraders were Crown Prince Vusungira—as a kingly figure—and the other young men from Vishnapur!

"Terrific!" Tom exclaimed as the dancers bowed.

"It’s the most exciting thing I’ve seen in ages," declared Mr. Swift.

"Then our humble efforts are more than repaid," Vusungira said with formal gallantry.

"But what brought this on, if you don’t mind my asking?" Bud put in.

The young prince bowed his head slightly. "This night is the beginning of the lunar month in which we celebrate the Festival of Chogyal."

The Americans looked interested, and Hank Sterling asked, "Respectfully, Your Highness, who or what is Chogyal?"

"The highest mountain peak in Vishnapur," answered Vusungira. "The name Chogyal means ‘god-king’ in the various Himalayan dialects, and the festival is proclaimed by our priests every seven years in honor of the gods and spirits of his mountain."

"The mountain watches over our country," added one of the men reverently. "It is our protector. By honoring him, perhaps he will take back the curse of the lake that has― "

"There is no need to discuss these superstitions of the uneducated," Vusungira brusquely interrupted. "We wish to become a modern nation." He went on to explain that the homesick students had brought the costumes to America, since they would be far from Vishnapur when the festival was celebrated. "Your Enterprises policeman Mr. Ames gave us permission to bring them onto the grounds, and promised to refrain from telling you ‘bigwigs’. It was to be a gift of surprise and, we hoped, an entertainment."

"The great festival itself is still more than two weeks away," added the engineer named Rakshi, "but we hoped that a small preview might cheer our young professor. Your morning was perhaps a bit disconcerting."

"And besides," said Vusungira with raised eyebrows, "is it not right that the spirits should honor a scientist who can even blot out the sun’s light?" Then he chuckled.

Tom took the sly ribbing good-naturedly and asked what the masks portrayed. The young Asians told him the deer represented a former incarnation of the lord Buddha. The chief demon, black-faced, was called Mahakali—Lordly Kali, ruler of the dead. He and his cohorts were made to look as horrible as possible to help the watchers overcome their fear of death.

"And the blue-faced man and white-faced clowns," Prince Vusungira added, "are really
acharyas
, or wise men, who keep the demons amused until the good spirits can defeat them."

Tom now introduced the individual students to those who had not yet met them. "Your country is almost a part of India," Tom’s mother remarked to Prince Vusungira, "and yet those aren’t Hindu masks, are they?"

"Quite right, Mrs. Swift. The people of Vishnapur are a mixture. Many, like myself, are of Indian descent, while others, like my friend Gyong"—Vusungira indicated a student with high cheekbones and Oriental features—"are of Tibetan stock. But all celebrate the Festival of Chogyal. As is the case in much of that part of the world, our traditional religions are combinations of many customs and rituals. The common religion of Vishnapur has features of Hinduism as well as Buddhism."

At the mention of Buddha Tom and Bud exchanged meaningful glances.

The fussily authentic Russo-Tibetan dinner was now served up by Boris, with a polite if pinched expression. The meal began with wheat pancakes, called
chapaties
. This was followed by
kabobs
, a highly spiced mutton curry, along with rice pihin and two vegetables—
brinjals bhurta
, which was mint-flavored eggplant, and fried
bhindis
, or okra. Before dessert came another meat dish, a sort of souffle with a wisely unidentified meat mixed in and a powdered topping, blue in color.

"It is called
jabnob’r
," said Rakshi, who seemed to be the youngest of the visitors. "Always served last before the sweets."

Mr. Swift sampled it tentatively. His eyebrows rose in surprised pleasure. "Why, it’s quite wonderful! The flavor is most unusual to my American palate. What is this topping on it?"

Crown Prince Vusungira answered. "It is
hoobragam
, and your chef has my commendation for including it. It is specifically Vishnapuri."

"The blue color is very striking," commented Tom.

Bud added, "I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a shade of blue like that, not even on Chow Winkler’s shirts."

Vusungira gave one of his rare smiles. "Exotic, is it not? The blue spice that gives it its color is called
yorb
, and it is used in many dishes, as our Hindu cousins to the south use curry. Indeed, yorb is called ‘the heart of Chogyal.’ From it one derives not only food spices, but a kind of beer, incense, even a blue dye for our fabrics and ritual body-paint."

One of the engineers said, "An ancient traditional song begins,
O Buddha by your light we see the yorb that is our savior.
"

Mrs. Swift asked if yorb were only produced in Vishnapur. "No," responded Vusungira, "although it is something we are known for. It comes from a plant, a sort of algae growth, that only flourishes at very high altitudes and needs long periods of cold. But it is also harvested elsewhere in Tibet, and I believe it has been introduced into the Andes region."

"Also in the high Urals of Russia," noted Boris, pouring tea.

"One can order it on the internet," Gyong declared. "It has stimulating medicinal properties well regarded by men of years."

The dessert was called
rosagollah
. It consisted of sugar-soaked lumps formed from curdled milk and covered with a thick, saffron-flavored syrup.

"Mmm! Delicious!" Tom said enthusiastically.

The others agreed, and Bud said, "Your Highness, if this is typical of your country, make room for one more!"

The prince beamed. "My father would be horrified if he found out, but cooking has always been a hobby of mine."

As they left the table, Vusungira said, "And now, I should like to present Mrs. Swift and Mrs. Sterling with small mementos of Vishnapur." He withdrew from his briefcase two small wrapped packages, which turned out to be figurines—elephants carved from ivory and enameled in gorgeous colors. Each bore a brass howdah. As the ladies expressed their gratitude, Vusungira said: "We Vishnapuri also use the services of the faithful elephant, as do those of India."

One of the students, who doubled as the assigned bodyguard for the Crown Prince, stood next to the door to the makeshift dining room. At a knock he opened the door and announced: "Your Highness, honorable hosts, it is Mr. Ames from the security department."

Vusungira nodded to the new arrival. "Then you have been able to join us after all."

"I’m afraid not," Ames replied tersely. "This is not a pleasant matter, Your Highness."

"What is it, Ames?" asked Damon Swift.

"My office was contacted earlier by Mr. Patil Ram, Vishnapur’s representative in this country. The Vishnapur government has received some alarming information, which he passed along to me and asked me to deal with. It involves a matter of security, Your Highness, and I am obliged to investigate it on behalf of both our countries."

Vusungira frowned gravely. "Then do as you must, sir."

As the students muttered in surprise and worry, Ames commenced to search them one by one, then the huge masks they had worn when entering.

The security chief approached Prince Vusungira last. "I’m sorry, Your Highness."

"You intend to search me as well?"