Tom Swift and His Space Solartron (7 page)

As Mr. Swift turned to look, the car accelerated rapidly, recklessly, then swung to the left to pass. Hitting at least sixty miles an hour, the car roared alongside, then swung broadside into the path of Bud’s convertible!

Bud slammed on the brakes and tried to swerve off the road. Too late! With a sickening impact of crumpling metal, the red convertible plowed into the SUV, which had skidded to a stop dead ahead.

"Great Scott!" gasped Mr. Swift in horror as Tom cried out Bud’s name.

Only quick action on Tom’s part prevented a second collision. The instant he brought his car to a screeching halt, both be and his father leapt out to aid the others.

"Anyone hurt?"
Tom cried, ripping open the door of the convertible.

There was silence for several seconds, then Bud replied woozily, "I’m okay, I guess."

"Me, too," Ted spoke up. "Banged my head pretty hard. Mother, Ray, are you—?"

Mrs. Spring and Ray reported being shaken up but otherwise uninjured. "I will not cry, I
will not cry!"
uttered Ted’s Mother.

"Me neither, Momma!" Little Ray declared.

"Thank goodness," said Mr. Swift.

"But why did that lunatic driver pull in front of us?" Mrs. Spring asked. "And what happened to him?"

"He ran away," Ted answered. "He jumped out the instant he stopped. I saw him dart off the road into the trees just before we crashed."

"I saw him too. I’ll
bet
it was Hampshire," Bud growled. "But I couldn’t see his face."

"Me neither," Ted added.

Tom got a powerful flashlight of his own invention from a rack in his car and played it back and forth in the direction Ted had indicated. The area bordering the road offered a stand of trees which thinned out into an open field and provided no obvious hiding place.

"That’s funny." Ted frowned. "I’m sure he headed over this way somewhere."

"It’s possible," Tom pointed out, "that he started to the right just to mislead us, and then doubled back across the road behind us." The left side was overgrown with trees and tangled underbrush.

"Wait here," Tom told the others in a low voice. "There’s probably not much chance of finding him, but I’ll take a look." Bud asked him to wait, but Tom waved him back. "Less risk being seen if just one of us goes, flyboy."

Crossing the road, Tom moved cautiously among the trees, probing here and there with his special electronic flashlight, which produced an adjustable spot of illumination without a visible beam. From time to time he turned off the light and paused to listen for the sound of footsteps or other movements, creeping forward on silent feet through the looming shadows.

Suddenly Tom froze in the darkness as his ears caught a murmur of voices.

"We’ve got the guy scared now," a man was saying. "He’ll be coughing up the docs soon enough."

"And then," another voice replied, "we’ll have the Swifts just where we want ’em!"

TOM repressed a surge of anger and focused his attention on locating the men, whose distant, muffled voices he did not recognize. Where were they?

Switching the light back on again, Tom swung his flashlight in all directions. The pinpoint spot revealed nothing except tree trunks and gloomy undergrowth, but after a moment a small LED light flashed on next to the switch. Tom held the flashlight steady. The muttering continued for a time—then ceased abruptly.

Suddenly Tom realized that he was making a target of himself.
Oh—oh! Those guys may be armed!
he reflected, snapping off the flashlight hastily. Though there was no beam, the light-emitter element would have been visible head-on!

Had they spotted him? Were they approaching even now, weapons drawn? The thought made the hairs bristle at the nape of Tom’s neck!

But how to find them in the darkness? Scarcely a ray of moonlight penetrated through the leafy branches overhead. Then a plan occurred to Tom—an old boys-book sort of trick which might fool his unseen enemies. He jammed his flashlight into the crotch of a tree and turned on its light again. Then, moving silently as an Indian scout, he began picking his way toward the spot where the voices had been located. The men remained silent. Tom’s keen senses, the fine-honed senses of an expert experimenter, enabled him to hazard a guess as to their possible location.

He was hoping they might launch an attack of some kind toward the flashlight and thus give themselves away. So far, they had shown no sign of rising to the bait. The silence continued, broken only by the chirp of crickets and other night noises.

Step by step, Tom silently inched his way forward. To his chagrin, his efforts proved fruitless. He came upon broken underbrush which showed where the men had been crouching.

Suddenly a car engine gunned to life. Galvanized into action, Tom rushed toward the road. He was just in time to see a small pickup without lights pull out from among the trees and roar off into the darkness, heading back in the direction of town. Thoroughly disgusted, he retraced his steps toward the scene of the crash.

"Tough luck," Bud greeted him. "We heard the getaway car."

Tom nodded gloomily. "Apparently our little pal had a friend waiting for him—with transportation. Must’ve been following a ways behind all of us." He reported the conversation which he had overheard in the woods.

Bud was furious when he heard from Tom what the men had been saying. "And that’s all you could hear? Man, they might’ve laid out the whole plot for you."

Tom looked at his pal—and grinned. "Maybe they did!"

"Huh? How so?"

The young inventor held up the flashlight in his hand. "You don’t think this is just some kind of common, ordinary flashlight, do you? It carries its own microelectronic directional sound amplifier—a super-ear! I can download the digital recording chip in my lab and listen to my heart’s content."

Bud rolled his eyes jokingly. "Right. Another invention. Every day’s Christmas at Swift Enterprises."

"I wasn’t a full-time genius, though," Tom said regretfully. "I forgot that the sound unit can be switched on separately from the light. Guess I warned them off."

"Someone’s sure out to make trouble for you Swifts," Ted Spring said worriedly to Tom and his father.

Mr. Swift nodded, frowning. "And so far, no clues to his—or their—identity. Despite Hampshire’s attitude and the phone threat that mentioned him, we can’t be sure of his involvement in this attack."

"You’re right, Dad," admitted Tom. "We’ve caused problems before when we’ve jumped to conclusions."

"Yeah," said Bud. "Leave the conclusion-jumping to athletes like me!"

A police car appeared a distance down the road, and Mr. Swift told his son that he had called the police and a tow truck over Tom’s car phone. "After towing Bud’s poor convertible, they can tow this SUV to the station for examination. We’ll find out soon enough whom it belongs to."

As everyone’s attention was diverted by the low siren of the approaching police car, Mrs. Spring, who had been trying to remain calm, now murmured with a tremble in her voice, "Oh, dear, I
knew
we should have stayed home."

Ted approach his mother and threw and arm about her. "Now don’t worry," Ted soothed Mrs. Spring. "This is all gonna work out. I’ve called a taxi to pick us up and take us the rest of the way, and the Swifts will follow behind. I’m sure the police will escort us, too."

"All right, Teddy." She sighed, stretching tall to give him a kiss on the cheek. "But do take care of yourself while we’re up north."

"And
I’ll
take care of Momma!" Ray promised.

Tom, overhearing, said, "That’s the spirit!" Ted smiled as the youngster shook hands with everyone.

Finally safe behind the gates of Enterprises, the two passengers were helped aboard the helicopter—Ray filled with excitement at his first whirlybird flight. They were soon joined by Harlan Ames, who would direct them, and by Gil Muir, an experienced pilot. Moments later, the craft soared aloft and disappeared northward into the night sky.

Bud had accompanied the Springs in the taxi, rather than riding along with his towed car. "My mechanic knows what to do," he told Ted. "Right now Enterprises is where the action is."

"You can stay in the other part of the bungalow duplex, flyboy," Tom offered. "Dad and I are heading home. Been quite a night!"

"Glad to have you stick around and keep me company, Bud," Ted remarked. "You can be my lookout for prowling transformer pots!"

At the plant the next morning the first order of business was to call the Ames cabin at the lake. As soon as Tom had ascertained that all was well, he accompanied Bud and Ted to the Enterprises infirmary and went inside with them. He wanted to make certain that the car crash had left no hidden injuries.

"You guys must think I’m not busy enough around here," said Doc Simpson with a wry smile. As he made his examinations, he listened to their account of the night’s adventure and their suspicion that Hampshire might be the instigator of the accident.

"In case there’s any danger that one of you might fall into the hands of this fellow Hampshire or whoever’s behind this rough stuff," Doc said thoughtfully, "it might be wise to take precautions."

"Do you have something special in mind?" Tom asked.

"Yes. As you know, there are certain drugs which can be given to make a person talk, even against his will," Doc Simpson began. "We call them truth serums. They’ve been around for decades, but some of the new formulas are the sorts of things you don’t want to fool around with."

Bud snorted skeptically. "I thought all that was just in old movies on cable TV!"

"It isn’t. Now, if Hampshire or someone else
did
capture one of you, he might administer such a drug to force you to reveal whatever it is he’s really after."

"That’s so," agreed Tom. "For all we know, foreign agents could be back of all this. If they learned the details of some of our projects, it could even endanger our national security."

"All the more reason to take no chances," Doc urged. "You’ve allowed me to play scientist here at Enterprises as well as physician, and I’ve been developing a serum to counteract such ‘truth’ drugs. If you like, I could give you all a shot of it right now. I’m violating a few rules, but I’ve tested the stuff thoroughly and it’s perfectly safe."

"An
antitruth
serum?" Bud repeated. "Tom, I think that’s a good suggestion."

Tom agreed, as did Ted, so all three bared their arms. A nurse swabbed their skin with alcohol, and Doe Simpson then administered the serum by hypodermic needle.

"Boy, we didn’t know what we were getting into," Ted Spring grinned as he rolled down his shirt sleeve. "Next time, I’ll keep my bumps to myself!"

Simpson chuckled. "Blame your boss. I cooked up the serum from some of the rare herbs used by the villagers in Borukundi." He referred to the adventure recorded in
Tom Swift in The Caves of Nuclear Fire.

As Bud sat down for his shot, Tom left the infirmary and headed to the plant administration building, stopping in Harlan Ames’s office. Ames had helicoptered back to Shopton the previous night.

"I don’t like any of this," said Ames. "For gosh sake, Tom, watch your step."

"Have you heard anything about that car?" Tom asked the security chief.

"Yes, I talked with Shopton P.D. a while ago. The car was reported stolen off a dealership lot in Hartford two days ago. No usable prints inside. This was all carefully planned."

"Has the legal office been in touch with Hampshire?"

"He’s not returned their calls yet, though his office says he’s been receiving the messages."

Tom shook his head, frustrated. "Maybe we’ll know more after I’ve had a chance to study those digital recordings I made last night. How about that pueblo site and the antenna business?"

"The New Mexico authorities say they want to deal with it—it’s their jurisdiction," Ames replied. "But if we don’t get results soon… well, I’ve been known to cut bureaucratic corners now and then!"

Tom laughed.
"Now
I feel hopeful!"

In their shared office next door to Harlan Ames, Tom and his father conferred on the technical papers to appear on the new Enterprises website for its debut.

"Looks like a swell first ‘issue’, Dad," Tom remarked enthusiastically.

"Yes indeed, son," said Mr. Swift. "I think we can all be proud of
ForeSite.
You know, Tom, this has been a dream of mine ever since John Sterling and I founded Swift Enterprises. I look forward to the day when scientists all over the world can exchange their findings freely for the good of mankind."

Tom, too, cherished the same dream. "I’m sure that day will come, Dad," he asserted.

Gathering up the papers, he turned them over to a young secretary to be taken to the plant’s data-entry office. Miss Warner was substituting for the vacationing regular secretary, Munford Trent.

Tom went down to his main personal lab—his "thinkin’ hole"—and phoned Arv Hanson, asking him to join him there. Arv, a six-foot-four Scandinavian, was the Swifts’ chief modelmaking engineer. However much he resembled a lumberjack at first impression, Arv was fine precision craftsman. He turned out the delicately tooled models and working prototypes of all the Swifts’ major inventions.

"What cooks, skipper?" asked Arv as he walked in. "Something new on your matter maker?"

"Special job I’d like you to handle," Tom replied. "Sit down, Arv."

He briefed the engineer on the tests of the solartron, telling of the need for a tremendous supply of energy to operate it. "For the time being, I’ll be continuing my experiments at the space station," Tom went on, "using the solar battery manufacturing setup. Since I’ll be up in space, I’ll be able to test Matty full-throttle. That’s where you come in."

"What do you have in mind?" Arv asked.

"As you know, the machine uses free hydrogen atoms as the raw material out of which it makes oxygen and other substances. At the Citadel I used tanked hydrogen, but I’m anxious to try out my idea for an ‘atom gatherer’ to be used in space." Tom went on to explain that even in the thick of the "solar wind" of hydrogen continuously streaming from the sun’s inferno, the atoms were so widely dispersed that it would take great lengths of time to collect a sufficient number to convert to a usable volume of air for breathing. "The solar wind barely makes a dent in the vacuum of space."