Tom Swift and His Space Solartron (2 page)

Tom shook his head wryly as his best friend drew closer. "Looks as though I’ll have to go out to the Citadel if I want to continue my experiments. With our new generating plant out there, I should have all the power I need. Up for a flight to New Mexico?"

"When haven’t I been up for a flight to anywhere?" laughed Bud. "By the way, why not take Ted Spring along?"

As he helped Bud out of his flight suit, Tom nodded his agreement. "Good idea, flyboy. If he’s going to accompany us on future space flights, he may as well familiarize himself with the solartron project from the ground up."

"And," Bud noted, "it’d make your Dad happy."

Twenty-two years old and a longtime family friend, Ted Spring was a tall and athletic African-American with a sincere, easy-going manner and, by everyone’s estimation, a bright future ahead of him. After graduating from an aeronautical engineering school, he had taken special training at Swift Enterprises as a space pilot.

Sadly, Ted’s career had already been marked by tragedy. While Ted was still in school, his father Dakin, a crack test pilot for the Swift Construction Company, had lost his life on a test flight. Since then Mr. Swift had taken a fatherly interest in young Ted, and in his family.

Knowing that Ted would be in the huge underground hangar where Tom’s great Flying Lab the
Sky Queen
was berthed, Tom and Bud strolled together down the slanting access corridor and into the cavernous chamber, blocks wide and several stories high. As expected, they found the young astronaut at work in Tom’s zero-G chamber, which simulated a zero-gravity environment for training purposes.

As Ted finished his session and exited the transparent cube, he gave the boys a jaunty wave. "Hey, Tom, Bud!" he greeted them. "What’s up? Do I get my first space cruise soon?"

"I’d say you’re about ready for it." Tom smiled warmly. "But first we’d like you to go out to the Citadel with us to work on a new project. If I get the bugs ironed out, we’ll be continuing operations in space—on the moon, eventually. Interested?"

There was a warm feeling of closeness between Tom and the young engineer-pilot. Ted’s father had been not only an old friend of the Swift family, but Ted had grown up in Shopton and he and Tom had shared many a boyish adventure, Ted acting as something of a sober-sided older brother at times.

"Gowanda! You can bet I’m interested in anything that’ll get me up and off the earth!" exclaimed Ted. "So what’s the deal, exactly?"

"I’m trying to develop a machine which will convert free hydrogen atoms into other kinds of matter," Tom explained. "Other elements and isotopes, for use on space trips. My test rig here looks promising, but I’ll need a tremendous amount of energy to perfect the real model, and it looks like I’m about to burn out the Enterprises power grid like an old lightbulb. That’s why it’s necessary to continue my experiments at the Citadel." He added that because Ted had a solid engineering background in addition to his astronaut training, he would be the ideal candidate to act as Tom’s assistant as the project moved on into its off-Earth phase. "But you’ll need to get to know the ins and outs of the solartron first—not just the test model, but the full space version I’ll be constructing."

Quickly Tom explained the principle of his new invention as Bud looked on with an interested smile. Walking over to his lab annex adjoining the hangar, Tom showed Ted the blueprints for the first working model. The young man was greatly impressed. He threw an arm around Tom’s shoulder. "T-man, I’d say this is the most advanced experiment ever undertaken by anyone since the development of atomic energy. If your project is successful, it’ll be a milestone in science! Einstein, watch out!"

Tom flushed with pride as Bud added, "No ‘if’s.’ Whatever dictionary genius boy uses, they left the word
failure
clean out of it."

They decided to leave for New Mexico the following morning, giving an Enterprises work crew sufficient time to load the solartron apparatus into the
Sky Queen
’s ample hold. "But let’s talk more about it this evening, Ted," said Tom. "Will you join us at dinner? Don’t need to ask
you,
Bud."

"Guess I’m almost always there anyway," Bud laughed. "But I never eat more than my share—half of everything, plus a little extra for good manners."

"I’ll be there with pleasure, Sir Boss!" Ted agreed, nodding eagerly. Mrs. Swift’s hospitality and delicious cooking had been a regular part of Ted’s growing-up, and Bud’s joviality and Tom’s blond, vivacious younger sister, Sandra, provided an extra reason for looking forward to the evening.

As expected, the dinner of flame-broiled Mongolian chicken and oven-hot mince pie was delicious. As Bud and Sandy, next to each other at the table, joked and chatted, Mrs. Swift turned to Ted. A petite, attractive woman, Tom’s mother avoided the public attention focused on her famous husband and son and devoted her time to homemaking and entertaining the many visitors to the Swift home, as well as keeping abreast of the latest developments in her field of interest, molecular biochemistry.

"How’s your mother, Ted?" Anne Swift asked solicitously. "You know she’s always welcome here."

"Fine, thank you," Ted replied. Suddenly a worried look shadowed his face. "That reminds me. I had an odd experience the other day."

‘‘What was it?’’ Tom’s father asked.

Ted said he was embarrassed to mention it but thought the Swifts should know about it. "A man named Hampshire phoned me at home—my day off. He said he was a ‘public-interest’ lawyer, whatever that means, and claimed he could get a lot more money for Mother and me in connection with my father’s accident.

"You understand," Ted went on, "that we are well satisfied with everything as it is. You folks have treated my mother very generously, and we don’t have any issues with the final settlement. But I felt I’d better tell you what Mr. Hampshire said."

"You’re absolutely right, Ted. I’m glad you mentioned it," Mr. Swift replied. "What else did this fellow Hampshire say?"

Ted frowned. "That’s the funny part of it. He said he wanted no fee for handling the case, just some information in return having to do with the case itself. He sounded kind of
off,
you know? Seemed to be trying to hint at things that he wouldn’t come right out and say. Of course we’re not interested, so I put him off. But since then I’ve been worried that he might be up to something underhanded."

"It sounds pretty suspicious!" Bud said.

"Oh, Bud, he’s a
lawyer—
they’re paid to sound like that," retorted Sandy. "They learn it in law school."

"I think we should check on him," Tom said firmly.

Mr. Swift gave a grave nod with a glance at his wife. "Why not call Harlan and see if he can trace this Mr. Hampshire?"

"Right, Dad. He doesn’t mind being called at home."

Tom made the call after dinner. Harlan Ames, the chief of Enterprises’ security department, promised to follow up on the matter at once. "I’ll have an answer for you by the time you get back from the Citadel. But I wouldn’t let this worry you. Lawsuits and threats of lawsuits are part of the cost of doing business. Our legal department can handle anything that comes up—if it isn’t just bogus from the word go."

Tom relayed the information to the others, and the whole matter ended up in what Bud called
a group shrug.

The next morning, the sleek, wingless
Sky Queen
was raised to ground level on its elevator platform and readied for take-off, a small crew aboard that included, besides Bud and Ted, Chow Winkler, who had many old friends in New Mexico. In the hangar-hold on the lowest of the stratoship’s three decks, Tom checked off the various pieces of equipment that had been loaded aboard and secured. Included among these were all the parts for this first working model of his matter maker.

Bud, standing nearby, whistled. "Wowie! Those electric transformers are real giants!" The copilot pointed to several huge transformers, black "pots" encased in multilayered insulating material.

Tom smiled. "Yep. They’ll be essential for my experiments at the Citadel. No plain, ordinary electricity for me and Matty, flyboy!"

At last, with cargo and crewmen aboard, Tom took his place at the controls. Bud occupied the copilot’s seat, while Ted Spring also joined them in the flight compartment. At a signal from the tower, Tom opened the jet lifter throttle and the ship roared vertically into the morning air. Soon they were streaking westward above the clouds.

Bud grinned with sheer enjoyment. "Space flight or air flight—it’s sure a thrill."

"Man, you know it!" Ted agreed.

In a supersonic handful of hours, they were passing over the rugged badlands and desert country which had been chosen as the site for the great atomic research center. Canyons and mesas slashed in rainbow colors by the forces of erosion marked the approach to the Citadel. Then the terrain flattened out into barren scrubland which stretched away for miles toward the horizon.

"What a layout!" Ted gasped, as Tom lost altitude on the final approach to the Citadel. "It’s as big as Enterprises!"

A vast surface had been smoothed for the atomic plant. A cluster of ultramodern laboratory buildings and dormitories were arranged in pinwheel formation around a massive central structure of white concrete block. The whole installation was ringed with barbed wire and laser sensors, and accessed by a single desert road. Except for a few Indian pueblos in the distance, no other human habitations were visible.

"That white dome in the center is the reactor," Tom explained. "This afternoon, Ted, I’ll arrange to have someone show you around."

The Flying Lab sank down for a perfect landing at the Swift Enterprises Nuclear Research Facility. A federally secured site, the Citadel was protected by elaborate security measures, including the system of constantly circling drone microjets designed by Tom. The many miles of open desert in all directions provided additional safety from prying—or spying—eyes.

As the crew debarked from the
Sky Queen,
Bud asked, "What now, skipper?"

"Lunch," Tom decided. "Then to work."

"Gonna skip out on lunch this time," said Chow, squinting and grinning into the sun like it was home sweet home. "Think I’ll check out a car and go pay a visit to a friend er two over in town." The small town of Tenderly, miles distant, was the nearest settlement.

By the time the boys had finished eating, the heavy transformers and other equipment had been unloaded from the ship and trucked to Tom’s one-story laboratory setup. A crew of company linemen were stringing arm-thick power lines, resembling flexible metal hoses, from the powerhouse as the young inventor and his friends pulled up in their midget nanocar.

"Where do you want the pots hung, Mr. Swift?" the foreman called down, jerking his thumb toward the transformers.

"Mount them on the roof," Tom called back. "I’ll take over from there.’

"You’ll have a regular substation here, T-man," Ted commented. "What’s the setup?"

"Those high-tension powertubes will bring in 10,000 volts from the powerhouse," Tom explained, "and the transformers will step that down to 480. You see, my work will require low voltage, but very high amperage." Tom explained that the powertubes were not ordinary cables, but microwave conduits of unique design. "We’re sending the energy from place to place by shielded electromagnetic pulse."

"Don’t try sticking your hand in the pipe," Bud warned in a mock whisper. "But if you do, be sure to count your fingers afterwards!"

While the linemen were busy erecting the transformers, Tom went into the laboratory and began setting up his matter-making machine, the same preliminary model he had been experimenting with at Enterprises. Bud and Ted watched, fascinated, as the young inventor worked dexterously, several Citadel technicians at his side. "Let me see," Tom muttered. "Magnelectric focus—okay. Castings—check." He turned and glanced at his blueprints. "Vacuum system—then the flux modulators..."

The watchers gaped in awe as the machine gradually took shape. "How does he do it?" Ted muttered to Bud, who could only shrug happily, proud of his chum.

"All I know is, Tom’s going to burn out my
brain
long before he burns out the Citadel’s power plant!"

"Take a rest, flyboy—you’ve been overdoing it," Tom said with joking, but real, sympathy. "Why not take Ted on that sight-seeing tour of the Citadel while I finish setting this up? I have to make a few preliminary tests."

"Sure. Explaining an atomic reactor should be simple after this." Bud grinned. "Come on, Ted, let’s leave our genius to his jigsaw puzzle."

The space cadet laughed. "Okay. See you later, Tom."

Within an hour after his two companions had left, Tom had his new invention completely assembled. Then he drove over to the metalworking shop and forged a set of thick copper bars to carry the current from the transformers on the roof down to his solartron. These, however, proved to be so heavy and unwieldy that he discarded them and constructed new ones of aluminum.

"Holy Pete, that’s nice work, skipper," said Chuck Thornton, one of the technicians helping Tom, as he examined the results admiringly.

Tom nodded. "These aluminum ones are a lot lighter than copper and will handle the current just as well. You fellows can go now—I shouldn’t be needing any more help."

After the others left, Tom installed the bars and soon was ready to make the first test run of his matter maker at something close to full power. "Here goes," he told himself tensely.

Opening the main power junction, Tom adjusted several control knobs, keen eyes glued to the wavering light patterns on an oscilloscope screen. Then he watched the monitor dials with bated breath as the solid concrete building throbbed with the eerie resonant hum of the tremendous current flowing through the transformers.

Minutes passed unnoticed. So intent was Tom on his experiment that he failed to notice that the aluminum bars above him were becoming red-hot. As the bars began to succumb to the intense heat developed by the current load, there was a sudden shower of sizzling metal!

"Good night! The circuit’s overloaded!" Tom cried out as he fell back, shielding his eyes. Fortunately he was wearing a lab coat of protective Tomasite-asbestalon fabric. But he was cornered by the white-hot shower of metal droplets. To turn off the main switch, he would have to stretch his bare hand straight through the barrage of sparks and molten metal!