Tom Swift and the Asteroid Pirates (12 page)

"I always walk naturally!"

They stepped into the light and strode forward with as much casual calm as they could fake. Some eight men stood in line, filing past the uniformed guard and through a broad portal with a frame of metal. Tom was relieved to see that no one was looking back toward the pier, and that the boys’ garments would not be out of place.

Tom and Bud quietly joined the rear of the line. Arriving at the guard station, Tom did as those in front of him had done. He withdrew the cobra cube from his pants pocket and handed it to the seated guard, who barely looked up.

The guard clicked the cube into an open port on his monitor panel. "Hmm. Welcome to you, Dr. Darwin Christopher. Australia, is it?"

Now he knew! Tom did his best to assume an ozzie twang. "Ay, roit m’friend. Adelaide."

"New hire?"

"Fresh out o’ jail, mate."

The guard chuckled pleasantly. "Is no one of us perfect. Not me, for sure." His accent sounded Eastern European, Tom decided.

The guard handed back the cube and said to Tom, "Please to keep on your person at all times." He turned to Bud and held out his hand.

Bud shrugged. "
Moosht valoofa
," he said.

"He is my assistant, Rooba Nurbat," Tom explained. "Speaks no English."

The guard said something in another language.

"Not that either," added the young inventor quickly.

"Where is his identity cube?" challenged the guard. "He must have one."

Tom feigned impatience. "Wot is this? We were told very explicitly that Nurbat was to be admitted on my say-so. Got to ’ave ’im wif me, mate."

The guard frowned. "Oh? Who gave this permission?"

Who?
The young inventor’s brain worked furiously. "It was ... "

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Achmet Rahj! You’ve heard of
him
, I would hope!"

The man looked down at a small screen, apparently browsing through a list. "Oh, I see it here. Rahj. Yes, a
Righthand
! But he is not here."

"He was to meet us!" snorted "Dr. Christopher" in annoyance. "
Are you saying I’ve wasted my valuable time?
"

"Oh, no no," exclaimed the guard hastily. "But the Helmsman has ordered all Righthands to West Station as of yesterday, last minute! You were not informed?"

"No. But we were one day delayed, you know." Tom mumbled something incomprehensible to his companion, who frowned fiercely and mumbled back. "And what now, hmm? Will this
incompetence
prevent our inspecting the mining operation as planned? Sholly you know that there must be no delay—time, you know!
Time
!"

"Time!—of course." Making a gesture, the guard again took Tom’s cube and slid it into his apparatus. "There now, you see? I have added your man to the code. Now two of you on one."

"Roit then," nodded Tom, hoping he sounded more convincing to the guard than he did to himself. "Where shall I begin?"

"As you are both new, it is the rule that you must have the orientation. Perhaps you can translate for your assistant, I think. Go on through, please, and follow the arrows."

"Thanks," said Tom. "I’ll put in a good word, m’friend."

"Most gratitude!"

Through the door lay a spacious carpeted hallway like that of a fine hotel, brightly lit and bustling with foot traffic, minions of the Black Cobra who paid no attention to the new arrivals. Arrows labeled
orientation in English
led the two to a small theater, where they sat before a screen with a handful of others. Tom recognized a few of them from the line at the entrance.

As Tom and Bud sat themselves, a white-haired man leaned over and said, "Hello there—Breeman Halspeth, data science and counterfeiting. Didn’t notice you two on the boat."

Tom offered his hand. "We were brought here separately from the rest of you."

"Ah, VIP’s!"

The young inventor nodded, adding: "They call us Righthands."
Why not?
he thought.

"Always have to have their silly titles, I suppose. And now they insist that we watch a film. Foolishness, eh?"

The lights dimmed. To the clang of a gong and a tinny fanfare, the image of the Helmsman himself appeared on the screen—thin, pale, snakelike, imperious. A single-knotted ponytail fell to the side from the crown of his shaven head. He wore a crisp-cut military uniform, black in color with gold trim, a uniform from the dying days of Imperial China more than a century previous.

"Welcome," he said in his cultured, accented voice. His face was cold, expressionless. "And I say, not ‘good day’ to you, but
great day.
The Great Day is coming, and we shall own that day together, you and I.

"They are pleased to call me The Helmsman. For certain reasons, obvious to those of you who have studied the folklore of China, I choose to call myself the Black Cobra. Who am I? I am a man of the future—yet at the same time, of the past."

The image of Li Ching was replaced by an old sepia photograph, a young Chinese man in impressive robes. "The boy-emperor Tong Zhi. Given great power he cast it aside indifferently, dying of his dissipations before the age of twenty. It was said that his son and heir died soon after with the mother to be, the Empress. But that is a lie. The son was born alive, living his life in secret exile, the true heir to the Dragon Throne.

"I am his direct descendant. And thus I claim by right the ancient throne and the title of veneration, Son of Heaven, supreme ruler of the Celestial Kingdom. And as the scion of the Manchu Dynasty, I further claim descent from Temujin, Genghis Khan, whose heirs once exacted tribute from half the population of the earth.

"In me, the Dragon Throne lives. In my blood, the Great Khan lives. If I have sought wealth, it is in service to power. If I have sought power, it is in service to virtue and the honor of my ancestors. I am the agent of restoration. By the restoration of the Khanate, the world itself shall be restored."

Bud groaned softly next to Tom. It was not a groan of awe, but of unimpressed derision.

"Now then," said the man on the screen, "let me make one thing perfectly clear. Some say, to put it crudely, that I wish to rule the world. Another lie! What, I ask, can one do with a
world
? The Khanate of the Black Cobra is of limited extent, as was the dominion of my ancestors. I ask only the return to me of what was taken from them—China, Korea, Japan, South Asia, and certain parts of Central Asia."

"Doesn’t want California," Bud muttered.

Now the scene changed. A brick wall filled the screen. Said the voice of Li Ching, "Here you see the Wall of Contemplation. Upon each brick is a name, the name of one dead. These men and women—there are many—sought to betray the future. Members of my family, your new family, they were disobedient. But the future, like the tides, cannot be held back. For their cowardice and lack of vision, they paid the one penalty that can never be revoked. It is as certain as Destiny."

The Black Cobra now reappeared, a faint and unnerving smile touching his perpetually pursed lips. "But let us contemplate happier things. You have chosen to join with me in this magnificent enterprise. Do not fail me, and you will see the future unfold.

"Thank you. And in the name of the Dragon Throne and the Celestial Khanate, have a Great Day."

The lights came up to a smattering of dutiful, and somewhat nonplused, applause—audible eye-rolling. Bud whistled in mock enthusiasm. Tom nudged him. "Sorry," whispered Bud. "It was inspiring. Doncha think,
mate
?"

At the theater door they were stopped by a tiny woman in a white lab coat. "Dr. Christopher?—and you must be Mr. Nurbat."

"Absolutely correct," said Tom, offering his hand politely.

"I am Dr. Chemin de Fer," she said with a slight smile. "Our gate security enforcer, Kerim, informed me of your arrival, and sent me the photographs taken of your faces as you stood in line. My word, we were expecting you weeks ago, Doctor."

"I was delayed in Australia. I informed the leadership, but― "

"There are inefficiencies in any large organization. Makes you wonder about the future of the Khanate." She began to lead Tom and Bud along the hallway. "In fact, it seems I have been misinformed as to the purpose of your visit. Do I understand that you wish to inspect the mining operation? I was not aware of your expertise in this novel field of
antimatter geology
."

"The Helmsman wanted it that way," Tom replied calmly. "Right hand, left hand—you know. Security."

"Of course." She gave Tom a challenging narrow-eyed look. They began to converse on obscure technical subjects involving the structure and properties of Diracinium. Tom had anticipated being tested in this manner to give proof of his identity.

The discussion made Bud glad he didn’t speak English.

Dr. Chemin de Fer seemed satisfied. She waved them into an elevator, then down a cross-hall. They halted at a small window-slot on the wall, covered by a protective panel which she slid aside. "We are about two-thousand feet from the reaction pit under Mount Goaba. Take your first look at our antimatter mine, Dr. Christopher."

Tom pressed close to the thick pane of the view slot, Bud crowding next to him. The view was eerie, yet fascinating. They were overlooking, from a fair height, a long gallery, a cave fashioned by raw nature and enlarged by man. In a harsh bluish light they could see the underground river. Its banks were eaten away by digging, and lightning-like threads of fire danced upon the surrounding rocks.

Thick single rails arced across and along the river, and strange dangling machinery slid along them, bristling with robotic digging equipment.

Bud gasped next to Tom, barely stopping himself from exclaiming in the unknown English language. Tom followed his chum’s eyes to a hulking figure standing immobile at the far end of the gallery.

"Mm, I say!—that’s one of the Swift giant robots, isn’t it?" inquired Tom of Dr. Chemin de Fer.

"Why yes, yes it is," she answered. "One of our front companies purchased it. Designed for work in high-radiation environments."

Tom nodded. "So I’ve heard. Everything automated in the dig, I trust? No humans?"

The woman smiled faintly. "Not as a rule. Even before the extraction of the antimatter molecules, the raw Diracinium ore is violently reactive—antiproton-emitting vapor, you know. Now and then humans do find themselves,
very
briefly, in the Hole. Namely those who have displeased the Helmsman."

"Very efficient!" gulped the disguised youth.

"Indeed so. Oh—here you are!" Chemin de Fer had turned to look behind the two youths. Turning away from the view window, they found that two stonefaced men were standing close behind them, holstered automatics at their waists.

"Your security escorts, gentlemen. They are not permitted to shake hands—forgive them." She addressed the silent men. "Elvan, Uraddo, please allow me to introduce your two charges, our guests and would-be invaders. This one, on your right, is Mr. Bud Barclay. And the other one is the celebrated inventor and explorer, Mr. Tom Swift!"

THE VULNERABLE parts of their disguises were roughly ripped and wiped away, without gentleness, and Tom and Bud were herded at gunpoint into a narrow man-dug tunnel where a cramped monorail car awaited them. They sat facing the two guards and two guns, Dr. Chemin de Fer taking a second car behind them. Tom said nothing. Bud said a few things, loudly, but finally wound down into sullen silence.

The ten-minute ride at high speed ended at an elaborately camouflaged hanger somewhere in the dense jungle of Borukundi. Soon they were in the well-appointed passenger cabin of a small jet, evidently a supersonic one, winging westward over the continent, then the ocean. They were left unbound and fairly comfortable. The two guards sat across from the boys, staring at them, hands poised to leap to their guns.

After a time Dr. Chemin de Fer came back to join them. "This airline offers excellent inflight meals," she said as she seated herself. "And there is no charge. Hungry?" Tom shook his head. Bud didn’t, but was ignored.

"I assume you’re taking us to the ‘West Station’," Tom said at last. "Where is it?"

"Argentina," was the reply. "A centuries-old Spanish fortress overlooking an isolated river valley in the hinterlands. The whole valley is privately owned. I hear, though, that the legal owner met with some sort of accident, not yet reported. The Helmsman has taken his place as lord of the manor."

"He wants to see us?"

"Oh, very much. He’s been looking forward to it for some time."

Tom dug the cobra cube out of his pocket and looked at it. "A fake?"

"Why yes! We’ve all been wondering which installation the nonexistent ‘Dr. Christopher’ would show up at. But at least you got to see the movie."

Tom smiled thinly. "I prefer the book."

"If your ‘Great Khan’ plans to hold us hostage, it won’t get him anything but an armed search party in his backyard," grated Bud.

"Oh
please
!" Dr. Chemin de Fer laughed. "You don’t really think he plans to
hold
you, do you?"

After some hours the ocean gave way to the Argentinian coastline. They flew across what Tom recognized as the northern pampas and on into the forested interior, a ribbon of water glinting now and then in the fading light of day. Soon foothills, then a razorback of mountains, appeared ahead. "The Sierras de Cordóba," commented Chemin de Fer. "Our cozy valley sits right at the northeastern edge, where the forest runs up into the stairstep hills. Some nice waterfalls."

They were slowing for descent. In minutes the jet proved to be an amphibian, taxiing upriver into a channel, and bumping to a halt at a covered pier. As they were escorted off, Tom and Bud looked upward at the ancient weathered-stone fortress that brooded over the river valley.

Bud gave a low whistle. "Some layout!"

The stone building, highwalled and battle-mented, stood perched in a cleft among the crags. From its main gate a road twisted downward along a series of ledges, ending in front of them at the pier.

No sign of life was evident. What caught Tom’s eye immediately were two dish-shaped antennas, visible in the corner turrets. One of them, slowly revolving, was obviously a radar scanner. The other, Tom felt sure, was used for communication.
Longrange communication—across space!
he thought.