Tom Swift and His Cosmotron Express (9 page)

Bud’s intercommed voice interrupted the scientific conclave. "
Skipper, we’re starting farside traverse
."

"Come on," said Tom to his companion. "Let’s go solve our number
one
space mystery!

THE
Challenger
, now in lunar orbit, had commenced its passage over the side of the moon never seen directly from the surface of the earth. In the control compartment the team of astronauts watched their blue planet sink below the lunar horizon.

"Useta think the other side o’ the moon was dark all the time," remarked Chow. "But there’s the ol’ sun right up in the sky—if y’ wanna call it
sky
—and as much sunshine as Texas."

"The farside’s only dark to
Earth
-shine, pardner," Bud noted.

At the secondary science station, separated from the main control board, Tom began to extend and adjust the various instrumental antennas, including the telespectrometers built into the repelatron dishes. "We’ve used this sort of space-tracking method before," commented the young inventor quietly. "But by now the solar wind has thoroughly dispersed any loose atoms from the
Dyaune
or its propulsion tail."

After scanning local space for a half-hour, Tom concluded that his pessimism was justified. "Nothing definite," he reported. "Let’s switch to the duo-phased X-raser sweep you came up with, Andy."

Emda nodded tensely. "You should be able to pick up chains of entrained exhaust ions if the ship left orbit for deep space."

"Wouldn’t X-rays just go right through them?" objected Sue.

"Not in this case, my dear," was Emda’s reply. "The particles will become energized and ‘phone home’."

But after several minutes Bud said, "Great in theory, Andy, but our phone isn’t ringing."

The Brungarian-American’s brow creased. "And so the mystery deepens. Did they get gobbled by space termites?"

"Mebbe they wudden out there in the
first
place," said Chow suspiciously. "I mean—we’re just up here b’cause of what somebody
said
, am I right?"

"Sounds like you don’t much trust my ancestral homeland," said Emda smoothly. "Of course, they
do
talk a little funny, Chow. Do I? But hey, I’m from Texas."

"Sure," conceded the cook. "We’re
s’posed
to talk a little funny."

"Let’s remember that this has all been confirmed by our own government as well," Tom said firmly. "The
Dyaune
—or something that looked a lot like her—was in orbit about the moon. Something happened, and it wasn’t termites."

"Well," Bud put in humorously, "let’s not jump to conclusions."

Tom smiled. "Let’s start surveying the surface. I’m afraid the most likely scenario is that the
Dyaune
has crashed."

"They might have landed intentionally and established a base," said Andy.

"If they did," Tom responded, "Volj may be acting on his own."

"Right. Both governments have reason to think the main Sentimentalist leadership is as baffled as the rest of us."

Tom and Bud exchanged hidden glances as Emda spoke. Tom’s visit from Ikyoris and Vrysoff seemed to confirm the state of the Sentimentalists’ knowledge. But how much had Emda been told?

They now truncated their orbit, the
Challenger
holding position at a great altitude, suspended on its repelatron beams. After making some adjustments and recalibrations with Susan Fresnell’s help, Tom scanned the surface below with his instruments, horizon to horizon.

"Don’t see a blame thing down there," stated Chow, standing at one of the big viewports and leaning over. "If the rocket blew up, you’d think there’d be a big char mark fer miles around—a big black
brand
."

"We scanned the surface along the presumed orbital path back at Enterprises, with the megascope," Tom noted. "But that was only a quick visual survey with the viewpoint terminus at high altitude. The
Dyaune
may have taken a different trajectory while it was out of sight. Or it may have landed safely—no char mark." He turned away from his readout panel, toward Bud. "Flyboy, I’m not detecting anything below. Take us on to our next survey point."

"Roger."

Hours passed as the ship crawled along in space. Finally Tom rose to his feet and stretched. "We’re not getting anywhere. I knew it wasn’t very likely—the moon’s a big place!—but I was hoping we’d pick up some kind of diffuse molecular trail or a remnant of a usable energy signature. Something."

"You did your best, Tom," said Sue. "But I’m frustrated too. My little bit of expertise didn’t amount to much, I’m afraid."

"We all did a noble job," Emda declared. "Including you, Chow—great snack support."

"Er—right nice t’ hear," responded Chow, suspicion at war with vanity.

Bud asked what came next. Tom shrugged. "I guess we report failure and cruise back to Fearing. But first—I’d like to take some G-wave readings from this position, with both Earth and Moon ‘behind’ us."

"Good idea, Skipper," nodded Bud, adding: "Not that I’d know a good idea from a bad one when it comes to space G-waves!"

The
Challenger
hung immobilely in the sun-stark blackness for another half hour as Tom’s device recorded its data. Presently Bud guided the ship around the lunar edge and the homeward trek commenced.

"How about you, Andy?" inquired Susan. "Will you be leaving Enterprises right away?"

Emda shook his head. "Nope. I’ve been asked to provide some security support at the plant—dang nasty spies may be hanging around. My knowledge of the Sentimentalists and their habits—and faces!—may be useful. Maybe. Somehow. At least that’s what I’ve been asked to do."

Susan Fresnell’s face had clouded. "Spies? You mean people connected with the
Dyaune
’s disappearance may be on the grounds of Enterprises?"

"I wish I had an invention for every time we’ve had to deal with a turncoat inside our nice big walls," said Tom ruefully. "Good night, all the work Harlan and Phil put into it!—and nothing seems to stop these plotters."

"They’d have to have one of the workforce amulets to sneak around undetected," mused Susan. The group knew the plant grounds were protected by a sophisticated radar system, called the patrolscope, that registered any moving target not carrying the wristwatch-sized authorized-personnel transponder. "Tom, what if it’s
not
an outsider? What if it’s someone already authorized to carry one of the amulets?"

"We’ve taken precautions, by means of special individualized signal coding, to prevent bootlegging of the amulets," Tom replied. "So a ‘turned’ employee may well be the most likely alternative, Sue. We know agents from some group—they’re at least
pretending
to be part of Volj’s Sentimentalists—got hold of the Wickliffe
Viper Spirit
plans and came up with the
Fire Fury
. And Wickliffe Laboratories has its own protective technology." He kept quiet some further thoughts:
And they were able to get access to the neutralizer coils allowing them to approach our house without tripping the magnetic field alarm system!

"The Sentimentalists have become experts in making inroads and bribing—or threatening—otherwise loyal employees," said Emda. "I’ve watched them do it."

"Not everyone is corruptible," declared Bud quietly.

"Jest takes one bad apple, Buddy Boy, t’ give home to a worm," Chow reminded his friend.

Andor Emda was frowning thoughtfully. He glanced up with an apologetic glance, half amused at himself. "I have no love for Nattan Volj or his henchmen," he said. "They’re murderers and potential terrorists, willing to do whatever it takes to reestablish the Party and their former positions of power. Yet... there’s something about being an astronaut, being part of a team here in space. A part of me wants them rescued. And
all
of me wants to know what happened."

"I’ll give a big hey
-yo
t’
that
," Chow put in. "All o’
me
wants to know it too."

"And
that’s
a pretty big
all
," gibed Bud.

Earth expanded ahead of them, then beneath them, by the hour. As they passed the 10,000 mile mark, the communicator indicated an incoming message. "From the Fearing Island cartridge," Bud noted. He handed the mike to the Private Ear Radio system to his pal, who accessed the cartridge with the matched quantum matrix.

"
Challenger
. This is Tom."

"It’s Quezeda, Tom," came the familiar voice of Fearing’s controller of space missions. "Got some disturbing news to pass on to you."

Tom exchanged alarmed glances with his friends. "What is it?"

"It’s about your friend, Violet Wohl." Hearing the name, Tom’s heart sank. Violet Wohl-Jatczak, recently wed, was chief physician and key medical researcher for the American settlement on Nestria, Earth’s tiny companion moonlet. Amos Quezeda continued, "As you know, Dr. Wohl was in vacation turnaround, returning earthside for three weeks. She was en route to the space outpost in one of the little transit-crafts..."

Bud’s face said:
I know what’s coming!

"During final orbit maneuvers the shuttle capsule went silent, and we couldn’t pick her up on radar, neither Fearing nor the outpost. No debris, no sign of a problem—
nothing
, Tom!"

"Who else was aboard?"

"A couple of the internationals: a Greek chemist and, I think, one of the Russians. Her husband, Dr. Jatczak—"

"I know," Tom interrupted impatiently. "He has to remain on Nestria because of his heart condition. Have you informed him?"

"Yes, boss, right after talking to your father. He’s—"

"I can imagine, Amos. It’s awful... Look, we’ll delay our landing and do some scouting around in the
Chal
."

"That was the main purpose of my call. I’ll transmit coordinates and other info to you immediately."

For hours the great spaceship retraced the path of Doc Vi’s shuttle capsule, spending much time at the calculated point of disappearance. The detectors scanned and strained to the limit.

"But there’s nothing out there to detect," Tom stated bitterly. "Nothing! Two dead-ends for us—and they’re striking a lot closer to home!"

STANDING behind Tom, Andor Emda put a hand on the young astronaut’s shoulder. "Tom, I have something to say that I very much don’t want to say."

Tom turned. "I’ve probably already thought of it, Andy."

"It wasn’t so long ago that you were dealing with the problem of the antimatter barrier around Nestria," Emda said quietly. "I have no idea how much of the
Asteroid Pirates
fictionalization was based upon truth—but we folks in the world of secrets all know that there really is an international dealer and terrorist, call him the Black Cobra or what you will, who was able to mine anti-Diracinium from the African mountain. He surely retained some small reservoir of the material."

Tom nodded.

"The Sentimentalists had contact with the man and his organization, though I wasn’t part of that business. I know he offered his—services—at some insane price, which Volj and the others rejected. It’s my understanding that the man, genius though he may be, is a delusional psychotic."

"It’s his day job," Bud commented.

"He’s known to avenge himself against those who offend his imperial dignity by turning down his offers. What if he used his methods to destroy Volj and the
Dyaune
, utterly destroy them with antimatter—and then take revenge against you and Enterprises by—"

"You don’t need to go on," Tom interrupted.

"There’s a big problem with your theory," declared Bob Jeffers. "Namely the fact that the man who calls himself the Black Cobra is dead—confirmed dead."

"An’ that’s mighty dead," added Chow. "Don’t come back from
thet
one, not when they got hold o’ your teeth."

Bud spoke up, all humor gone from his face. "He may be dead, but he had a pretty big organization. And they have spaceflight capabilities."

"But wait," protested Sue. "Antimatter!—that kind of destructive reaction would cause a massive burst of energy."

Emda shrugged. "It might apply to the
Dyaune
event, though. If it happened on the farside—"

"It would leave radioactive byproducts for thousands of miles around, including on the lunar surface," she persisted. "We detected nothing of that."

"You’re right," Tom pronounced. "And that’s why I’ve dismissed that alternative. But there’s another possibility. The man created the antimatter barrier around Nestria with the ultimate goal of studying the Space Friends’ technology and getting his hands on an even greater destructive force."

"Right, Skipper," said Bud. "You call it the deatomization effect."

"Complete nonthermal, nonradioactive disintegration of atoms—a flash of light and
nothing’s
left. Not a trace! We don’t understand how it works. Look," Tom continued tensely, "the effect is mediated in some way by Lunite metal, product of Nestria. We know that, somehow or other, the gang flying around in the
Fire Fury
got ahold of another rare material, Neo-Aurium. It may be that the remnants of the Cobra’s organization were the original suppliers of Neo-Aurium to the Sentimentalists—that could have been part of the deal that went bad. So now they’re using a second contraband material that they’ve acquired, Lunite, to terrorize both the Sentimentalists and Swift Enterprises."

"Doesn’t he always leave a calling card?" asked Jeffers.

"His henchmen might’ve abandoned that courtesy."

Andy suddenly shook his head. "I’m sorry I raised the possibility, guys. It doesn’t really make sense, now that I think it over. Those messages on the slugs, the flyover—why would they—"

He stopped as Tom suddenly leaned forward, wiping a hand across his eyes. "
Collateral damage,
" he murmured. "
Everyone’s
a target of—madness. I’ve got to... think."

"Sure, Tom," said Bud. "It’s what you do best."

Tom looked up at his pal. "It’s the only thing I do. Maybe it’s the only thing I
can
do."