Tom Swift and His Spectromarine Selector (12 page)

"Huh? With
what?"
Doc stared after the young inventor. His surprise changed to bewilderment when he saw the spectromarine selector rolling up to the
Fathomer
on its tractor treads! Tom waved from the platform steering wheel and pointed at a spot in from of the cannon’s intake.

"Good night! What’s he intending to do?" Zimby muttered, as puzzled as everyone else.

"I don’t know," Doc Simpson replied, "but whatever he’s up to, Tom usually has a good reason for it. Help me get Brian out there, Zim!"

Between them, Doc and Zimby assisted the almost frantic officer out through the air lock. The Navy man could barely walk and was on the verge of delirium, his skin blood-red and becoming swollen.

"This may be risky," Tom warned Brian, "but if it’s a fungus that’s causing your rash, I believe the cannon may be able to remove it. Are you game to try?"

"I’ll—I’ll try anything!" Fraser gasped. "I don’t think… I can stand this… much…"

"Hold him up!" Tom ordered as he turned his attention to the controls. Without another word, Tom aimed the intake at Fraser’s chest. A faint, purring hum was heard as Tom flicked on the spectrosel at its lowest power and activated his invention.

"It’s working!"
Zimby cried moments later. Doc’s face brightened into a joyful smile.

The ugly scarlet patches were vanishing from Brian’s skin! Tom panned the man’s body up and down, then had Doc and Zimby turn him around. Within a few minutes the poison fungus had been completely removed!

As Doc signaled the good news, Tom shut off power and leapt down from the platform. "How do you feel, Brian?" he asked urgently.

The Navy officer was dazed with relief. "It’s a miracle, Tom! The burning is gone!"

Tom and Zimby watched eagerly as Doc cursorily examined the patient as other members of the crew stood by or peered from the windows of the
Fathomer,
where Miss Gabardine and some others had sought refuge.

Only faintly pinkish areas remained to show where Brian had suffered the fungus attack. Doc straightened up, grinning, and pumped Tom’s arm in a hearty handshake.

"Skipper, you’ve done it!" he reported. "The fastest skin cure on record! That machine of yours has just made medical history!"

Cheers burst from the crewmen’s throats. Tom smiled but wasted no time acknowledging the congratulations from all sides. Ham, Bud, and the other victims were still in urgent need of treatment. One by one, they took their turns under the purring snout of the cannon. In every case, the burning fungus, and the glaze of perspiration sustaining it, were stripped away as if by magic.

"Brand my hide, boss," Chow exulted, trembling with relief, "you’re the rip-snortin’est Injun medicine man I ever did see!"

Tom grinned and tried to hide his own emotion. "I had to do something, Chow, before you got it too. Without the best lil ole range cook this side of Texas, our whole expedition would’ve been plumb ruined!"

"And don’t forget the best copilot this side of Mars!" Bud quipped, gripping his pal’s hand. "What Chow said goes double for me, Tom!"

As a final touch, Doc Simpson applied a cooling ointment to the afflicted men. Two hours later all were well. Tom took some skin scrapings that Doc had procured and headed for the
Deepwing,
to examine them with his instruments.

"Got to discover what that was all about," Tom told Bud, who was walking along beside his chum. "There may be more of that fungus out there. Who knows what else might set it off!"

Professor Centas waved Tom aside for a moment. "I wish took make a contribution from my field of marine biology, Tom. I suggest, a reasonable suggestion, that this fungus or microbial agent is another example of the mutations were are seeing in this part of the ocean. The scientific and medical results, painful though they may be, are priceless!"

"I’ve thought of that, Professor," Tom replied.

Bud noted: "For something priceless, those results are coming at a pretty steep price!"

Later, while he was in the compact laboratory cubicle at work with the Swift Spectroscope, Bud entered. To Tom’s surprise, the dark-haired pilot was followed by Mordo.

"You’d better hear this, skipper," said Bud quietly.

"Is something wrong, Mordo?

Mordo glanced back and forth, clearing his throat. "Forgive me, this is most difficult to say. I could be very wrong in my assumptions. Yet I must share this with you."

"I’ll try not to jump to any conclusions," Tom stated reassuringly, "and this conversation will be confidential. Please speak freely."

"Yes, all right," said the foreigner haltingly. "The Professor… I told you of his worsening condition, his eccentricities. You recall that I mentioned sounds on the phone line, yes? Which he did not wish to acknowledge? There was more that I did
not
say."

The man paused, and Tom urged him to go on.

"At our facility, in France, I have overheard him speaking by telephone to someone with an unfamiliar name, which I took to be a foreign name. That same man paid a visit about a month ago—a tall, very slender American, a crude sort of person. They talked in private for hours, and I was given no real explanation. Professor Centas called him Lannick."

"Not Lannick," Bud grated.
"Longneck!"

When Mordo gave further details, Tom found himself agreeing with Bud. "That sounds like the late Longneck Ebber, all right."

Bud smacked his palm. "So Centas is in league with the Mayday Mob and the Kranjovians!"

Mordo nodded gravely. "I think now that the foundering of the
Hydra-Gaea
was deliberate. The Professor caused himself to come here to this place as a, what do you call?—a
spy—
or worse, even! And the submersible was left for the others to take and use, for their own ends. I say to you, it would not have been hard to install torpedo launchers and such things."

Tom placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. "You’ve said something that was hard to say. I know Professor Centas is your mentor—your friend. But if it will make you feel any better, I already knew."

Bud was thunderstruck! "Come
on!
How long have you known?"

Tom sighed long and deep. "I guess you could say I
knew,
but just didn’t want to
believe.
When I spoke to Arv and Phil the other day, I asked them how the Mayday Mob got its name. Guys, it turns out their MO is to lure victims with fake distress calls! They did it to me with the phony road accident, and—"

"Good night!" Bud exploded. "The bogus emergency of the
Hydra-Gaea!"

"I knew nothing of this," said Mordo.

"A couple other things," continued Tom. "Didn’t you notice, Mordo, how energetic the Professor seemed to be right after the cyanogen problem? He ran to fetch the oxygen tank and mask, but up until then he had been acting rather feeble, probably to make his story of the
Hydra-Gaea
accident extra credible."

"You must be right. I had attributed his lingering weakness to age. Do you think, then, that he caused the poison gas incident?" asked Mordo with wide eyes.

"Not necessarily," Tom responded. "He may have felt he was in danger like everyone else, and momentarily forgot his ‘routine’. And today we got another bit of evidence."

"That one I’ve figured out myself," Bud declared. "He was sitting at the table like everybody else, but now that I think it over, I never did notice him trying even one taste of that chili."

Tom nodded. "And I got to wondering—why didn’t Chow come down with the infection? We know he always samples his concoctions along the way. It suggests that someone added something, maybe the microbes or fungal spores, to Chow’s kettle
after
he had brought it to the table to serve it up."

"This is all a pain to my heart." Mordo rubbed his eyes, then suddenly looked up at Tom. "Yet I know how to give you proof, Mr. Swift!"

"That would be good," said the young inventor. "Even after all this, I still don’t want to make any rash accusations."

"Rash,
huh!" Bud sniped. "Leave the punning to me, genius boy!"

Tom asked Mordo what sort of proof he had. "It is about the infectious agent. In the metal case he took with him from the submersible are many vials taken from the sea vents we visited, samples of deviant, mutated microbial life forms. I think it must have been one of them that he used against you in the food, perhaps not knowing quite how it would affect a human being—but guarding himself nonetheless. The day we arrived I saw that all the padded vial pockets in the case were in use, and all the vials full and sealed. Now, if we go quickly to look inside that case, perhaps something will tell the tale! I know he has not been back to his compartment since lunch."

"We’ll keep it that way," Tom decided. "I’ll ask Lieutenant Fraser to sit down with Centas and ask him for the details of the
Hydra-Gaea
’s capabilities. He’ll be occupied for quite a while."

Not long afterward Mordo led Tom and Bud to the small cabin established for himself and Centas aboard the
Supermanta.
Mordo pulled out the metal case from beneath Centas’s bunk and dialed-in the combination to its lock.

"There, you see?" said Mordo with a tone of despair. "There is your proof!"

One of the vial holders was empty!

"WHAT HAVE you discovered, Mr. Swift?" asked Belam Centas as Tom and Bud came strolling up, interrupting the Professor’s conversation with Brian Fraser inside the
Fathomer.

"Hatching some new medical miracles?" asked Brian with a smile, slightly puzzled. Tom had not yet told him of the reason he had been asked to keep Centas occupied.

Tom grinned. "I’ll leave
that
to Doc Simpson from now on," he replied. "I’ll just stick to running the machinery." The young inventor then turned serious. "To answer your question, Professor, I’ve just been analyzing those specimens of the fungus growth."

"Can you identify it?" Centas asked.

Tom shook his head. "So far as I know, it doesn’t occur on land. The computer files can’t match it. However, I’ve found out one interesting thing—it contains thorium."

"Thorium!"
Fraser whistled in surprise. "Hey, that stuff is radioactive!"

"It sure is." Tom scowled and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Of course we’re dealing here with tiny amounts in the form of organic compounds. Which is pretty unusual, by the way, because thorium doesn’t ordinarily enter into the make-up of living cells. But I think that backs up your hypothesis, Professor. These are mutations created by the evolutionary pressures of this micro-ecology, as you called it."

"Indeed. Delightful! And I might add that the presence of a well-tolerated radioisotope would be a further mutagenic factor."

"I expect you’ll have
plenty
of time to study it, Professor," Bud remarked with a fixed smile.

The conversation broke off as Chow stumped into the big control cabin. The usually good-natured chef wore a grumpy look.

"Something wrong, old-timer?" Tom asked. "I figured you’d be sort of basking in glory after solving our mystery outbreak!"

"Aw, I dunno. Guess I got old-fashioned Texas-type ideers about women," Chow grumbled. "Don’t care fer ’em so
pushy."

"What’s she been up to now?" Bud put in. There was no doubt whom he was referring to!

"Nothin’ really, I s’pose, but that ol’ gal sure does ask a lot o’ questions! Askin’ me about how I cook an’ how I pick out m’ blame vegetables and, y’know—whether I’m wastin’ money! Her and her notebook."

Tom gave the westerner a playful shoulder-punch. "Don’t take it personally, Chow. She’s more, mm,
sensitive
than she lets on. She’s just doing her job."

Chow wasn’t placated one bit. "Wa-aal, what gets a bee on my bunion is when she sorta hints that mebbe I shouldn’t be goin’ along on these here trips o’ yours, Tom. Like she thinks I ain’t smart enough t’ hold my own with you hombres. That’s jest it!"

"Pardner, there’s only one opinion around here that counts, as far as that stuff’s concerned," Tom declared. "Don’t you let that little lady push you around—y’hear?"

"Lady
nothin’!" Chow retorted. "And I tell ya, boss, when it comes to eavesdroppin’ that female galoot’s got ears longer’n a tired mule."

Tom chuckled sympathetically and the cowpoke waddled off, disgusted but reassured. "She’s a problem, all right," he said. "I had a talk with her the other day, and—I’m not so sure she has both oars in the water, frankly."

"Ah, you think this woman might be a danger?" asked Centas, which brought an unseen glare from Bud.

"The Professor may have a point there, Tom," Lieutenant Fraser said. "I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t trust her, not completely. She’s an odd bird, isn’t she?" He glanced at his watch. "Tomorrow afternoon, I think I’ll borrow that sea-radio of yours and talk the matter over with my superiors." He went on to say that he thought the United States should publicly claim Aurum City, and take official steps to guard it from marauders, suggesting that Tom’s father could propose this to the State department and the other government interests involved.

"You may be right, Brian. But first," Tom added, "I’d like to survey this whole undersea area and see how far it extends beyond this canyon. There have to be other ruin sites—the area of those pyramid-mountains, for instance."

"Good plan," agreed Fraser. "That’ll give our government an exact basis for staking its claim."

Presently Tom, Bud, and Fraser walked off, leaving Centas to return to his cabin in the
Supermanta.
The three friends talked quietly of matters that, pending some discussions with the mainland, could not yet be revealed to Aurum City.

Work had gone on apace during the long afternoon under the direction of Hank Sterling, Mel Flagler assisting. Freshly cleaned buildings of gold gleamed all about the three mantacopters as the spectromarine selector worked its way along inside the connected airspaces.

Tom and Bud stood watching the work, soon joined by Chow and Zimby.

Chow exclaimed, "Mighty purty sight, all that there gold!"