Tom Swift and His Space Solartron (5 page)

A man’s voice cut in, speaking in a high-pitched nasal whine. "Mr. Spring?"

"No, I’m sorry, he’s—"

"Why, if it isn’t the talented Mr. Swift. A voice the whole world knows by now, eh? This is Mr. Hampshire," the man replied. "No doubt you know all about who I am and what my business is with Ted Spring. No doubt he’s standing right next to you, in fact. Pass the phone over to him, won’t you?"

Tom did so. "Just a minute, Mr. Hampshire," Ted said with suspicion. "How did you find out how to reach me? I never gave you this number."

"That’s of no importance. I’m calling to renew my offer of help in the case of your father’s death. It so happens that I have some new evidence on that crash."

"Such as?" Ted asked.

"Evidence which has never been brought out before—and evidence, I might add, which would be very embarrassing to the Swifts."

"If you expect me to be interested in your offer, Hampshire, don’t play me. What’s this about?"

The voice gave a low chuckle. "I don’t care to get into it right now, Ted—not with Tom Swift standing there. We have a little privileged attorney-client consulting to do, you and I. Believe me, the cash we’re talking about would make a big difference in your life. Your family’s, too!"

Ted digested this surprising statement. "And what’s your interest in all this?" he inquired.

"Would you believe public-spiritedness?" Hampshire laughed, then went on smoothly. "Didn’t think so. But I’ll tell you frankly, we’re going to expose Shopton’s First Family to a little daylight, you and I."

"I’m not interested," declared Ted firmly, his anger growing.

"You will be," Hampshire responded. "Just read the papers tomorrow. You’ll be
plenty
interested—and so will Tom Swift!"

THE CELLPHONE clicked off, and Ted Spring stared at it resting inertly in his hand. "He said—"

"We could hear," said Bud, face red with anger.

"I don’t suppose you have any idea what he could be alluding to, do you, Ted?" Tom asked.

"Not a whiff of one," was the answer. "Seems we’re going to find out tomorrow morning, though."

And so they did. At breakfast Bud came rushing in with a copy of the morning edition of the
Shopton Evening Bulletin,
delivered each day to the Citadel by special arrangement. With a growl he held up the front page for Tom, Ted, and Chow to read.

T.S.E. TO FACE LAWSUIT
Death of Test Pilot May Lead
To Criminal Charges,
Federal Investigation

Ted Spring was the first to skim through the lead story, written by publisher and editor Dan Perkins, as the others waited in tense silence. "It says something about ‘unnamed private investigators’ turning up evidence of criminal negligence in Dad’s death, stuff that Tom Swift Enterprises ‘hushed up on direct orders from CEO Damon Swift’." He read further, his voice crackling with fury and disgust. "Some bull about defective servos! ‘Has a key Enterprises product evaded Federal safety regulations?’ On and on."

"That there’s a big stinkin’ load of fine Texas manure!" Chow Winkler exclaimed. "As if Tom’s folks would ever skimp on anything fer their crew!"

"Perkins must really be worried about his circulation!" grumbled Bud bitterly.

"Dan is
always
worried about his circulation," Tom responded with at least an attempt at calm. "He’s got a chip on his shoulder where Enterprises is concerned, because we avoid giving our hometown paper any big advantage in breaking the news we always make. Dad doesn’t think it’s right, and neither do I."

"There could be somebody else behind it, too," Bud pointed out. "From what you told me, that Shining Path Power guy wouldn’t mind seeing Enterprises taken down a few pegs—even put out of business."

"Could be," Tom concurred grimly. "They say Mr. Ajax is the ruthless, calculating type."

"Tom, I want to say once again, Mom and Ray and I have no problems at all with how the company treated us after the accident," said Ted, looking at Tom very soberly. "We know you investigated everything carefully. I mean—T-man—
everybody
knows how loyal Enterprises is to its employees."

"Durn right!" Chow declared. "Even paid fer my new tooth!" He opened his big broad mouth and pointed.

"Let’s see what Dad has to say," Tom urged. "I’m sure he’ll call here any minute."

Tom was right, and after a hurried and angry conversation the telephone discussion expanded to include Jake Aturian, head of Swift Construction Company, Harlan Ames, and Enterprises’ chief legal counsel, Willis Rodellin.

"There’s no reason in the world to think our investigation of Dakin Spring’s death was compromised in any way," stated Jake Aturian plainly. "Four federal agencies signed off on it, too."

"Is Dan Perkins saying anything?" Tom asked.

"No, of course not!" snorted Mr. Swift. "Press immunity—confidentiality."

Rodellin interrupted with, "Well, I intend to have a talk with our Mr. Perkins. He needs to be reminded that his immunity has limits when it comes to reckless defamation. This is an outrage, Damon."

"It feels that way," agreed Tom’s father. "Still, if there’s anything behind it that we should be aware of—"

"I looked into the background of that attorney, Hampshire," Ames said. "Fernell J. Hampshire, admitted member in good standing to the Bar of the State of New York. Admitted by what they call ‘reciprocal courtesy’ in other states. He’s had an office in Manhattan for eight years now."

Tom asked what sort of cases he specialized in. "Mostly defending big landlords against criminal negligence charges, but also a fair amount of litigation stuff," Ames replied. "Willis here could explain it better than I could. But there’s something a little interesting if you’re seeking a justification for paranoia. Before moving to our fair state, Hampshire had a big practice in Minneapolis, which just happens to be the home town of Lewton Ajax!"

With promises on several hands for further investigation, the conference call ended inconclusively. "Hampshire’s a phony all right," Tom declared to his friends, "real attorney or no." He chewed thoughtfully on an apple from his breakfast plate. "But I still don’t see what his game is. The
Bulletin
says nothing’s actually been filed in court yet—it’s all just threats and hot air."

"I’m stickin’ with
my
dee-scription!" snorted Chow.

Bud shrugged and hitched his chair closer to his pal’s side. "Look, Tom. What worries me is that stuff about the elevator servos. The investigation showed that none of the servo units had been tampered with—right?"

Tom nodded. "Sure. And I also remember the findings of the official report at the end. Ted’s father got into a slipstream so strong that the servo unit on one of the elevators couldn’t stand the skin resonance—the vibration. When it failed the jet went into an uncontrolled dive at better than Mach 2. The report concluded that the plane failed under stress, not that any part had been faulty or tampered with."

"Just the same," Bud grumbled, ‘‘that guy Hampshire’s out to make trouble, and if he tries hard enough, he’ll succeed in throwing suspicion on Enterprises."

"I’d say he’s already
thrown,
Buddo!" retorted Ted Spring.

Tom continued eating his apple for a few moments. "Bud, let’s suppose some enemy did tamper with one of the servo units and caused the crash on purpose."

"Murder! Okay, let’s suppose," his chum agreed with a sympathetic glance in Ted’s direction.

"If Hampshire
does
know something, it could be that the same person who slipped him the information may have been responsible for the tampering. In fact, that same enemy may even have planned the whole thing from the start for some reason—to hurt Enterprises, maybe to pry out information on our latest plans and inventions somehow."

"You mean," said Bud, "that Hampshire may be the front man for someone a lot more dangerous? Like that Ajax guy?"

"Right!" Tom tossed his apple core away and stared, frowning, out the window at the desert landscape. "Or maybe Hampshire is just using Ajax, leading him along—or vice versa. It’s something to think about, guys. We’d better be on our guard."

"Guess we’ll just have to see what happens," Ted said. "But if Hampshire bothers me or my mother again, he can expect a pretty hostile reception!"

Later that morning, after the solartron equipment and the big transformer units had been loaded back aboard the
Sky Queen,
the Flying Lab jet-lifted off for home. At a signal from the Citadel’s air-traffic tower, Bud, manning the controls, opened up the forward throttle and sent the big skyship streaking north-eastward through some wisps of high cloud.

"Ted, I’m going to be working up some ideas in one of the lab cubicles, but there’s something you could do for me that would be really helpful—get you better acquainted with Matty, too!" said the young inventor with a smile.

"Anything, T-man," was the response.

Tom asked Ted to go down to the hangar-hold and examine some of the power junctions on the solartron, one by one. "They’re made of a special new alloy, and I want to make sure running the thing for hours doesn’t cause corrosion at the contacts due to an electrolysis effect. It’ll look like little smears of slate-blue tarnish along the edges. Just eyeball it—okay?" Ted gave his friend a humorous salute and left for the stairs to the lower deck, lowest of the three.

Tom worked in his lab cubicle for a time. Then, somewhere over Illinois, he returned to the command compartment to chat with Bud and Chow.

The ship intercom crackled to life. "If you’re there, Tom, I’m about through down here. Shall I head back up when I’m done, or is there something further to check?"

"You can go ahead and—" Tom began, when he was interrupted by a sharp jolt and the
Queen
seemed to swerve suddenly. Tom, Bud, and Chow were rocked sideways as the deck tilted. The next instant the intercom speaker erupted with a piercing scream!

THE THREE in the control compartment glanced at one another in horror and Tom bolted to his feet. "That’s Ted!"

"But what in tarnation’s wrong with this here plane?" gasped Chow as the
Sky Queen
took another shuddering swerve.

"I—I don’t know," Bud choked out, fighting the controls. "The—the gyros are—" Again the mighty stratoship seemed to lunge and twist in the air!

"Take it, Bud!" Tom cried. "I’ve got to see what’s happened below!"

Trying to ignore the shifting, jolting deck, Tom staggered his way down the metal stairs and burst into the hangar-hold. Groans and cries of pain greeted him. He saw at once that one of the giant transformers had broken loose from its cradle, pinning Ted Spring against a bulkhead. Face contorted in pain, he was thrashing about wildly, trying desperately to free himself.

"G-give me a hand, T-man!" the young engineer cried, gasping for breath and clenching his teeth to stifle the pain, with beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. Tom added his strength to Ted’s, and the two men strained with all their might to budge the transformer.

"No use," Tom gasped. Flicking on the intercom, he called Bud and tersely explained the situation. "Bank the ship to starboard—but gently!"

"Roger!" Bud’s steely voice replied. Tom knew the silent comment his pal had left unsaid:
if I can!

The Flying Lab was still barely under the control of its young pilot. But a moment later Tom braced himself as the jet tilted in a wide sweeping turn. Slowly the transformer slid across the deck, back toward its cradle.

Tom didn’t bother to lash the transformer down. He caught his injured friend in his arms and dragged him toward the hatchway. "Wish I could be delicate, Ted," Tom murmured apologetically.

Chow met Tom at the foot of the stairway. "He’s got ’im, buddy boy!" the grizzled cook yelled up to Bud, who immediately righted the ship and resumed trying to stabilize her. Then Chow helped carry Ted up to the top deck, setting him down gently on a sofa in the spacious lounge section as another crewman sprinted for first-aid materials.

Still moaning softly, Ted was only semi-conscious. But as pungent spirits of ammonia were held to the space-trainee’s nostrils, he seemed to revive slightly.

"How is he, skipper?" asked the flight engineer, whose name was Avery.

"No ribs broken, thank goodness," Tom announced after a first-aid examination, "but these bruises are bad enough." He got a paper cup of water and some tablets from the first-aid locker. "Here, take one of these, Ted. It’ll help to relieve the pain. It’s pretty powerful."

"Thanks, Tom," Ted replied, gulping it down. Wiping his lips he said weakly: "But I’m feeling better already. That whiff of ammonia cleared my head." Abruptly he interrupted himself with:

"
Whoa-aah!"

Tom nodded with a half-smile. "Like I said,
powerful!
You looked like you could use it."

"Ab-so-
looote-
ly." The young man paused, gathering his thoughts. "The ship took a dive or something all of a sudden, and the transformer busted out of its straps. No bones stickin’ out through my skin, T-man, but it sure hurt like a house afire—pinched my whole right side against a girder!"

"What I wanna know now is—what made this here
Sky Queen
start buckin’ like that?" Chow demanded.

Tom told the ex-Texan, "I intend to find out." He turned again to Ted. "But that’s for later. First priority is to get you looked at, big guy. Since the ship still feels a little wavery, I’m going to have Bud hold down her speed. I’ll fly you ahead to Shopton in the cycloplane."

The
Sky Queen
was designed to carry smaller auxiliary aircraft in her flying hangar. Her original complement, a convertible jet-helicopter called the
Skeeter
and an advanced midget jet, the
Kangaroo Kub,
had now been replaced by a recent invention of Tom’s, his ultrasonic cycloplane. This revolutionary wingless craft could hover on rotating cylinders or streak along under jet power at multi-mach speed. He had named her the
SwiftStorm
.

After advising Bud and the rest of the small crew of his plans, Tom helped Ted—now much stronger and woozily free of pain—back down to the hangar-hold and into the cycloplane. As the Flying Lab slowed to a hover, the hangar deck was lowered like an elevator into the open air, and in moments the
SwiftStorm
was jetting through the high clouds at several times the speed of sound.