Tom Swift and His Space Solartron (6 page)

At the end of a tense and mostly silent flight to Shopton, Tom made a smooth vertical descent to the Swift Enterprises airfield, where an ambulance and medical personnel were waiting to convey Ted to the plant infirmary. There the talented staff medic, Doc Simpson, gave the young man a thorough examination.

"Well," he finally pronounced, "I’d say you’re about as lucky as a fellow tagged by a transformer pot could be, Ted. No sign of anything broken or ruptured. Those bruises will ache for a while, though."

"I’m proud of my heritage," said the African-American with a wry grin, "but I’d prefer bein’ plain black,
not
black
and
blue!"

In another hour the
Sky Queen
had landed and been hangared in its huge underground vault. Hurrying aboard, Tom asked Bud about the remainder of her flight. "Not too bad," replied the dark-haired pilot. "But I was fighting the supergyros all the way. Can’t imagine what made them act up like that."

Calling in his chief engineer Hank Sterling, Tom, Bud, and Hank made a cursory check of the Flying Lab’s systems, paying particular attention to her supergyros. "Sure beats me, skipper," said Hank, running a hand through his hair in puzzled frustration. "I don’t see the slightest trace of a mechanical or electrical failure."

"Which means it’s probably not electrical, but electronic," suggested the young inventor. "Possibly something wrong in the flight control computer."

Bud was skeptical. "It’s supposed to warn us if it’s getting out of kilter."

"But something could have caused multiple failures in the ‘brain’ at the same time," Sterling reminded his friends. "You two go home—it’ll be time for supper pretty soon anyway. Let me see what I come up with."

Bidding farewell to Bud and Hank, Tom hurried to the big double office he shared with his father. Besides the broad modern desks for father and son, the room contained comfortable leather chairs, push-button drawing boards, and along one wall near the door a stack of adjustable shelves. They were crowded with photos and detailed, bright-colored scale models of more than a century of invention by the famed Swift family. The newest addition was the gyroscope-like
Challenger
spaceship in which Tom had recently journeyed to the moon.

After reporting the events of the flight from New Mexico, Tom discussed with his father the new plans for experimenting with his matter-making machine at the outpost in space.

"I agree, son," the elder scientist nodded. "Up there you’ll have access to the entire output of the solar battery factory. By my calculations that should be significantly greater than even the power our reactor generates."

"By my calculations too, Dad," Tom nodded. He added wryly: "But we can’t ask moon colonists to run an extension cord out to the space outpost if they want to use the solartron!"

Damon Swift chuckled and said, "Cosmic energy converters of the sort you use on the
Challenger
would at least make a dent in the problem. But I certainly agree that if the solartron is to be practical, you’ll have to come up with a compact source of electricity that’s nonetheless a good deal more powerful."

"Right—smaller
and
bigger!"

"In other words, a typical Tom Swift invention," Mr. Swift declared with a smile of pride.

The senior scientist broke off as the telephone rang. He lifted the receiver, spoke for a few minutes, then hung up with eyebrows raised.

"That dinner party you didn’t get before leaving for the moon is about to take place, it seems," he told Tom. "That was your sister. She has invited Bashalli and wants you to bring Bud—and Ted too, if he’s feeling up to it."

"That’s a pretty big
if.
But
this
time Bud and I will be there—even if we have to hold off the rest of the world with a repelatron!" Tom promised, grinning.

Bashalli was Tom’s usual date on those rare occasions when dating made it onto his calendared agenda. A pretty brunette, born in Pakistan, she had become a close friend of Tom’s blond younger sister Sandy, though Bashalli was somewhat older and definitely more worldly-wise and practical-minded.

Tom called Ted Spring at home. To his surprise, the astronaut-in-training accepted the invitation with enthusiasm. "Just what I need!" he said. "I’m well on my way to being my charming self again, T-man."

"I guess you and I are both pretty durable products," Tom laughed. "Even if we don’t have scars, we can show off our bandages!"

That evening, the dining room table in the Swift home looked especially attractive, decked out with flowers, silver, fine china, and candles. Also attractively decked out were Sandy and Bashalli, radiant and lovely in chic new outfits. "Hey you two, give me my breath back!" joked Ted, looking at Sandy appreciatively.

"Good night—dresses!" Bud gasped in teasing humor. "What are you,
girls?"

"No," replied Bashalli with a pertly superior expression, "we are what is called
young ladies,
Budworth. Single, attractive young ladies who require your full attention."

As Tom held his mother’s chair, he asked, "Did I forget somebody’s birthday?"

Sandy laughed. "Constantly! But
this
is a special occasion."

"A buttering-up occasion," Bash added.

"We’re in for something, Tom," Bud remarked with a wry, cautious expression. "Okay. So what
are
we celebrating?"

"Well," said Sandy, "Bashi and I decided to claim a little of the excitement you owe us. You boys have all the fun on these space flights."

"While we two jewels suffer from interrupted dates," Bashalli noted; "and to be pathetic, even
that
is an improvement on our usual impoverished social lives. We are bored and neglected."

Sandy rushed in. "So the point is, why not take
us
along on your next space trip? You could teach me to pilot the
Challenger,
Tom!"

"And I could be her exotically accented back-seat driver!" added Bashalli, her dark eyes sparkling.

Ted nudged Tom. "Y’know, kid, it’s not such a bad idea. Outer space could use a few woman drivers."

As Tom hesitated, somewhat nonplused, his father spoke up. "They’ve been working on me, son, and have brought up some very plausible points. For example, you could observe the feminine reaction to space travel." He chuckled. "I’ve heard they’re better in their behavior than men."

"Oh, Dad, you’re wonderful!" Sandy cried, popping up from her chair to give her father a hug. "Then it’s all settled."

"But listen, San," Bud objected, "it’s not as simple as you’re thinking. You’ll have to put in some time in the zero-G chamber, for instance—both of you will."

"Actually, they already have," declared Tom’s mother with a sweet smile. "They had several sessions while you boys were in New Mexico—with some expert tutelage." She nodded at her husband, and Damon Swift looked a bit sheepish.

"As I said, they’ve been working on me," he explained.

Tom shrugged and acknowledged his total defeat with a grin. "Okay, okay. Young ladies,
please
accept our invitation to join us on our trip to the outpost to test my solartron!"

As Sandy squealed with delight, Bashalli said archly, "We shall
try
to fit you into our calendars." But then she squealed as well!

Dinner proceeded to the accompaniment of frequent laughter and banter among the Swifts and their guests. As they were eating dessert, the phone rang and Sandy went to answer it.

"For you, Ted," she informed him.

Ted excused himself to take the call. When he returned to the table a few moments later, his face was grim. Though he tried to cover it, the others noticed his concern with alarm.

"I do hope it wasn’t bad news, Ted," Mrs. Swift said quietly.

Ted shrugged uneasily as he resumed his place. "I’m not sure how to take it," he replied. "I’ve just been threatened!"

TED’S announcement brought gasps of dismay from his listeners.

"Who was it?" Tom questioned. "That Mr. Hampshire again?"

Ted shook his head. "This time the caller gave no name, but I’m sure the voice wasn’t Hampshire’s."

"What did he say?" Mr. Swift asked.

"He asked me if I was going to cooperate with Hampshire," Ted replied. "When I told him no, he said, cool as you please,
‘Then here’s some advice—don’t bother with any more space training. You’ll never need it!’
."

Bud broke the tense silence that followed. "Yep, that sorta suggests a threat, I’d say. Ted, man, it looks as if the only safe place for you will be the space outpost—or the moon!"

Mrs. Swift, with her usual motherly concern, had a more practical suggestion. "Ted, why not stay here for the time being? We have plenty of room, and you’ll be protected by our warning system." This system maintained a magnetic field around the Swift house and grounds. Anyone entering the field, unless wearing a special deactivator mechanism, triggered off an alarm inside the house. The system was temporarily overridden when visitors were expected.

"That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Swift," Ted replied, "but Momma and Ray may be in danger too. I wouldn’t want to leave them alone.’’

"Before we decide anything," Tom put in, "let me call Harlan Ames."

Tom reached Ames at his home in Shopton. When the security chief heard what had happened, he suggested that Ted stay in the guest bungalow at Enterprises, which was guarded by a tight security setup, and that his family be flown by helicopter to Ames’s vacation cottage on Blue-Jay Lake.

"There’s plenty of frozen and canned food there," he explained, "and they’ll be perfectly safe. The only way in is by an unpaved private road through thick woods which is hard to find from the highway—and we can keep it gated off, besides."

"Good deal, Harlan!" Tom concurred. "Thanks a million."

Ted agreed at once to Ames’s suggestion and moved to call his mother at once.

"Better not," Tom advised. "Hampshire and his gang may be tapping your home phone. Here’s an idea—call your neighbor and have her tell them to get packed and expect us. We’ll pick up your mother and Ray by car and drive them to the Enterprises airfield."

It was decided as a safety measure to divide forces. Ted and Bud would go first in Bud’s convertible, while Tom and Mr. Swift followed in Tom’s two-seater sportscar. Ted’s car would remain parked at the house for the time being.

"Something tells me our party’s over," moaned Sandy.

"But this time, Sandra dear, we at least came out on top," Bashalli reassured her.

As the men rose to leave, Mrs. Swift spoke nervously to her husband. ‘‘I—I don’t want to seem unduly worried, my dear, but do you suppose someone might be watching the house right now? It’s happened before, you know. If so, he may trail you."

Mr. Swift gave her a reassuring hug. "You may have a point there, Anne—we’ll check. Switch on all the yard lights, Tom."

"Right, Dad. I’ll turn Caesar and Brutus loose, too. They’ll certainly let us know if anyone’s lurking around!" The two bloodhounds were kenneled outside. Besides being the Swift family pets, they were also expertly trained watchdogs and trackers.

Tom pressed a master switch, controlling a number of spotlights concealed in the shrubbery. Instantly the house and the several landscaped acres surrounding it were bathed in a brilliant radiance.

Then he and Bud hurried out to open the kennel. With eager yelps, the two bloodhounds came loping out. They ambled about, lifting their heads occasionally to sniff the night air, but gave no sign of detecting any unfamiliar scents.

"All clear," Tom reported. "Let’s get going!" The trip to Ted Spring’s house was completed without incident. The others waited outside while Ted went in to tell his mother and brother about the ominous call he had taken and the temporary move to Ames’s cottage. Tom had parked his low-slung car at the curb a couple houses behind Bud’s red convertible. Minutes later, Ted emerged from the house alone, looking anxious and worried.

"What about your mother and Ray?" asked Mr. Swift. "Nothing wrong, is there?"

"They won’t come," Ted reported. "Momma says she feels safer right here in her own home. She can be a little, mm,
determined
at times."

"Her feelings are natural, I suppose," said Mr. Swift, "but in this case I strongly believe it would be better for her to follow our plan."

"I’ve tried to convince her, sir. Would you talk to her, please? I’m sure she’ll listen to you."

Mr. Swift grinned sympathetically and opened the car door. "All right, son. I hope your confidence isn’t misplaced, but I’ll see what I can do." One fact hung in the air but went unremarked—Damon Swift was taking on the family role that otherwise would have fallen to Ted’s father.

While Mr. Swift and Ted went back inside, Tom and Bud scouted around cautiously for signs of anyone spying on the house. All seemed quiet and normal, The only other cars parked on the residential street were empty.

Fifteen minutes later Mrs. Spring and Ray came out, accompanied by Ted and Mr. Swift, who were carrying the suitcases. The boys loaded these into the convertible’s trunk, then Tom assisted Mrs. Spring into the back seat. The compact, robust woman wore an anxious look.

"I do hope I’ve made the right decision," she fretted. "Wouldn’t even think of it if Little Ray weren’t on school vacation now."

"I’m sure you’re doing the right thing," said Tom reassuringly. "Believe me, you and Ray will be perfectly safe at Blue-Jay Lake."

"Sure we will, Miss Mom," Little Ray spoke up stoutly. "A helicopter! Boy-wow, it’ll be
fun
goin’ up there!" He scrambled in beside her, and Ted took the front seat with Bud. As the red convertible pulled away from the curb, Tom followed behind with his father at a watchful distance. Cutting straight across town, they took the old, little-used Mansburg road leading to Swift Enterprises, which lay on the outskirts of Shopton.

"Lights behind us, Dad," said Tom tersely, glancing at the rear-view mirror. It was the first car they had seen on the road with them. In dark silhouette it seemed to be a large, SUV-type vehicle.