Tomwas appalled at this new danger. Shoving his drawing board back into its wall slot, the young inventor hurried to his desk and made a number of telephone calls.
Within minutes, a group of five of his most trusted associates had assembled in Tom's office. First to arrive were Bud Barclay, Ames, and George Dilling, the Swifts' communications chief. They were joined moments later by Hank Sterling, the square-jawed chief engineer and trouble shooter of Enterprises, and Arvid Hanson.
Hanson, a hulking six-footer, made all the delicate scale models of Tom Jr.'s and Tom Sr.'s inventions. He was not only an expert craftsman, but, like all the Swifts' key men, a trained aircraft and space pilot as well.
"What's up, skipper?" Bud asked.
"I guess you might call this a council of war," Tom replied.
He divulged his fears that Brungarian scientists might hijack the brain energy to be sent from Planet X, home of the Swifts' unknown space friends.
"Bud, you recall Mother's remark last night about the danger that this energy may prove overwhelmingly powerful," Tom went on. "Well, just suppose that our Brungarian pals fit it out in robot form, then turn it loose against us or our friends in other countries."
Bud gave an awed whistle. "Boy, a thing like that might make even a powerful missile look like a toy!"
Even if the brain energy proved too small to be harnessed for destructive purposes, Tom went on, it might turn out to possess superintelligence. Gifted with all the scientific know-how of the space people, it might be made to reveal those secrets to the Brungarians.
"They might learn from it how to construct weapons or space craft powerful enough to conquer the free world!" Tom ended.
His listeners were grim-faced at the thought.
"I'd say that's a far worse danger than any chance of their coming up with a robot monster," Ames said.
"Ditto!" Hanson agreed.
"I think so too," Tom replied. "In any case,it's up to us to make sure the Brungarians don't switch that energy off course before it lands here."
"Think their scientists are capable of such a stunt?" George Dilling inquired.
Tom shrugged. "They're certainly far advanced in the fields of rocket guidance and telemetry. But actually we just don't know."
Hank Sterling glanced hopefully at the young inventor. "Got any ideas, skipper?" he asked.
Tom drummed a pencil on the table thoughtfully before replying. "Maybe our best bet is first to find out all we can about the lines of research on which they're concentrating. That might be the tip-off."
After a thorough discussion, it was decided that Ames and Dilling would fly to Washington at once and talk to the FBI and Central Intelligence. Their job would be to garner and piece together every scrap of information on Brungarian scientists' accomplishments.
"Let us know as soon as you get a general picture," Tom said.
Ames and Dilling promised to do so, and the meeting broke up.
Feeling somewhat reassured now that a definite plan of action had been decided upon, Tom resumed work on his sketches. Although both the problem and the solution were still hazy in his mind, a few ideas began to take shape.
A radio antenna would certainly be needed, toreceive or transmit signals at a distance. And repelatron units would give the brain a way to exert force when it wanted to act. These were devices which Tom had invented to produce a repulsion-force ray. He had used the principle in both air and space flight.
A power plant might also be needed to generate additional energy in case the brain's own energy was very small. Lastly, there would have to be a control system for use either by the brain itself or by its human operators.
After an hour of work at top speed, Tom was rather pleased with one rough sketch. He was mulling over the idea when Chow Winkler and Bud Barclay wandered into the office. Both were impressed when Tom explained the sketch.
Chow stared at it, goggle-eyed at the thought of such a contraption "coming to life." "So that's the Ole Think Box, eh?" he muttered.
Tom laughed. "Good name, Chow!"
All three were startled as a voice suddenly broke in over the wall intercom. It was the operator on duty at the plant's communication center.
"Turn on your TV, skipper," the operator suggested. "We've just had a news bulletin that an earthquake tremor has been felt over in Medfield. There's a big plant there that makes rocket nose cones. A mobile TV crew's been rushed to the scene in a helicopter and they're trying to pick up the action with a television camera."
"Good night! Another quake?" Bud gasped.
Tom had already rushed to the videophone. Flicking it on, he switched to a commercial channel. Soon a picture appeared on the screen. It was a panoramic shot of a landscape, evidently viewed from a hovering aircraft, with a large industrial plant just below.
A TV commentator's voice was reporting developments. "Few visible signs of a tremor," he said. "As you can see, the rocket-plant personnel and the people of Medfield are making desperate attempts to evacuate. Fortunately, most of them have already left the immediate area."
A few cars and trucks could still be seen speeding along the ribbonlike roads within view of the hovering television camera.
"Oh—oh!" The commentator's voice broke in again. "Notice that tall stack just over the plant—see how it's starting to tremble!... It's beginning to crumble!... This must be it!"
Suddenly the whole scene seemed to explode. Plant buildings collapsed like toy houses built of cards, while at the same time huge rocks and trees were uprooted as a yawning crack opened in the ground below.
The three watchers in Tom's office stared in horrified dismay. But a moment later the picture on the TV screen became jerky and distorted, then faded out completely.
After a brief interval, a studio announcer cameon. "The relay transmitter must have been knocked out by the quake. We return you now to our regularly scheduled program, but will keep you informed as bulletins come in."
"Great balls o' fire!" Chow gulped as Tom turned off the set. "I sure hope all o' those poor folks in cars got away safe!"
Tom rushed to a wall shelf and pulled out a book on geology. He leafed quickly to a section dealing with known earthquake faults and the distribution of quakes. When he looked up at the others, his face was grim.
"What's wrong, skipper?" Bud asked tensely.
"That quake," Tom replied, "wasn't in a patterned zone any more than the Faber one was!"
Chow's jaw dropped open in a comic look of dismay. "You mean this here ole earth we live on is gettin' all busted up an' twisted around inside?"
"I wish I knew, Chow!" Tom paced worriedly about the office. "It just seems queer to me that both of those quakes should have destroyed vital defense factories!"
On a sudden impulse, Tom snatched up the telephone. His two companions listened as he put through a call to the FBI in Washington. Within moments, a friend at the Bureau, Wes Norris, came on the line.
"Look, Wes," Tom said, "is there any chance this quake that just happened at Medfield and the earlier one at Faber Electronics might havebeen caused by underground H-bomb blasts?"
"As a matter of fact, we're checking on that very possibility," Norris replied. "In other words, sabotage. Things are pretty hot around here since that news on Medfield came in, so I can't talk much right now, Tom. But I can tell you this," Wes concluded, "weareinvestigating, and I do mean thoroughly!"
Bud and Chow were shocked when Tom reported his conversation with the FBI agent.
"Brand my rattlesnake stew!" Chow exploded. "Any ornery varmint that'd cause an earthquake ought to be strung up like a hoss thief!"
"I agree, Chow," Tom said. "But how do we find out for sure?"
After closing time at the plant, Bud drove home with Tom. Both Mrs. Swift and Sandy were upset as the boys discussed the situation.
"Tom, if this was deliberate," Mrs. Swift pointed out, "Enterprises may be next on the enemy's list!"
Tom did his best to allay his mother's fears, but inwardly he himself felt apprehensive. Any large-scale sabotage plot would be almost certain to include Swift Enterprises, America's most daring and advanced research center.
When his mother went upstairs to her room, Tom suggested to Bud that they drive to the nearby State Police post. Here he confided hisfears to Captain Rock, an old friend of the Swifts.
"You have some request in mind?" Captain Rock inquired.
"How about making a search for any signs of suspicious digging or underground activity in the vicinity of Shopton?" Tom said. "There would have to be an excavation of some sort in order to set off an underground blast."
Captain Rock mulled over Tom's suggestion. "Sounds like a big job, but I'm afraid you're right, Tom. We can't risk a similar disaster here."
"We'd better move fast, too," Bud put in. "Those two quakes so far came only a day apart!"
Rock picked up the telephone and barked out orders. Within half an hour, several carloads of troopers were covering the outlying roads that converged on Shopton. Firemen and Chief Slater's town police force were also pressed into action. They would search every cellar in town for signs of recent digging.
Bud rode in one police car and Tom in another as a house-to-house search was conducted along the highway that ran past Enterprises.
At one weather-beaten house, where Bud stopped with a state trooper, an old man came to the door.
"What you fellers prowlin' around for?" he asked.
"Bomb emergency," the trooper said laconically."We have orders to search every house cellar for underground openings."
Grumbling, the old man let them enter. He followed them down a rickety stairway. A moment later Bud stumbled and gave a yell. The trooper swung around just in time to see Bud drop from view!
Asthe trooper's flashlight stabbed through the cellar gloom at the spot where Bud had disappeared, there came a loud splash! The light showed a round hole in the floor, rimmed by a low circle of brickwork.
"What's that hole?" the trooper snapped at the owner.
"What does it look like?" the elderly man snapped back. "It's an old well."
"Awell!" the trooper exclaimed as he rushed to the spot. "And not even covered? What're you trying to do—kill people?"
The old man sniffed. "Used to be covered, but the lid's gone. Didn't expect to have a bunch of nosy fellers pokin' around down here!"
The state trooper muttered angrily under his breath as he shone his flashlight into the well-shaft.Bud was splashing around below, soaked and chagrined by his accident.
"Give me a hand!" he called up.
The trooper reached down, but was barely able to touch Bud's finger tips. To make matters worse, the sides of the well were slippery with moss.
"Get a rope," the trooper ordered the old man.
"Ain't got one."
The policeman reddened and stood up to his full six-foot-two. "Look, mister—what's your name?"
The elderly man shrank back, as if suspecting that the trooper's patience might have been tried too far. "Ben Smith," he mumbled.
"Okay, Mr. Smith, you get a rope or something else to pull this boy out. And fast!"
Ben Smith gulped on his chewing tobacco and hurried off. A minute or so later he returned with a length of clothesline. The trooper lowered it into the well and Bud was soon climbing out, looking like a drenched rat.
"Sorry, son," Smith said apologetically. "Guess I should have warned ye."
Bud chuckled good-naturedly. "It's all right," he said. "It was my own fault for not watching where I was going. Besides, you can't blame an American for not liking the idea of having his home searched."
The old man chuckled too and flashed a waryeye at the trooper. "I'll go get ye a towel to dry off with," he told Bud.
Meanwhile, Tom was investigating a house down the road with another state trooper. The owner, a paunchy unshaven bachelor named Pete Latty, and his seventeen-year-old nephew accompanied them to the basement.
A naked light bulb, hanging from the ceiling, revealed an ancient furnace, and an accumulation of junk. Most of it was covered with dust, but Tom noticed a large packing crate that looked as if it had been freshly moved. He walked over and began to shove the heavy box aside.
"What're you doing?" Latty asked gruffly.
"I want to look underneath," Tom replied. A second later his eyes widened as he saw a trap door, evidently leading to a subcellar.
Tom beckoned his partner over and showed his discovery. "Where does this lead to?" the trooper asked, turning back to Latty.
"Just a little storage place," the owner replied with a shrug. "I didn't think it was worth mentioning. You'd better not go down there," he added hastily. "The steps ain't safe."
"Just the same, we'll take a look," the trooper said.
"Then do it at your own risk!" Latty snapped.
The officer pulled up the trap door and Tom shone a light down. The shallow dirt-walled roombelow was about six feet square. On the floor, at the foot of a short rickety ladder, lay a large bundle wrapped in a tarpaulin.
Tom descended the ladder cautiously and opened the tarpaulin to see what was inside. The contents made him gasp—a large, well-oiled collection of rifles and pistols!
Looking up, Tom saw both the state trooper and Latty peering down at him—the trooper openmouthed with surprise, Latty scowling nervously.
"Don't touch 'em!" Latty warned. "Some are loaded. I keep 'em hidden for safety, but sometimes my nephew Fred here and I have target practice."
Just then Tom's keen eyes spotted a slip of paper tucked among the guns. He pulled it out. His heart gave a leap of excitement as he saw two words written on the paper—Samson Narko!
Hiding his amazement, Tom read the name aloud and added casually, "What's this? The make of one of the guns?"
"Uh, yeah—that's right," the man replied.
Without comment, Tom climbed out of the subcellar. As he bent down to drop the trap door, Tom flashed the officer a signal. Instantly the trooper grabbed Latty.
"Hey! Why the rough stuff?" the prisoner exclaimed. Then, as he realized the officer was about to handcuff him, the man's face turned pastywhite. He pulled free from the trooper's grasp and bolted toward the stairway. His nephew stood as if paralyzed at the sudden turn of events.
Latty's attempt at flight was hopeless. Tom quickly brought him down with a flying tackle.
(Tom finds Latty's store of weapons)Later, after Latty had been manacled, Tom helped him up. "In case you don't know it," the young inventory said coldly, "your friend Narko is in jail, so you may as well talk. What's the pitch?"
Latty was trembling and still pale. "I—I d-didn't know there'd be any trouble with the cops or I'd never have done it," he quavered. "Narko offered me some dough to hide the guns. I needed money, so I took him up. That's all there was to it."
"How long have you known this Narko?" Tom asked.
"I met him a few days ago in a restaurant. Believe me, I'd never laid eyes on him before. And I wish I never had!" Latty added bitterly.
The man's story had a ring of truth. "All right, Officer, let's take him in," Tom said. To the still-astounded Fred, he added, "We're sorry about this."
Two hours later Tom and Bud sat in Chief Slater's office at Shopton police headquarters. Captain Rock and the Shopton fire chief were also on hand.
"We've had troopers, detectives, and fire inspectors swarming all over Latty's place," Captain Rock reported. "They examined his house, the garage, two sheds out back, and every inch of the grounds. But there's no indication of any place where a bomb might have been planted to cause an underground explosion in Shopton."
The fire chief nodded confirmation. "So that clue peters out," he said.
With the waning of daylight, the other groups had finally abandoned their search of the Shoptonarea without turning up any information. "I'll notify the FBI immediately," Chief Slater said.
Nevertheless, he promised that his men would continue their efforts the next day.
"Even if we find nothing more, that arms cache was worth all the trouble," Slater added. "The country owes you a vote of thanks, Tom. A bunch of enemy agents could have hurt a lot of people with an arsenal like that!"
"That's for sure," Captain Rock agreed. "It was a good day's haul, Tom."
The two boys drove back to the Swift home and had a quick shower. Bud borrowed clean clothes from Tom. Then they sat down to enjoy a warmed-up but tasty supper, served by Sandy and Mrs. Swift.
As they ate, the boys listened to music on the radio, interspersed with eager questions from Sandy about the bomb search.
Suddenly the radio announcer broke in. "We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an important news bulletin!"
Tom,Sandy, and Bud listened as the radio announcer continued:
"Reports just in say that Brungaria has been taken over by a rebel group. Military aid to support the rebel coup is pouring in from Maurevia, Brungaria's powerful province in the north. The Brungarian prime minister, his cabinet, and all loyal administrative personnel have fled or been arrested.
"Worried United States State Department officials admit that the surprise coup poses a new and dangerous threat to free-world security. Further news reports will be broadcast as soon as they reach this station," the announcer ended.
For a moment Tom and Bud were too stunned to speak. Sandy was wide-eyed with the realization that the news spelled trouble for Swift Enterprises and all America.
"Looks as though that CIA man who briefed us wasn't kidding, eh, skipper?" Bud muttered at last.
"It came sooner than he expected!" Tom said.
Jumping up from the table, Tom switched off the radio and hurried to the hall telephone. In a few moments he managed to get a long-distance call through to Wes Norris of the FBI.
"Is the news on this Brungarian coup as bad as it sounds, Wes?" Tom inquired.
"Worse! That rebel bunch really has it in for us, as you know, Tom," Norris replied. "They envy America and they'll move heaven and earth to steal our scientific secrets. This could touch off a whole epidemic of sabotage and other spy activity!"
Tom's jaw clenched grimly. He then asked the FBI man his opinion about the discovery of the secret arms cache in Pete Latty's basement.
Norris admitted he was puzzled. "It doesn't add up, Tom," the FBI agent said thoughtfully. "If our enemies were planning to destroy Shopton by a quake, why would anyone be needing a gun?"
"I can't figure it myself, Wes—unless they were planning to raid and loot Enterprises after the place was thrown into disorder," Tom deduced. "What about Narko himself? Has he talked yet?"
Norris replied that although he had not interviewed Narko himself, FBI agents who had grilled the spy had failed to elicit any information.
"Here's something else, though, which might interest you," Norris went on. "We now have reports that at the time of the Harkness and Medfield disasters, seismographs recorded simultaneous quakes off the coast of Alaska near the Aleutian chain. Tremors were also felt off the southwest coast of South America."
A new factor to consider! Tom frowned in puzzlement as he hung up the telephone after completing his talk with the FBI man.
After Tom had repeated the conversation to his companions, Bud said, "You mean the H-bomb idea goes out the window?"
Tom shrugged. "Wes says they've found no evidence to support the theory of man-produced underground blasts. It just doesn't jibe with those other remote tremors. They'd be too much of a coincidence, happening at the same time!"
"Then the quakes at Harkness and Medfield were real earthquakes!" Sandy put in.
"Looks that way," Tom admitted. "Those other tremors Wes mentioned follow a natural circum-Pacific belt which is well known to seismologists. I'm no expert, but perhaps they could have set off chain reactions below the earth's crust which triggered the two quakes in this part of the country."
In that case, the young inventor reflected, it was only a freak of nature that the Faber and nose-cone factories had been wrecked by the shock. But inspite of the seismographic clues, Tom was not entirely convinced. A nagging doubt still buzzed in the back of his mind.
The next morning Tom hurried off to his private glass-walled laboratory at Enterprises, eager to continue work on his container, or robot body, for the brain from space.
Tom frowned as he studied the rough sketch he had drawn in his office the afternoon before. "This setup's full of bugs!" he muttered.
Nevertheless, Tom decided, the basic idea was sound. Grabbing pencil and slide rule, he began to dash off page after page of diagrams and equations.
"Chow down!" boomed a foghorn voice. Chow Winkler, wearing a white chef's hat, wheeled a lunch cart into the lab.
"Oh... thanks." Tom scarcely looked up from his work as the cook set out an appetizing meal of Texas hash, milk, and deep-dish apple pie on the bench beside the young inventor's papers. Grumbling under his breath, Chow sauntered out.
Tom went on working intently between mouthfuls. In another hour he finished a set of pilot drawings. Then he called Hank Sterling and Arvid Hanson and asked them to come to the laboratory.
They listened with keen interest as Tom explained his latest creation.
"No telling if it will work when the energy arrives from space," Tom said, "but I think everything tracks okay. Hank, get these plans blueprinted and assign an electronics group to the project. You'd better handle the hardware yourself."
"Right." Hank rolled up the sketches.
"And, Arv," Tom went on, "I'd like a scale model made to guide them on assembly. How soon can you have it?"
Hanson promised the model for some time the next day, and the two men hurried off.
As usual, Arv proved slightly better than his word. The expert modelmaker was devoted to his craft and as apt to forget the clock as Tom himself, when absorbed in a new project. By working on in his shop long after closing hours, Hanson had a desk-size model of the space-brain robot ready for Tom's inspection when the young inventor arrived at the plant early the following morning.
"Wonderful, Arv!" Tom approved. "Every time I see one of your models of a new invention, I'msureit'll work!" Hanson grinned, pleased at the compliment.
Tom hopped into a jeep and sped across the plant grounds to deliver the model to Hank Sterling and his project crew. Work was already well along on the electronic subassemblies and the strange-looking "body" was taking shape.
That afternoon Ames and Dilling returned from Washington. The report they gave to Tom bore out his hunch that the rebel Brungarian scientists might well be able to divert the space energy.
The next day was Friday. Tom was hoping, although none too optimistically, that the container might be completed before the week end. To his delight, an Enterprises pickup truck pulled up outside the laboratory later that afternoon and Hank rolled the queer-looking device inside.
"Hi, buster!" Tom greeted it. "Is this your daddy?"
Hank chuckled. "Don't look at me. It claimsyou'reits daddy. But hanged if I can see much resemblance!"
"Think it'll live?"
"If not," Hank replied, only half jokingly, "the boys who worked on it will sure be disappointed. No kidding, skipper, that's quite a gadget you dreamed up!"
The device stood about shoulder-high, with a star-shaped head, one point of which could be opened. The head would contain the actual brain energy. Its upper body, cylindrical in shape and of gleaming chrome, housed the output units through which the brain would react, and also the controls. Antennas projecting out on either side gave the look of arms.
Its "waist" was girdled with a ring of repelatronradiators for exerting a repulsion force when it wanted to move, by repelling itself away from nearby objects.
Below the repelatrons was an hourglass-shaped power unit, housing a solar-charged battery.
The power unit, in turn, was mounted on a pancake-shaped transportation unit. This unit was equipped with both casters and a sort of caterpillar-crawler arrangement for the contrivance to get about over obstacles. Inside was a gyro-stabilizer to keep the whole device upright.
Tom felt a glow of pride—and eager impatience—as he inspected the device. If it worked as he hoped, this odd creature might one day provide earth scientists with a priceless store of information about intelligent life on Planet X!
Bud and Chow, entering the laboratory soon after Hank Sterling had left, found Tom still engrossed in his thoughts.
"Wow! Is this your spaceman?" Bud inquired.
Tom nodded, then grinned at his callers' gaping expressions. Each was trying to imagine how the "thing" would look in action.
"Sure is a queer-lookin' buckaroo!" Chow commented, when Tom finished explaining how it was supposed to work.
On a sudden impulse, the old cowpoke took off his ten-gallon hat and plumped it on the creature. Then he removed his polka-dotted red bandannaand knotted it like a neckerchief just below the star head.
Tom laughed heartily as Bud howled, "Ride 'em, spaceman!"
Tom was eager to notify his mysterious space friends that the container was now ready to receive the brain energy. Bud went with him by jeep to the space-communications laboratory. Chow, however, stayed behind and stared in fascination at the odd-looking robot creature.
The stout cook walked back and forth, eying the thing suspiciously from every angle. "Wonder what the critter eats?" he muttered.
Feeling in his shirt pocket, Chow brought out a wad of his favorite bubble gum. Should he or shouldn't he? "Shucks, won't hurt to try," the old Texan decided.
Chow unlocked the hinged point of the star head and popped the gum inside. He was somewhat disappointed when nothing happened. Feeling a trifle foolish, Chow finally removed his hat and bandanna from the creature and stumped off.
Meanwhile, in the space-communications laboratory, Tom was pounding out a message on the keyboard of the electronic brain. Tom had invented this device for automatically coding and decoding messages between the Swifts and their space friends. It was connected to a powerful transmitting-and-receiving apparatus, served by ahuge radio-telescope antenna mounted atop the communications building.
Bud looked on as Tom signaled:
TOM SWIFT TO SPACE FRIENDS. CONTAINER FOR ENERGY IS NOW READY. SHOULD IT BE PLACED OUTDOORS?
Stirred by a worrisome afterthought, Tom added:
MESSAGES MAY BE INTERCEPTED BY ENEMY WHO WISHES TO STEAL ENERGY. SUGGEST YOU USE FLIGHT PATH TO LAND EXACTLY TWO MILES WEST OF FIRST CONTACT WITH US.
"By 'first contact,' you mean when that black missile landed at Enterprises?" Bud asked.
Tom nodded. At that time, he reminded Bud, the Brungarians and their conquerors had not yet learned of the Swifts' communication from another planet. Hence they would have no idea of the site referred to—which would hamper any plans to kidnap the brain energy.
"I get it," Bud said. "Smart idea, pal!"
Tensely the two boys waited for a reply from outer space.
Minuteswent by before the signal bell rang on the electronic brain. Both Tom and Bud dashed over to the machine as it began to spell out the incoming message on tape:
ENERGY WILL COME TO THE SPOT YOU SUGGESTED. WE CAN CONTROL FLIGHT COURSE BUT WHILE THE ENERGY IS ON EARTH YOU WILL BE IN CHARGE. WE WILL HAVE NO CONTROL FOR TWENTY-ONE DAYS. THEN WE WILL RECALL ENERGY TO BRING US IMPRESSIONS AND DATA OF YOUR WORLD.
The two boys stared at each other excitedly as the transmission ended.
"Wow!" Bud murmured. "If Planet X is a peaceful place, Ole Think Box is sure in for a jolt here on earth!"
Tom grinned fleetingly at the reference to Chow's nickname for the robot creature. Then he became serious, knowing that Bud's words were all too true. The space visitor might also take back impressions of the suffering and warlike threats that some earth countries inflict on one another. Maybe one day, Tom reflected, it would be different.
In the meantime, the young inventor realized he had an awesome responsibility. He must not only make the best use of the brain energy during its stay on earth, but also keep it from falling into the hands of treacherous Brungarian plotters.
Tom's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of girls' voices. Sandy and Phyl were standing in the doorway of the space-communications laboratory.
"Talk about deep thinkers!" Sandy said teasingly.
"Goodness, we had no idea we'd be interrupting a session of the brain trust," Phyl added with a mischievous sparkle in her brown eyes. "Maybe we should go away again, Sandy!"
"Hey! Hold it, you two!" Bud exclaimed. "What do you think, Tom—are these the visitors we've been expecting from outer space?"
"Well! I like that!" Sandy pouted. "Do we look like a couple of little green people?"
Tom chuckled and seized the opportunity to do a little teasing of his own. "I think it's just yourpointed heads that fooled us, Sis." Then, as the two girls broke down in laughter, he added, "Why the unexpected visit?"
Sandy and Phyl explained that they had come to invite the boys to a picnic cruise on Lake Carlopa the next day.
"And while we're here, since it's practically quitting time anyhow," Sandy went on, her blue eyes twinkling, "we might even let you drive us some place for dinner."
"Guess they've trapped us, Bud," Tom said with a grin. "Okay, it's a deal. But first we have something to show you." He took the girls to his laboratory to show them the robot creature.
"It's marvelous!" Sandy exclaimed, and Phyl agreed.
Early the next morning Bud called for Tom and Sandy in his tomato-red convertible. Then they stopped at the Newtons' house to pick up Phyl. Each girl had packed a picnic basket for the day's sail.
"Hmm. Looks as though we're going to be well fed," Bud commented jokingly. "What's on the menu, girls?"
"Chicken and ham sandwiches..." Sandy began.
"Pickles, olives, hard-boiled eggs, potato salad..." Phyl went on.
"Chocolate cake, milk..." Sandy took up the list.
"Stop! You have us hungry as bears already!" Tom warned.
"Right!" Bud agreed. "Come on! Let's get this cruise under way!"
The two couples drove to the Shopton Yacht Club dock on Lake Carlopa. There they boarded theSunspot, a beautiful thirty-foot sailing ketch with auxiliary engine which Mr. Swift and Mr. Newton had purchased for a frequently promised but not yet realized joint family vacation.
The craft was equipped with twin gravitex stabilizers, mounted one on each side of the hull. These gave it amazing smoothness even when plowing through rough seas. They were adaptations of a device Tom had invented for his space kite andCosmic Sailer.
"Oh, what a gorgeous day for a sail!" Phyl said, aglow with enthusiasm.
The sky was a cloudless blue. Under a hot summer sun, a brisk breeze was ruffling the lake into tiny whitecaps. The two couples cast off eagerly and were soon scudding out across the water under full sail.
Tom and Bud woreswimmingtrunks under their slacks. Unfortunately the girls had forgotten to bring their suits. When theSunspotreached the center of the lake, the boys hove to, stripped down to their trunks, and dived overboard. Meanwhile, the girls sun-bathed on deck. Soon it was time forthe picnic lunch, and all four ate with healthy young appetites.
"Jeepers!" Sandy whispered to Phyl with a giggle. "After a feast like this, we'll have to go on a diet!"
"Don't say it," Phyl warned, "or Tom and Bud will use that as an excuse for never taking us out ag—"
She broke off with a gasp.
"What's wrong?" Tom asked.
Breathless with fright, Phyl pointed off to starboard. The others paled. An enormous wave was sweeping across the lake, straight toward the ketch!
"Jumpin' jets!" Bud gulped. "It's like a tidal wave!"
The boat was already rocking under the swells that preceded the oncoming huge breaker.
"Quick!" Tom yelled. "Grab life jackets while I start the engine!"
The four leaped into action. Every instant the terrifying wave rushed closer! By now it was a twelve-foot wall of water!
Tom and the others had just put on the jackets and the engine had barely gunned into life when disaster struck. The mammoth wave swept up theSunspotand heeled it far over into the trough like a toy bark. The next instant a cataract of water poured over the deck with stunning force!
"We're going under!" Phyl screamed.
All four were swept overboard in the maelstrom! Under the smashing impact of the water, the ketch's mainmast bent and groaned. A moment later came a crack like a gunshot. The mast broke off, hung teetering by shreds, then toppled into the water. As it fell, the mast struck Sandy a grazing blow on the head!
"Sandy!" Bud cried fearfully as he struggled in the swirling torrent.
Calling on every ounce of strength, he swam with powerful strokes toward the girl. Sandy was dazed and limp. Bud's husky arm circled her tightly. Then he began to fight his way toward shore. Tom and Phyl—each struggling in the turbulent water—could only breathe a prayer of thanks as they watched the rescue.
(a huge wave capsizes the Sunspot)
As the huge wave raced shoreward, the lake water gradually became calmer in its wake. Tom was able to assist Phyl, and Sandy by now had recovered her faculties.
TheSunspothad capsized but could still be seen afloat, some distance away. Rather than swim to it and cling to the hulk in the hope that a rescue boat would arrive, the four decided to continue on toward shore. They knew that the aftermath of the tidal wave would keep all shore facilities in an uproar for hours to come.
As they neared the beach, the young people could see other overturned craft and heads bobbing in the water. A few daring persons finally began putting out in motorboats and rowboats to pick up the survivors.
A hundred yards from shore, one of the boatstook Tom's group aboard. Minutes later, they were scrambling out onto a dock.
"Are you all right, Sandy?" Bud asked, his arm still around her.
"I—I think so," she gasped weakly, "but I must have swallowed half the lake!"
"Take it easy, Sis!" Tom added, as Sandy swayed and shuddered from the shock of her recent ordeal.
Gently he made Sandy lie down and pillowed her head on a folded tarpaulin provided by the sympathetic boatman. Phyl, though wan and white-faced, was in somewhat better shape.
"Tom, we must get these girls home as soon as possible," Bud declared.
This, however, was not easily accomplished. The tidal wave had caused devastation along the entire shore front. Many docks had been wrecked, boats splintered like matchsticks, and buildings along the water smashed.
When Tom's group reached Bud's convertible, parked near the yacht club pier, they found the car completely waterlogged. Its electrical system gave not even a faint sputter or spark.
"Oh, fine!" Bud groaned. "The crowning touch!"
Eventually ambulances and private cars began to arrive to transport the injured. Tom, Bud, and the two girls were given a lift to the Swift homewhere Sandy and Phyl were immediately put to bed by a worried Mrs. Swift.
Downstairs, Tom switched on the TV set. A mobile camera crew from the local station was scanning the water front and interviewing witnesses of the disaster. To the two boys, the most interesting note came in a statement by the announcer that a very slight earth tremor had been felt in Shopton.
"But no damage occurred except along the water front," the announcer explained.
Tom gave a snort of anger, jumped up from his chair, and began pacing about the living room. "Bud, I feel sure that wall of water was caused by a minor earthquake!" the young inventor declared. "What's more, I'll bet it wasman-made!"
Bud stared at his friend, appalled but feeling a hot surge of anger himself. "If you're right, pal, it's the most fiendish sabotage I've ever heard of! Think of all the lives that were endangered!"
Tom nodded grimly. "Iamthinking!"
Both boys jerked around to look at the TV set again as a studio announcer's voice suddenly broke into the telecast:
"Flash! A severe quake has occurred at the headquarters of the American Archives Foundation, a hundred miles from Shopton. The Foundation's buildings, containing many priceless government and scientific documents, were badly damaged,and an underground microfilm vault was utterly destroyed. Apparently this quake was part of the tremor felt here at Shopton."
Within minutes the Swifts' home phone began jangling constantly. Some calls were from friends, others from strangers. Many of the calls were routed through from the Enterprises switchboard.
One was from Dan Perkins of theShopton Bulletin. "What about it, Tom?" the editor demanded. "I guess you know by now the public's aroused and in a state of near panic over all these quakes. What they all want to know is this: are you, Tom Swift, going to find a way to stop all this destruction?"
Tom's jaw jutted out angrily. "Yes, I am!" he snapped. "And you can quote me on that!"