Tom Swift and His Subocean Geotron (12 page)

Tom looked puzzled. "But I don’t understand. How do I fit into this matter?"

"Tom, time is very short. We thought that with your unique scientific and technical background, you might be able to determine whether what this video shows is a genuine breakthrough—or a hoax. Will you give it a try?"

Tom agreed, and the video record commenced. The picture thrown on the screen was an underwater shot of a fish with long, needlelike teeth protruding from its jaws. Another weird, dark specimen glided past the camera—its stomach looked like a football. This was followed by a dogflsh shark, with huge, milky, sightless eyes resembling headlamps.

"Those are specimens from the ocean floor, all right—we’ve seen ’em all!" Bud exclaimed.

Tom nodded in concurrence and murmured, "Strange creatures of the deep!"

The video showed various forms of marine life. Some of them glowed with a strange, brilliant luminescence. Several times, vertical streaks of light darted through the water. One streak halted abruptly, revealing a itself as a long slender fish resembling a silver spear. It poised before the camera a moment, then turned and darted downward again.

Tom identified it. "
Paralepsis
."

"Correct," commented Springthorpe.

As the video ended, the marine scientist looked at his visitor expectantly. "All right now, Tom. How does it strike you? What is your professional opinion regarding those pictures? As a deep-sea expert who has made many dives to the ocean floor, would you say this record shows a genuine accomplishment?"

Tom was thoughtful for several moments. "You’re asking a lot, sir, and some reputations are on the line. It’s a hard question to answer. The specimens shown are certainly deep-sea fish. But I saw nothing to indicate that they were in any sort of enclosure. Offhand, I would doubt it. In my opinion, the video was probably taken from a bathyscaphe, or perhaps by a deep-sea television drone."

Cyrus Springthorpe leaned forward intently. "Can you back up that opinion in any way? We must have some sort of justification."

"I’ll try. Let’s run it again," Tom replied.

As the images passed by again, he pointed to a cloud of tiny crustaceans sweeping rapidly past the camera. "See how that plankton is moving? It’s being carried along by a fast current—which is something that’s often encountered at great depths."

"We’ve encountered some ourselves," Bud interjected wryly.

"Thus we’re looking at open waters," declared Springthorpe. "But how do you know the camera itself wasn’t moving?"

Tom pointed to the silvery
Paralepsis
which streaked upward and then froze motionless before diving again. "We know the camera was stationary for that shot. There’s no shift in angle; it’s not a tracking shot. The movement we see in this video are real exterior movements."

Moments later came a sequence showing a slender, eel-like creature, its tail undulating like a whip. "And there’s a Halosaurus," Tom added. "I’ve often seen them hover motionless just that way in a swiftly moving current."

"That’s right," Bud declared. "They aim their noses into the current and wave their tails like that to keep from being swept away."

"Right indeed," pronounced Springthorpe. As he switched off the video player, his face bore a pleased smile. "You’ve convinced me, Tom. Wonderful job. Now name your fee."

Tom gave a slight chuckle. "Forget the fee. I’m not used to being paid to watch a TV show."

"We’ll be sending a check to Swift Enterprises, nevertheless. Call it a slight contribution to world oceanographic research."

Springthorpe’s face grew grave. "And Tom—I’m authorized to say that the Institute will give you 100 times that amount if you― "

"I know what you’re about to say, Mr. Springthorpe," Tom interrupted. "I’ve expected it ever since you began your story. I’m very sorry, but right now Enterprises is engaged in vital scientific work that can’t be postponed. That’s why we’re here in the Pacific. It’s just not possible for me to work on your aquarium problem before the Marmor Trust’s deadline."

"I sympathize. But surely you realize the consequences—to science—if the Institute lost the ongoing funds from the Trust."

"I just don’t see any alternative."

Springthorpe stood silently, then gave a slow nod. "I was afraid our request—our plea for help—might come at an inconvenient time. And yet... as I understand from speaking to Rogerio and to your father, you’ve been engaged in searching for something of scientific interest, something to be found in the depths of the ocean in this part of the Pacific. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that’s right."

"Some sort of unusual underwater phenomenon, perhaps?"

"I suppose you could call it that."

"Then I may be able to assist you. I think I’ve stumbled across something that meets that description," declared Springthorpe with intensity. "And if this would somehow speed your search—if it helped you locate what you’re looking for—might you be willing to reconsider helping us?"

Tom and Bud exchanged glances. The offer seemed too good to be true. Could it be a trick of some kind? Could Springthorpe himself be working with Li Ching to divert Tom from the search for the space cache?

Tom said carefully, "I can’t promise anything, Mr. Springthorpe. My answer has to depend on what it is you’ve discovered."

"Yes. Yes, of course." He briskly replaced the disk in the video player. "What you are about to see was shot from the deck of the
Luciente
last week. I held the camera myself. Any member of the crew can verify it."

The video had evidently been taken at late twilight. Stars were brightly visible through the last wan traces of orange. The screen showed a calm, dark ocean, with a bit of the deck railing.

Bud gasped slightly. Tom would have as well—if he hadn’t been stunned and fascinated by the weird sight before his eyes.

The ocean was filled, horizon to horizon, with a glowing wheel of yellowish light—a rotating wheel with spokes twenty miles long!

"IT CAN’T be what it looks like," choked Bud in faint voice. "Nothing artificial could be that huge!"

"If that were some sort of physical, mechanical device, the ends of those ‘spokes’ would have to be moving at something like
thirty miles per second
," Tom pronounced. "I can’t say that’s impossible. But it would have to stir up the waters like a kitchen blender!"

"And yet the surface is entirely calm and undisturbed," nodded Mr. Springthorpe. "And there was not the slightest sound. It began suddenly, in an instant. The crew called me up on deck to see it."

"Those things that look like spokes must be light beams," Bud declared suddenly. "Sure, that’s it! There must be a bunch of super beamers—like your Swift Searchlight, Tom—attached to something rotating on top of a sub."

But Tom shook his head in disagreement. "It can’t be that simple. Taking perspective into account, the ‘beams’ don’t widen out as they spread from the hub, and they all terminate abruptly. They look more like giant neon tubes—solid objects."

"Objects that pass through water like ghosts," stated Springthorpe. "Keep watching."

Seconds later the wheel abruptly vanished, leaving only the shadows of the deep. "It has not reappeared since then."

Tom asked if other seacraft had reported the phenomenon. "I’ve asked, but there are no definite reports," he replied. "Not entirely surprising, though. At this time of year especially, that little corner of the South Pacific doesn’t see much traffic, commercial or otherwise.

"But there are a couple more points I’ll mention," Springthorpe went on. "I’ve read of reports, some very old, that seem to describe similar phenomena in various places across the southern Pacific. And Moreno has mentioned a few vague stories floating around Hanga Roa recently."

"What kind of stories?" asked Bud breathlessly.

"Stories passed around by religious cultists; in this case, followers of an ancient spirit being who is said to live beneath the ocean here in the area of the Yupanqui Basin― "

Bud gasped. "Good night—that ghost-man who has
fire under the sea!
"

"Professor Tyburn said he was named Moai-kava-kava, I think," Tom confirmed. "Bud and I might have already had some... contact with a few of his modern-day followers."

"Then that’s what Rogerio was referring to, hmm? He mentioned the incident that gave you two your bandages. At any rate, that’s my pitch, Tom. Can you give us a nod?"

"I’m grateful for what you’ve shown me," was Tom’s careful answer. "All I can say is—it depends. Tell the Institute that I said it looks, given this, like a possibility
—if
this ‘light wheel’ turns out to have something to do with our search." Springthorpe expressed beaming gratitude and provided Tom with the exact position from which the
Luciente
had observed the phenomenon, as well as a copy of the digital video. Tom expressed thanks to Springthorpe.

Tom and Bud returned to the
Sky Queen
in a pensive mood. "It can’t be mere coincidence," Tom insisted as he told Ed and Nee the story.

"
Hardly
coincidence. The Pacific’s pretty large, and for the artifacts to be found just a few hundred miles from this
sea of ghosts
—well!" declared Nee emphatically.

"I’m afraid I don’t believe in ancient ghost-demons," Tom retorted. "My theory is that those sweeping bands of light were triggered by an underwater scanning mechanism—a search beam, like sonar, that has some sort of excitation effect on tiny shreds of sea life floating in the water, causing them to visibly fluoresce as the scanning beam passes across them. In other words, it switches them on and off sequentially in a way that gives the illusion of motion, as on an electric sign."

"Do you mean—this is something being done by the Black Cobra in his search?" Ed asked.

"Could be," Tom replied.

But Bud was able to top it. "Or it
could
be the extraterrestrial bunch we’ve been calling
the Others!
"

After circling the Yupanqui Basin region and finding nothing interesting by instrument scan, Tom had Bud set course slightly west of north, toward the Swift Enterprises rocket launch facility on the equatorial island of Loonaui. "We’ll refuel the
Sky Queen
there," explained the young inventor; "and then we’ll park it and shift over to the seacopter we have berthed at Space Central." As a thought struck him, Tom turned to his cousin. "But you wanted to stay on Easter Island, Ed."

Ed Longstreet held up a hand and grinned. "Forget
that
! I’m not about to let you sideline me from your deep-sea rummaging—in a Swift super-sub, no less."

Nee Ruykendahl cleared his throat. "Um, and, naturally, even if you now have another part of the sea in which to look― "

"Don’t worry," Tom smiled. "You’ll earn your fee. We’ll still take a look at the spot where the
Wascala
was anchored. And I don’t plan to have you walk the plank afterwards."

"Not right away," Bud joked.

The Flying Lab’s jet lifters were by now almost entirely depleted of their special fuel, but the main forward jets weren’t hungry at all. The
Sky Queen
skimmed along somewhere above the sound barrier, and a few hours later used the last of the lifter reserve to set down neatly near Space Central, an old hotel that Enterprises had refurbished and rebuilt. "So—Loonaui!" boomed Ruykendahl. "From this island, rockets into space! I’ve wanted to visit, but never quite found the occasion."

"Here’s where Enterprises launches regular supply rockets and personnel shuttles for the outpost in space," Bud explained proudly. "Tom says there are advantages doin’ it from here rather than the rocket base on Fearing Island—that’s our little facility off the Atlantic coast."

As Nee, Bud, and Ed sat together in the viewlounge, Tom, having left the ship, was making arrangements for use of the seacopter stationed on Loonaui. "What I don’t quite follow is why you have submersibles attached to this operation," remarked Ed. "Afraid one of the rockets might fall into the ocean?"

"It’s because the rockets are launched from under water, sort’ve like Polaris missiles are launched from subs. They needed a way to inspect and service the aqualaunch mechanisms down on the floor. But, of course," the black-haired San Franciscan went on, "now they’ve set up a hydrodome down there. They keep a couple jetmarines and a seacopter here mainly because good old TSE needs a marine base on this side of the world as well as in the Atlantic."

Ed nodded. "Got it, Bud. One of these days I’m gonna muscle my cuz into letting me take a trip up into space. That’s one place I haven’t vacationed in yet."

"As for me, I have the same hope," muttered Nee. "But the years go on; I fear they are leaving Ruykendahl behind."

In an hour the four were arrowing back toward the Ghost Sea region aboard an Enterprises diving—and flying—seacopter, the
Angler
. Resting on a cushion of air driven downward by its reversible central rotor, thrust forward by jets of superheated steam, the saucer-shaped craft was far slower than the supersonic Flying Lab. It was dawn when the craft finally reached its destination after a night of sleep bobbing gently on the waves.

Tom reversed the blade pitch and the seacopter plunged downward into the deep watery darkness, which was broken by the beam of the
Angler’s
aqualamp. "I’m laying in a spiral search pattern," Tom told Bud, who was to act as pilot while the young inventor monitored the subocean detector instruments.

The next few hours held nothing interesting. "No ghost fires, no light wheels," Ed remarked to Bud, stifling a paradoxical yawn. "But these underwater sights are always fantastic, scuba, skin, or seacopter. Know who I miss, though? Chow Winkler. Not so much for his cooking, but― "

"I know," Bud said. "He’s a pretty lively character. I feel like coming out with a few of his ‘
brand my
’s myself."

"I enjoy the company of kindred spirits as colorful as I am," smiled Nee in his suave manner. "What
I
am missing right now—as it makes no sense—is the purpose of the hoax perpetrated by this Halspeth man and his employer. He falsely induces
me, Ruykendahl!
, to bring my object for comparison to yours, Longstreet, yet studiously prevents our meeting one another to join them together."