A strangesight greeted Tom's and Bud's eyes. In the first rays of sunlight, the space robot was moving back and forth about the laboratory in wild zigzag darts and lunges.
As he rolled toward a bench or other object, the brain energy seemed to send out invisible waves that knocked things over! Already the floor was strewn with toppled lab stools, books, and broken test tubes. The heavy thud had apparently been caused by a falling file cabinet.
"Stop him!" Bud yelped.
Exman was heading straight for a plate-glass window! Reaching from floor to ceiling, the glass formed one entire wall of the laboratory.
"Oh, no!" Tom tensed, realizing that it was hopeless to try to stop Exman in time.
But an instant later, the rolling robot stopped of its own accord, as if registering the fact that itsenergy waves were now striking a fragile surface. The thick pane of glass vibrated in its frame.
"Good grief!" Tom wiped his brow. "Let's corral that thing before he wrecks the whole lab!"
Exman was already rolling off on a new tack. The two boys managed to grab him before more harm was done. The brain energy in its container seemed to calm under their touch.
"What in the name of space science triggered it off?" Bud wondered out loud.
"Time. It must have reacted to the passage of time," Tom conjectured. "I suppose it just decided to explore this place." He added a bit nervously, "The sooner we can communicate with this energy, the better!"
"But how?" Bud asked.
Tom's brow furrowed. "Say, I wonder if Exman might understand a direct order?"
Tom backed a few paces away from the space robot, then said in a loud, clear voice, "Come here!"
Exman remained fixed to its spot.
"Move right!" No response. "Move left!" Still no response.
"Guess you're not getting through, skipper," Bud commented with a grin.
"No," Tom agreed. "I can't predict what kind of energy this brain will respond to. Being only energy, it must respond to other energy and sound is our form of energy. The problem is the sameas with radio waves, which are also energy. We must figure out how we can vary the energy, so it can transmit information to Exman."
"Whatdowe try?" Bud asked. "Or is it hopeless?"
"I'll try communicating with it via the electronic brain, which I have adapted to fit this problem."
The boys cleaned up the wreckage caused by Exman in his dawn venturings. Then Tom went by jeep to the computer laboratory, made connections to his electronic brain, and wired it for remote control. Then he returned to the private laboratory. There Bud watched as he hooked up the leads from the computer to a transmitting-receiving decoder with a short-range antenna.
"Speak, O Master!" Bud said, imitating a squeaky robot voice. "Sound off loud and clear!"
Tom grinned and tapped out a command on the keyboard:Move backward.
Exman rolled backward! Bud gave a whoop of delight.
Tom signaled:Move forward.Obediently Exman rolled toward him.
Stop.Exman stopped.
"Hey, how about that?" Bud exclaimed happily. "It really savvies those electronic brain impulses!"
"And minds them—which is equally important," Tom added.
A moment later the brain energy seemed to become impatient. It spurted off in its wheeled container toward a laboratory workbench.
Crash!A rack of test tubes went sailing to the floor with an explosion of tinkling glass.
Stop!Tom signaled frantically. Again Exman obeyed the order.
"It's like a mischievous kid," Bud said.
Almost as if in defiance, Exman scooted off in another direction. Then it stopped abruptly and swiveled around, one of its antenna arms knocking a Bunsen burner to the floor as it did so.
Come here!Tom signaled. As the culprit approached, he added sternly,Stop where you are. And stay there until you receive further orders.
This time Exman stood patiently, awaiting the next signal. Bud got a brush and dustpan, and the boys cleaned up the broken test tubes and replaced the burner on its shelf.
Then Tom began feeding more complicated instructions to Exman through the electronic brain. He guided him through a number of dancelike movements and other drills, and got him to send out a wave of heat which the boys could instantly feel. Tom was even able to make the robot aim its wave energy so as to short-circuit a switch on an electrical control panel.
Tom was both pleased and excited. "Bud," he exclaimed, "the brain reacts as quickly as that of a highly intelligent being! Just imagine—withoutany sort of decoding equipment, it can pick up andunderstandthe radio signals I beam out to it!"
"What we need now," Tom went on, "is a simple language to get our ideas across to Exman without having to use the electronic brain all the time. That means I must find a way to give Exman senses as we humans have—smell, touch, sight, hearing, taste. Then it could receive the same reactions we do and talk directly to us!"
"Sounds like quite an order," Bud said wryly. "Speaking of which, how about us phoning Chow an order for breakfast?"
He did so, and a short time later Chow wheeled a food cart into the laboratory. As he dished out man-sized helpings of ham and eggs, the cook kept a wary eye on Exman. Tom was putting the robot through a few more lively maneuvers.
"A good meal'd calm down Ole Think Box," Chow observed grumpily. "But what do you feed that there kind o' contraption?"
"Well, not gum, that's for sure!" Bud teased. After tasting his first forkful of food, he gasped, "And none of this ham!"
Jumping up from his lab stool, Bud began whirling, dancing around, and flapping his arms as if he were burning up.
"Help! Help!" he yelled. "Chow's poisoned me—just like he did Exman!"
Chow's leathery old face paled under its deserttan. "Great snakes, Tom!" the Texan gulped. "Have I really pizened him? Maybe we should call Doc Simpson!"
Doc was the medic in charge of the Enterprises infirmary.
Tom was unable to keep a straight face. "Better call someone with a strait jacket—or a butterfly net!" he said, quaking with laughter. "I'm afraid he's just pulling your leg, Chow!"
Chow's jaw clamped shut like a bear trap and he glared at the pirouetting young flier. Bud collapsed on his stool, doubled over with mirth.
"Sorry, old-timer," he gasped. "I just couldn't resist!"
"Okay, Buddy boy," Chow said darkly. "And mebbe I won't be able to resist gettin' even one o' these days!" The cook stumped out of the laboratory in his high-heeled cowboy boots, a picture of outraged dignity.
"Better watch out, pal!" Tom warned with a grin. "Just remember: it's never smart to bite the hand that feeds you!"
"I guess you're right," Bud agreed, wiping away the tears of laughter. "I'll remember, just as long as Chow promises not to serve us any more armadillo soup or rattlesnake salad!"
Chow's fondness for experimenting with weird dishes was a standing joke around Enterprises.
The boys ate their meal hungrily. As they werefinishing, Tom glanced at the big clock on the wall. It was now well past eight o'clock.
"Wonder why Dad hasn't come to the lab," he remarked. "I'd better call and find out if he's all right."
Tom picked up the telephone and asked the operator for the direct line to the Swifts' home. His father answered.
"'Morning, Dad!" Tom greeted him. "I thought after your call last night, you'd be over bright and early to see our visitor. He's already—"
"What are you talking about, son?" Mr. Swift broke in. "I didn't phone you last night!"
Tomwas thunderstruck. "You didn't phone me? But, Dad, I got the call—I definitely heard your voice!"
"That's impossible," Mr. Swift insisted. "Believe me, son, I slept soundly from the time I turned in until a little while ago."
There was a moment of stunned silence as both Swifts realized that the telephone call had been faked! Then Tom exclaimed:
"Dad, this is serious!"
"Deadly serious, I agree," his father replied. "Are you calling from your lab?"
"Yes!"
"Stay there. I'll be right over," the elder scientist said.
When Mr. Swift arrived, Tom related his conversation with the mysterious caller. His father listened with worried eyes and a puzzled frown.
"It's bad enough that an enemy was able to get the information," Mr. Swift remarked. "But, potentially at least, it's even more dangerous that he was able to imitate my voice so well. If he could fool you, Tom, he could fool anyone!"
"Are you thinking the same thing I am, Dad?"
"That it may have been some insider here at Enterprises?" When Tom nodded, his father gravely agreed. "Yes, son, it does look that way. To imitate my voice convincingly, it would almost certainly have to be someone who's had close contact with us—either at the plant or here in Shopton."
The thought of a traitor at the experimental station was repugnant to the Swifts and to Bud as well. Not only were all employees carefully screened, but there was a close, almost family relationship among those who took part in the exciting scientific ventures at Swift Enterprises.
Tom called Security and asked Harlan Ames to come over to the laboratory at once. The security chief arrived within moments. Quickly Tom filled him in on the details of the puzzling telephone call.
"Think back, skipper," Ames urged. "Was there anything at all you can remember about the voice that might give us a tip-off? I mean, was it deep, or maybe a bit higher-pitched than you expected? Or anything about the way the caller pronounced his words?"
Tom shook his head. "Nothing. That's the trouble. He spoke only a couple of sentences, but so far as I knew, itwasmy father calling!"
"Hmmm." Ames frowned. "What about background noises?"
Tom thought hard. "None. If I had detected any special sounds during the call, I'm sure they would have stuck in my mind."
Ames tried another tack. He asked how many people had known about the expected arrival of the brain energy from space. This was harder to answer, but as Tom and his father enumerated the persons, it did help to narrow the circle of suspects.
Besides the Swifts, Chow, Phyl, Ames, and George Dilling, there were three groups who had had access to the information. One was the radio operators at the space-communications laboratory. Another consisted of Arv Hanson and Hank Sterling and the workmen who had taken part in building the energy container. The last group, which also included Hank and Arv, were the technicians who had actually gone to the hillside to await the visitor from Planet X.
Tom scowled. "None of those people would pull such a trick, Harlan—any more than the ones like you and Arv and Hank who are above suspicion. Most of them could have easily obtained the news without going through such a rigmarole."
Mr. Swift nodded. "Tom's right. Unless, ofcourse, they had some urgent reason for wanting to find out as soon as possible."
"Which makes me think it may have been an outsider after all," Tom argued. "Remember, the Brungarians may have intercepted the code messages to or from our space friends." After a moment's silence, he added gloomily, "Whoever the caller was, he knew the energy was arriving. And now he knows it's here!"
Bud interjected, "Well, if he was a Brungarian agent and he's hoping to steal the brain energy, one thing's sure. No earthquake will demolish this place as long as the energy is here at Enterprises."
"A comforting thought, Bud," Mr. Swift commented with a wry smile.
Again Tom frowned. "At any rate, Harlan, see if you can get a line on that impostor."
Ames departed to begin a thorough check of all personnel at the plant who might have been implicated. Bud went on an errand, as Tom began showing his father the accomplishments of the space robot.
"We've christened him Exman," Tom said.
By means of the electronic brain, he made the visitor do a number of maneuvers in response to orders.
"Wonderful!" Mr. Swift exclaimed, greatly impressed. "Let's see if he can use his caterpillar treads as well as he does the wheels."
Tom brought a small flight of portable aluminum stairs which he used for reaching up on high shelves or tinkering with outsized machines. Tom was uncertain at first how to code the command, having no symbol for steps or stairs. Finally he moved Exman to the bottom of the steps and signaled simply:Go up!
Exman paused for a moment, then attempted the ascent. His caterpillar tracks clawed their way up the first step. Then, gingerly, he essayed the next. The robot body tilted, but its gyro kept it from toppling over.
"Bravo!" Mr. Swift applauded encouragingly. But the next instant Exman gave up! He slid back to the floor again with a heavy bump. Then he began whirling and darting about madly.
"Good night! Exman's gone berserk!" Tom cried.
Now wafts of smoke could be seen issuing from the robot's wheels. He was banging wildly about the laboratory, leaving a trail of havoc.
Bud, who had returned, opened the door to come in. Instantly Exman lunged toward him, antennas sparking fiercely and wheels smoking. Bud slammed the door hastily.
The Swifts, too, found it wiser to take cover. They crouched behind a lab workbench until the frenzy was over. Presently Exman subsided and rolled to a complete standstill.
"Good grief!" Tom stood up cautiously andeyed the creature. It made no further move. Bud poked his head through the doorway for a wary look, then re-entered the laboratory.
"What made him blow his top?" Bud asked.
Then Tom heard a quiet chuckle from his father. "Actually, boys," the elder scientist said, "I think we should be encouraged."
(Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. watch as Exman tries to climb stairs)"Encouraged?" Tom stared at his father.
Mr. Swift nodded. "Yes, the whole thing was rather a noteworthy reaction. I believe Exman was displaying a fear complex about navigating up those stairs."
Tom gasped, then broke out laughing. "Dad, you're right! I'll bet when its body tilted over, thebrain wasn't sure whether the gyro would keep it from being wrecked. It just shows Ole Think Box is getting more human all the time!"
Bud ventured to pat Exman on its "back." "Relax, kid," he said with a chuckle. "You're among friends and we wouldn't dream of letting you get hurt. You're too valuable!"
Mr. Swift stroked his jaw thoughtfully. "Valuable, yes, if we can only get it to communicate. Tom, I believe the first project we should work on is a way to make Exman talk."
After the debris had been cleaned up, the two scientists pulled up stools to the workbench and began to discuss the problem. Bud, seeing them absorbed, and realizing the discussion would soon be far beyond his depth, snapped a grinning salute at Exman and quietly left the laboratory.
"Dad, the toughest part won't be the speech mechanism itself," Tom pointed out. "There are several ways we could handle that—by modulating a column of air, for instance, or by some sort of speaker diaphragm. The real stumper will be how to teach him our spoken language."
Mr. Swift nodded. "I'm afraid you're right. If the inhabitants of Planet X communicate telepathically, or by some sort of wave transfer, they may have long since forgotten any concept of a spoken language."
The Swifts batted several ideas back and forth. Then Tom snapped his fingers.
"Wait, Dad! We have the answer! The electronic brain!"
Mr. Swift's eyes lighted up. "Of course! The machine already translates the space code into written English. All we need do is add a device to convert the machine's impulses into sound!"
In two hours the Swifts had put together a mechanism designed to work through a tape recorder. This was hooked up to the electronic brain.
After recording for several moments, Tom reversed the tape and switched on the playback. A squeaky jumble of noises could be heard. But one word seemed to come through fairly distinctly. "Universe!"
"It's talking!" Tom cried out.
"Trying to, but not succeeding very well," Mr. Swift said.
Nevertheless, the two scientists were jubilant at this first breakthrough. Eagerly they began making adjustments—both on the electronic-brain hookup and the converter mechanism. Tom was just about to switch on the tape recorder again when the telephone rang.
The young inventor was annoyed at being interrupted at such a crucial moment, but picked up the phone. "Tom Swift Jr. speaking."
"You have an urgent call from Washington," the operator informed him. "Just a moment, please."
Bernt Ahlgren was calling from the Pentagon. The defense expert's voice was strained.
"Tom, there's just been another attempt to cause an earthquake here in Washington!"
Tom gasped. "What happened?"
"It failed, thanks to you. But Intelligence believes an attempt will be made on New York City very soon. We need your help to stop it. How near completion are the other shock deflectors?"
Before Tom could answer, he heard excited voices at the other end of the line. Then Ahlgren broke in again abruptly.
"A news flash, Tom! The Walling range-finder plant has been demolished by an earthquake!"
Mr. Swift,hearing Tom's dismayed reaction, rushed to the telephone.
"What's wrong, son?"
Tom clamped his hand over the mouthpiece and quickly gave his father the news of the destroyed range-finder plant. Then he spoke into the telephone.
"Bernt, we must prevent another disaster! Let me check with our construction company on the Quakelizors and I'll call you right back!"
"Right, Tom," Ahlgren agreed.
Both Tom and Mr. Swift were shocked by this latest blow of their enemies. Tom called Ned Newton at the Swift Construction Company at once and told him the news.
"How soon will the Quakelizors be ready, Uncle Ned?"
"They're finished, Tom. We're running a final inspection on them right now. We can have them ready to ship out by one o'clock."
Tom relayed word to the Pentagon. Bernt Ahlgren was greatly relieved. "By the way," Tom went on, "what about the sites? Have they been chosen yet?"
"Only tentatively," Ahlgren replied. "We wanted to get your opinion first."
One of the deflectors, Ahlgren felt, should be based in position to guard the New York and New England area, in view of Intelligence warnings about a probable attack on New York City. Another, in the Cumberland plateau region of Kentucky, could damp out shock waves threatening either the heavily industrialized Great Lakes area or any southern city.
As to the other three Quakelizors, Ahlgren suggested that one be installed on the West Coast, one in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and the third on the Atlantic island of San Rosario. This would protect both Latin-American allies and Caribbean defense bases of the United States.
Before deciding, Tom asked that Dr. Miles at the Bureau of Mines be circuited into the telephone conversation. Mr. Swift, too, joined in on another line. The four scientists discussed the problem and referred to geologic maps. Finally the exact sites were agreed upon.
"Dad, I'm going to deliver and install one of those Quakelizors myself," Tom declared, after the telephone conference ended. "Judging from that phone impostor last night, there's no telling what sort of trick our enemies may try next!"
Mr. Swift approved heartily. "Good idea, son. In the meantime, I'll see what I can accomplish with Ole Think Box here."
Tom notified Uncle Ned of the delivery sites. He requested that because of the urgency of the situation, Swift planes transport the Quakelizors. Mr. Newton promised to have five cargo jets loaded and prepared for take-off from the construction company airfield.
Next, Tom turned to the job of rounding up flight crews. He decided that Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, Art Wiltessa, and a crack Swift test pilot, Slim Davis, would each captain a plane.
Tom was just hanging up the telephone when Chow wheeled in a lunch cart, bearing sizzling servings of steak for the two Swifts.
"How's Ole Think Box comin' along?" Chow inquired.
"All right now, but he went berserk a while back," Tom replied with a chuckle.
Chow eyed the robot apprehensively and made a hasty exit. Both Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. were amused.
As they ate, the two scientists continued theirdiscussion on how to equip Exman with senses and the power of speech. Several minutes later, when they were finishing dessert, Bud came into the laboratory.
"Tom, what's this about you hopping off somewhere to install a Quakelizor?" he asked anxiously.
"Don't worry, pal. I'll need my usual copilot," Tom said with a grin. "Just didn't have time to call you before lunch. We'll be flying down to a place called San Rosario in the Caribbean."
At one o'clock Tom briefed the flight crews and technicians. Slim was provided with three men who had worked on the original model of the quake deflector. After making sure that every man knew his job, Tom had the groups flown by helicopter over to the Swift Construction Company airfield.
Tom and Bud's cargo jet was the second to take off. On signal from the tower, the big workhorse thundered down the runway and soared off into the blue. Soon it was spearing southward above the waters of the Atlantic.
Presently Bud drew Tom's attention to some blurry specks of light on the radarscope. "Looks like a formation of planes, skipper."
Tom studied the blips for a while. "Guess you're right. It's sure not a flock of sea gulls!" The young inventor frowned.
"Worried, Tom?" Bud asked quietly.
Tom shrugged. "It could be a routine military flight."
He increased speed and climbed for altitude. But the blips on the radarscope showed that the planes were coming steadily closer. It was clear that they were targeting on the Swift cargo jet.
Tom switched on the radio. Presently a voice crackled over their headphones:
"Calling Swift jet!" The voice was heavily accented.
"Brungarians!" Bud muttered.
Tom made no reply to the radio challenge. Again came the voice:
"Calling Swift jet! Make emergency landing on the water!"
Tom's only response was a fresh burst of speed. Gunning the jet motors, he sent the big cargo ship arrowing forward at supersonic velocity.
"There they are!" Bud cried suddenly. He pointed to a cluster of silvery glints in the sky at seven o'clock.
Tom zoomed downward into a billowing cloud bank. It was a feeble hope and Tom knew it. His only real chance now was to outrun or outmaneuver the marauders.
The slim hope faded as they emerged from the cloud cover moments later. The enemy planes were not only still dogging them, but closing in rapidly. Sleek, needle-nosed attack ships, they appeared to have seaplane hulls.
"Wow! Those are new ones!" Bud gasped.
"Our last warning to Swift jet! Hit the water or be shot down!" came the enemy voice.
Tom raced along, his mind searching frantically for a method of escape.
Bud switched off radio power momentarily. "If we're going to be hijacked, skipper, let's ditch your invention before it's too late!"
Tom shook his head stubbornly. "Why should I let those pirates bulldoze us? Actually, I think they're after Exman!"
This last thought was a hunch that had just occurred to Tom. It was clear that their foe had learned about the arrival of the energy from space. "But so far," Tom reasoned, "there's no cause to suppose they know anything about the quake deflectors."
Stalling for time, Tom switched on the radio again and spoke into the mike. "Swift jet to attack planes. Our home base is picking up every word of your threats. Shoot us down and America will consider it an act of war!... Care to risk it?"
There was a moment's silence, then a reply. "War, you say? How can there be a question of war? War against whom? You do not even know our national identity!"
"Don't kid yourselves, mister!" Bud put in with a snarl. "We know, all right, and so does United States Intelligence!"
Tom decided to risk a blunt query, withoutactually giving away any facts, in case his hunch about the Brungarian's knowledge was wrong.
"There was a phone call to Swift Enterprises last night," he radioed. "We know it was a fake. We also know your agents are aware of our visitor.... Right?"
After a pause, the enemy spokesman replied, "Perhaps. If so, what then?"
"Just this," Tom radioed back. "If you're hoping to meet our visitor, you're out of luck. I'll give you my word for it. Do you think we'd risk such a valuable character in an unguarded crate like this?"
Tom and Bud looked at each other. Somehow, both boys felt instinctively that Tom's words had struck home. The enemy had certainly risen to the bait.
Finally came the reply. "You Swifts have a reputation for scrupulous honesty." There was a slight sneer in the speaker's voice as if he considered this a foolish weakness. "You give me your word of honor that this—er—character is not aboard?"
"I do!" Tom snapped. "And if you don't trust me, go ahead and risk a war!"
The boys waited breathlessly for the outcome of Tom's bold gamble. Soon they saw the result. The pursuing planes suddenly peeled off and sped away in the direction from which they had first appeared.
"Whew!" Bud wiped his hand across his face and drew it away moist with perspiration. "How do you like that?"
Tom chuckled with relief. "I like it fine, fly boy. But I was sure worried there for a while!"
Less than an hour later, the big cargo jet touched down at the San Rosario airport. An armed guard was on hand to greet the boys, under command of an officer named Captain Sanchez. He had brought along a work crew of soldiers and also a geology expert, Professor Leone, from the island's small technical school.
"I have selected a spot on the eastern shore of the island," the professor told Tom. He unrolled a map and explained the site.
"Excellent," Tom agreed.
The Quakelizor parts, communications equipment, and small atomic earth blaster were quickly unloaded and transported to the site by trucks. In three hours the installation was finished.
Tom, who spoke Spanish fairly well, explained to a small group of San Rosario military technicians how the quake deflector worked. He also detailed one of his own men to stay on as trouble shooter for the setup.
"And now," said Captain Sanchez, beaming, "we must relax and celebrate the friendship of our two countries."
Tom and Bud, though eager to get home, hesitated to hurt the friendly officer's feelings. Theysat through a delicious meal, followed by numerous speeches. When his own turn to speak came, Tom used it to warn against possible sabotage attempts by the Brungarians. At last the boys were allowed to take off with their crew.
"Swell guys," Bud said, when the boys were airborne, "but a bit hard to break away from!"
Tom grinned, then became serious. "You know, Bud," he said thoughtfully, "those aerial hijackers gave me an idea."
"Let's have it, skipper."
"If only I could get Exman perfected so he would report back to me," Tom explained, "I couldlethim bekidnaped. Think what a wonderful 'inside man' he'd make in the enemy setup! He could tip us off to everything the Brungarians were doing!"
"Hey, that's neat!" Bud exclaimed, wide-eyed. "But how could you be sure those Brungarian rebel scientists wouldn't change him somehow? I mean they might brainwash him or something."
"It's a risk," Tom agreed. "But that's my problem—how to make a perfect spy out of him."
It was midnight when the cargo jet touched down on the Enterprises airfield. The boys slept soundly.
The next morning Tom reported to Mr. Swift and Harlan Ames the outcome of his trip to San Rosario, including the attack en route by unmarked sky raiders. He also privately told hisfather about his plan to use Exman as an electronic spy. Mr. Swift was enthusiastic.
The two scientists promptly set to work. Mr. Swift built two powerful but miniature radio sets; one for receiving, one for transmitting. Tom, meanwhile, was busy on another device, also highly miniaturized, combining features of both the electronic decoder and Tom's famous midget computers, known as Little Idiots.
With this equipment, Tom hoped, Exman would be able to monitor all communications at Brungarian rebel headquarters, then radio the information to Enterprises.
Chow brought lunch to the laboratory at noon, and Bud came in later. Both stayed to watch the outcome of the experiment. Hank Sterling and Arv Hanson joined the group.
By midafternoon the equipment was ready for a tryout. Tom opened Exman's star head, inserted the gear, and made the delicate wiring connections.
"So far, so good," the young inventor murmured, stepping back. "Now for the real test! Will Exman answer our questions?"
Tom walked over to the electronic decoder brain and began to tap out a message on the keyboard. The others waited in breathless suspense.
Themessage which Tom signaled in code over the electronic brain said:
WE HAVE A DANGEROUS PLAN. IF PLAN WORKS, YOU MAY BE EXPOSED TO ENEMY TAMPERING. WILL THIS BE SAFE? CAN YOU STAND THIS?
There was a tense pause. Then the signal bell rang on the machine and the keys began to punch out a reply on tape:
NO ONE CAN ALTER THIS BRAIN NOR CAN THEY CHANGE ITS PURPOSE. THEY CAN ONLY DESTROY THE ENERGY HOLDER.
As Tom finished reading the message aloud, Chow gave a whoop of delight and the whole group burst into spontaneous cheers.
"Terrific, skipper!" Bud exclaimed, clappinghis pal on the back. The others gathered around to add their congratulations.
Mr. Swift, beaming with pride, gave Tom a quick hand-squeeze. "It's an amazing achievement, son. And it may prove to be the key for unlocking the secrets of space, if and when we have time for some research after this crisis is over."
"I sure hope so, Dad," Tom murmured. Though jubilant, the young inventor realized that this was only the first step in his plan to checkmate the Brungarian rebels.
The real perils still lay ahead!
Tom called Harlan Ames and asked him to come to the laboratory for a conference. When the security chief arrived, he was as impressed as the others with the way Tom was able to communicate with Exman.
"The problem now," Tom said, "is how do we have him kidnaped?"
Chow, wary as a coyote, offered his opinion that the safest way would be merely to leave the space robot unguarded somewhere about the grounds of Enterprises.
Ames shook his head. "Too obvious. They'd suspect a trap." Tom agreed.
"Wal, then, how about truckin' him along the highway hereabouts, as if you all were sendin' him down to Washington?"
This, too, was vetoed on the grounds that a shrewd espionage agent would guess that sucha valuable prize would never be entrusted to a slow and vulnerable method of transport.
"Then what about an air flight?" Hank Sterling suggested.
"Brand my six-guns, that'd be jest beggin' to git yourself shot down!" Chow fumed.
"Not if we used a plane like theSky Queen, equipped with jet lifters," Hank argued. "If any hijack planes jumped us, they'd have to let us come down safely in order to get their hands on Exman. We could land on the water or just hover while they made the transfer."
"And after they had it safe aboard their own plane, they'd blast yours to smithereens!" Chow retorted.
Tom, too, thought a plane flight unwise, but for different reasons. It might look suspicious to the Brungarians after the Swifts had been warned by one aerial hijack attempt. Also, they might be deterred by fear of war, thinking that the United States Air Force would doubtless be alerted to the possibility of attack.
"So right," Ames agreed. After a thoughtful pause, he added, "Tom, what about transporting Exman by submarine? We know that every spy apparatus in this hemisphere is constantly trying to probe what goes on at Fearing Island, where our subs are based."
"No doubt about that," Tom conceded.
"So," Ames continued, "any move to Fearingwould certainly make the Brungarian agents prick up their ears. Their own spy subs probably would come prowling around the island and detect the departure of a Swift sub. And they might feel that an undersea hijack attempt would be a fairly safe gamble."
The others looked thoughtful, then slowly nodded in agreement. Ames's reasoning sounded highly logical.
"Tom, you'll insist on going, I suppose," Mr. Swift said somberly.
"Of course, Dad. After all, the kidnap plan was my own idea," Tom replied. "Another thing I'll insist on is that youdon'tgo. We have Mother and Sandy to think of, and it's not right that both of us risk our necks."
Realizing that it was hopeless to dissuade his son, and realizing the basic fairness of Tom's position, Mr. Swift did not argue. Bud, Hank, Chow, and Arv immediately volunteered to accompany the young inventor on his dangerous mission.
Tom gratefully accepted their help. He asked all hands to assemble on the Enterprises airfield at six the next morning for the flight to Fearing.
After the others had left, Tom and his father resumed their experiments with Exman. Mr. Swift suggested adding a device to the radio equipment to make it disintegrate if tampered with."Before those rebel Brungarians can learn the secret of your electronic spy."
"Good idea, Dad. And how about our doing the job with Swiftonium?" This was an unusual radioactive ore which Tom had discovered in South America.
Mr. Swift nodded as he began work.
Tom watched admiringly as his father reconstructed the radio, coating the entire thing with a Swiftonium compound. He at once placed the set in a small oven which he raised to 50 degrees centigrade.
"When this cools, the set will be stable," Mr. Swift said. "But if you should move any part of it after it cools, all of the organic parts, like the circuit boards, the insulation, the carbon resistors, etc., will oxidize and disappear as gas. You will not even be able to tamper with a single unit."
"Wonderful, Dad," Tom murmured when the device was finished. "I wish I had your know-how in microchemistry."
"And I wish I had yours in electronics!" the elder scientist declared with a chuckle.
After Mr. Swift had installed the device in Exman's star head, Tom used the electronic brain to inform the robot about the whole scheme.
Both Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. were delighted when Exman showed real enthusiasm. It replied via the printed tape on the decoder:
DO NOT WORRY, MY FRIENDS. I WILL NOT RESPOND TO ANY ATTEMPTS BY BRUNGARIAN SCIENTISTS TO COMMUNICATE WITH ME. MY PLANET IS WELL AWARE OF THEIR DANGEROUS AIMS. HAVING CONQUERED YOUR WORLD, THEY WOULD NEXT INVADE SPACE.
"Looks as though Exman's got their number, all right!" Tom said with satisfaction.
Early the next morning Mr. Swift drove Tom to the Enterprises airfield to meet his friends. Hank Sterling, Bud, and Chow were already on hand, and Arv Hanson arrived a few moments later. Tom and Bud left the others to bring Exman in a small panel truck.
Soon the space robot was safely loaded aboard a transport helicopter. The others took their places inside the cabin.
"Good luck, son!" Mr. Swift forced a smile as he gave Tom a parting handshake.
"Don't worry, Dad. I'll be back soon!" Tom assured him. The nature of the trip had been described only vaguely to Mrs. Swift and Sandy in order to keep them from worrying.
The short hop overwater to Fearing Island was soon completed. Lying just off the Atlantic coast, Fearing had once been a barren, thumb-shaped expanse of scrubgrass and sand dunes. Now it was the Swifts' top-secret rocket base, tightly guarded by drone planes and radar.
As the helicopter approached its destination, Tom radioed for clearance, then whirred down toward the landing field. The barracks, workshops, and launching area of the base lay spread out in full view. Cargo rockets bristled on their launching pads, along with Tom's spaceships, including the mightyTitan, and the oddly shapedChallengerandCosmic Sailer.
North and south, the island was fringed with docks. Here the recovery tugs and fuel tankers were moored, as well as the Swifts' fleet of undersea craft.
Tom had chosen a cargo-hauling jetmarine, named theSwiftsure. It was a larger version of his original two-man jet sub, theOcean Dart. He had given orders the night before to have it ready for sea by morning.
By jeep and truck, Tom's group sped across the island to the dock. Exman was quickly lowered aboard through the sub's hatch. The others followed, the conning-tower hatch was dogged shut, and soon theSwiftsurewas gliding off into the shadowy blue-green depths.
"What's your sailing plan, skipper?" Hank Sterling inquired. The quiet-spoken, square-jawed engineer stood beside Tom at the atomic turbine controls and looked out through the transparent nose of the jetmarine.
"Go slow. Give 'em plenty of chance to pick up our trail," Tom replied.
For two hours they cruised at moderate speed. Nothing happened. Disappointed, Tom surfaced and radioed his father for news, after cutting in the automatic scrambling device.
"You're in time for an exciting flash," Mr. Swift reported jubilantly.
"What is it, Dad?"
"An attempt to earthquake New York has just failed!"
Grins broke out on the faces of the crew as they heard Mr. Swift's words come over the loud-speaker. Bud let out a happy whoop.
"That's great, Dad!" Tom said. "Maybe we've got 'em licked on the quake front. No luck so far, though, on our new project."
"Well, keep in touch and let me know at once if anything happens," Mr. Swift urged.
"Right, Dad!" Tom promised.
Again theSwiftsuresubmerged. This time it was only a few minutes before Arv Hanson gave a cry of warning.
"Something on the sonarscope, skipper!"
Bud, Hank, and Chow hastily gathered around the scope to watch. The blip grew larger rapidly. It was clearly another submarine, closing in on a collision course.
Tom put on a burst of speed, as if attempting to outrace their pursuer. But he was careful to gauge his knots by reports from the sonarscope, in order not to widen the gap between the twocraft. There seemed no danger that this would happen, although theSwiftsureraced ahead faster and faster. Still the enemy sub continued to close in like a marauding shark, finally passing Tom's craft.
"Some baby!" Bud muttered respectfully.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a missile streaked across their bow, in plain view through theSwiftsure'stransparent nose. Its foaming wake rocked the jetmarine.
"They're attacking us!" Bud cried out.
Tom slammed shut the turbine throttle, bringing his craft to a gliding halt in the water. At the same time, he switched on the sonarphone.
"Orders to Swift sub!" a voice barked over the set. "Surface and heave to! No tricks, or the next missile will not be across your bow!"
Tom blew his tanks and sent theSwiftsurespearing upward. As the conning tower broke water, Tom and his men swarmed up on deck. Seconds later, a sleek gray enemy submarine knifed into view. Its hatch opened and several men climbed out.
To Tom's amazement, their leader was Samson Narko!
Chow let out a yelp of rage. "Why, you sneakin', double-dyed, bushwhackin' polecat!" the old Westerner bellowed. "We shoulda kept you hawg-tied, 'stead o' lettin' you go free!"
Narko ignored the outburst and raised a megaphoneto his lips. "Hand over your cargo and do it quickly!"
"What cargo?" Tom snapped back. "And what's the meaning of this outrage? You realize this is piracy?"
"I realize you will wind up on the bottom at the slightest show of resistance!" Narko warned menacingly. "You know very well what cargo I refer to! Now do not try our patience!"
Tom and his crew pretended to put up a blustering, indignant front. Chow was especially convincing, with a blistering torrent of salty Texas invectives.
(a submarine attacks the Swiftsure)
Narko's only response was a barked-out order to his men in Brungarian. Quickly the enemy submarine maneuvered closer until the two craftwere almost chockablock. Narko and his men then leaped aboard theSwiftsure, armed with sub-machine guns and automatics.
"I'm warning you, Narko—" Tom began angrily. But Narko cut the young inventor short by a poke in his ribs with the gun muzzle, then issued orders to two of his men to go below.
Moments later, Exman was being hauled up through the hatch and transferred aboard the raider. The Americans glared in angry silence.
"Thanks so much, my stupid friends!" Narko taunted them with a jeering laugh. Then he followed his crewmen as the last one scrambled back to the enemy submarine.
With laughs and waves, they disappeared into its conning tower. The hatch was clamped shut and the raider promptly submerged.
Tom and his men were amazed, but delighted at not having been taken prisoner along with Exman. All of them broke into happy chuckles of relief.
"Wow! That's what I call fast service!" Bud exclaimed.
"It was sure a blamed sight easier'n I expected," Chow said. "Thought fer a while we might end up feedin' the fishes!"
"You put on a real act, Chow!" Tom said, clapping the stout old cook on the back. "Well, they've taken the bait. Now let's hope it pays off—for us!"
The Americans swarmed below again, closed the hatch, and submerged. Tom took his time in bringing the jet pumps up to speed. "Wonder if we should pretend to proceed on course, or turn around and head for home?" he murmured to Hank.
Hank's reply was cut short by a yell from Hanson at the sonarphone.
"Missile coming, skipper! Straight at us!"