Tom Swift and His Space Solartron (14 page)

"Then here’s a bit of amusing irony, guys," Tom said with a broad smile. "The fact is, I’ve just perfected a new invention that makes tabletop fusion obsolete!"

Picking up Tom’s cellphone to call the local police, Bud asked Prentiss who had been watching him from behind the curtain the other day. "Who?
Me!
I just went out the back way and came back around. Never expected two of our main targets to come out to visit us." He added wryly that when Hampshire had learned that Tom had received airway clearance for the flight back to the Citadel he had jetted to the area himself, hoping to use the pueblo equipment to eavesdrop on Tom’s experiments. "Sort’ve backfired, you might say."

The State Police took Prentiss and Hampshire away, and Tom and Bud left the pueblo site, this time by the main gate.

On the flight back to Shopton the next day, they continued an animated recap of the events.

"So you think I’m a
pretentious jerk,
huh, Barclay?" Tom teased his friend.

"At that moment I was pretty mad," Bud conceded, his face reddening in embarrassment. "So—you knew about Ted’s feelings for Sandy?"

"Bash told me."

"She did? How did
she
know about it?"

"Sandy told her."

"Okay, then how—"

Tom laughed. "I don’t try to understand it, flyboy—science is enough for me. Since I couldn’t tell if there was really anything to it, I figured I wouldn’t pass it along. Don’t think you have anything to worry about, though."

Bud grinned. "Oh, I wasn’t worried."

Landing at Enterprises, Tom was pleased to find that Mrs. Spring and Little Ray were already en route home from Blue-Jay Lake by chopper. "She’s ever so grateful, T-man," said Ted. "We all are. You know that, don’t you?"

"I know, Ted," replied Tom, shaking his friend’s hand and thinking:
I know more than you think I do!

He then spoke to Hank Sterling and learned that the finalized model of the antiproton energine had been installed in the full-size space solartron, and the complete assembly, including the atom-snatchers, was now in the
Sky Queen
’s hangar-hold.

The young inventor turned serious. "Then I’d say we’re ready for the final test, Hank—the big one.
It’s time to head back to the moon!"

AS THE great silver Flying Lab approached Fearing Island, Bud at the controls, Tom sat in the lounge on the top deck discussing his project with some of those who would be accompanying him into space. Among them were Hank, Arv, Chow, and Ted Spring.

"I’m chomping at the bit to get up to Luna, Tom," said one veteran crewman, Bob Jeffers. "And I understand the general idea of making like a moon colony for a few days to test out the equipment. But haven’t you already found out that the matter maker works like you want it to?"

Tom nodded. "Every test shows it working just fine. The only aspect still in question is the efficiency of the atom-gathering units when we set them up on the surface of a celestial body. We know the moon’s gravity will affect the density and flow of the hydrogen atoms, but the exact numbers are uncertain. That’s what I want to find out. Besides, this will give us a chance to assess the new habitat domes, and so forth." The habitat domes were new inventions of Tom’s designed to provide a livable environment for colonists on the hostile, airless lunar surface.

"Never do pass up a chance t’go runnin’ around with five pounds out of six of my weight off!" Chow declared. "An’ mebbe this time I’ll come up with some special moon dishes fer you boys—moon meatloaf, crater casseroles—!"

Tom chuckled and said, "Just remember, Chow—even with the new energine, my solartron can only handle just so much of a load!"

"You’ll have it making all our air, Tom?" asked Ted.

"And water, too. For three days, we’ll be a self-sustaining colony of space pioneers!"

Within an hour of landing on Fearing, the huge
Challenger
lifted off for space. "First stop the outpost?" Bud asked as they cleared the atmosphere, smooth-sailing.

"Right," Tom confirmed. "Dad and Doc are ready to leave, and they’ve asked to travel along with us to the moon."

"Ya hear that, Li’l Ole Alamo?" Chow murmured to the lizard on his shoulder. "We’re all goin’ up to that big round thing out there—an’ it’s jest as dry and raw as that desert we ’as born in, us two."

As the
Challenger
entered the long loop that would take it to the space outpost, Tom radioed ahead to his father. "When should we expect you, son?" asked Damon Swift.

Tom checked the ship’s chronometer. "Oh, about eleven minutes or so. Are you and Doc all packed up and ready?"

"We are," chuckled Tom’s father. "We said our goodbyes to Ken Horton, and I’ve b—"

"Dad, your sentence got cut off," Tom said into the microphone. After a silent interval, he said. "Still there, Dad?"

"Interference?" asked Hank Sterling.

"Guess so," Tom replied. He tried again—and again. "Funny… no interference showing on the instruments."

"They must be having trouble at their end," Bud suggested.

"That must be it," said Tom. But his brow creased. "Wait—incoming signal." He picked up the mike again, relieved. "Hey, Dad? What—"

"Challenger
, this is Fearing control!"
crackled the familiar voice of Amos Quezada.

"This is Tom, Fearing."

"Are you receiving anything from the outpost? Any signal?"

A chill suddenly washed over the young inventor! "We were just talking to them, but the signal was cut off."

"Well, all their transmissions to Fearing cut out at the same time—even the automatic guidance signal for the drones."
There was a pause.
"Tom, they’re telling me that the TV-station people are calling in—their transmissions have blanked out too, all of a sudden! And now—okay, there’s Space Central on Loonaui. Same report!"

Tom continued to talk with Fearing Island, but his mind was racing and shadowed with dread. What could have happened to knock the entire orbiting installation off the air so abruptly? An attack? An explosion?

Bud put a warm hand on his pal’s shoulder. "It’s probably nothing, Tom, just some little glitch."

Tom nodded. "Sure," he said faintly.

"Brand my rocket rangers, kin you speed this wagon up, boss?" asked Chow nervously.

"We don’t want to overshoot," was the reply.

"I—I don’t want to add to the worry, T-man," Ted said with hesitation, peering out the viewport intently. "But shouldn’t we be able to see the station by now?"

"Aw, no!" Chow exclaimed. "Why, we must be millions,
billions
o’ miles off! Space is a right big place!"

"Ted’s right," Tom declared in a very hushed voice. Then he flipped on some instruments. "And… on radar…" There was anguish on his young face as he looked up at Bud. "Nothing!"

By every sign the outpost in space had vanished completely!

Fighting to hold his surging emotions in check, Tom kept in close contact with the earth 22,300 miles away. He received reports from every quarter of the globe, including deep-space radar tracking. All confirmed the horrifying situation. The big manned space station, and all aboard, had been swallowed up by the celestial emptiness without a trace!

"It can’t be!" Tom cried. "Dad—Doc Simpson—Horton—"

"Now listen, Tom," said Arv Hanson. "There’s no sign of the outpost, but also no sign of floating debris or radiation. Whatever happened, it wasn’t some sort of catastrophic explosion or meteor strike. Put that out of your head! Have you considered that your space friends might be involved in this?"

Tom brightened instantly, grateful for the hopeful new thought. Since they originally had made contact with Swift Enterprises long before, the mysterious extraterrestrials had shown themselves masters over the forces of nature—yet subject to strange and unexplained limitations. It was they who had moved the asteroid Nestria into orbit about the earth, and who had directed an ark of diseased animals to the moon, seeking Tom’s assistance.

"Tom, that must be it!" exclaimed Bud excitedly. "Those guys can do just about anything they want to!"

"I’ll try to contact them," Tom responded. "Take the controls, Bud—I’m heading down to communications."

From the communications compartment Tom extended a powerful antenna from the hull and activated the transmitter-receiver apparatus. The equipment was connected to an oscilloscope-like imaging monitor, which would display the mathematical symbols utilized by the aliens for communication with terrestrials.

With the assistance of his computerized dictionary of space symbols, Tom transmitted an urgent message, Hank and Ted looking on.

TOM SWIFT TO SPACE FRIENDS. UNKNOWN PHENOMENON HAS AFFECTED OUR INHABITED SATELLITE INSTALLATION. ALL CONTACT LOST. CAN YOU ADVISE?

They waited tensely for a response. Sometimes the space friends were able to respond almost immediately, but on other occasions a reply could be delayed for hours.

The minutes dragged past, and Tom could not bear to leave his post. Suddenly a buzzer sounded—a signal was incoming on the frequency used by the space friends! A single complicated symbol appeared on the screen, the computer’s tentative translation beneath it.

RESPONSE FORTHCOMING

"What does
that
mean?" Ted demanded.

"Just what it says, I’m afraid," Tom muttered, bitterly disappointed. "They must not know what happened. Maybe they’re checking into it using their own technology."

He sent another message into deep space.

CAN YOU PROVIDE CURRENT LOCATION OF SATELLITE?

The answer was the same:

RESPONSE FORTHCOMING

"We can’t wait around," Tom declared. "I
won’t!"

"What’s your plan?" asked Hank Sterling.

Tom thought for long moments, then stood suddenly. "Come on. Let’s go back up."

At the main control panels on the command deck, Tom worked fiercely. Looking through the big picture-window viewpanes, the crew could see the repelatron dishes sliding noiselessly along their curving tracks.

"Are we, um—
going
somewhere, genius boy?" asked Bud hesitantly.

Tom replied without taking his eyes off the board. "I’m going to use the long-range telespectrometers built into the repelatrons—all of them at once, with the data fed into the computer for composite analysis."

Arv asked what he was searching for.

"My father," he responded bluntly. Then he glanced up with a look of apology for his brusque answer. "Guys, atoms are always boiling off into space from anything exposed to the vacuum. They get knocked off by light, heat, cosmic rays, even impact from the solar wind. They’re spread thin and almost undetectable, but this approach may do the trick. I’m looking for any trace-atoms connected to the outpost’s hull materials—magtritanium, Tomasite, even paint!"

"Here’s a suggestion," said Hank. "Look for Inertite. We sprayed a coating on just recently, and there must’ve been a lot of excess particles adhering only weakly to the hull."

"That’s a great idea," Tom declared.

With all the repelatron antennas now aimed toward the same region of space, their repulsion-beam mechanisms inactive, Tom swept the void for any trace of the lost space station. The first efforts yielded nothing, and Tom’s face fell. "Look higher," Bud urged. "Maybe they went out into space, away from Earth."

Tom nodded silently and complied, using the
Challenger
’s gyros to rotate the ship slightly. The telespectrometers probed deeply into space—and received an answer!
"There!"
Tom cried in excitement. "Tomasite atoms! Inertite!"

"One o’ them breadcrumb trails, jest like in th’ story!" gaped Chow.

"But where does the trail lead?" Bob Jeffers asked.

In moments the computer had an answer. "It leads out into space, at almost a right angle to the earth—and it’s a straight line," Tom pronounced. "Which implies incredible force and speed! Whatever got hold of the outpost sure isn’t worried about little things like gravity and orbital mechanics."

"Sure
sounds
like something the space guys could pull off, T-man," muttered Ted.

Tom brought up more of the data onto the board for study. "We have a good, solid direction, men. Unfortunately, the atom trail peters out after a few hundred miles. The outpost must have accelerated abruptly, and the particles are just too spread out to be picked up."

"Still an’ all, you got a good pointin’ arrow, don’t you, boss?" Chow said. "Is she pointin’ to some place in partic’lar?"

"She is, Chow. There’s only one known celestial object in that general direction right now," was Tom’s sober reply. "The moon!"

IT TOOK only a few moments to shift the array of repelatron antennas to a focus that would drive the ship away from Earth and toward the planet’s great satellite. As Tom gunned the repelatrons to full power, the ship blazed through the void at cometlike speed. No one broke the tense silence. All eyes in the flight compartment were glued to the viewpanes, all thoughts grim and serious. What fantastic mystery lay ahead of them?

Soon enough the moon loomed with a white and ghostly radiance. Though in truth covered with dingy, dull rock, the unforgiving solar glare that fell full upon it made it seem to lunge at them out of the darkness. Its face was pockmarked with craters and ridged with jagged mountain ranges, while the lunar plains or "seas" showed as smooth dark patches.

In less than two hours the
Challenger
was hovering a hundred miles above the moon’s surface. Tom steered, indifferently, for the Crater of Copernicus. "Might as well get our bearings at a place we’ve already surveyed," he explained.

"Anything on radar?" inquired Bob Jeffers.

"Not so far," Tom replied. He beamed out several calls on the outpost’s frequency, to no avail. "It’s possible whoever, or whatever, captured them is operating from a base on the surface. Take over the controls, Bud!" he ordered.