Tom Swift and His Spectromarine Selector (16 page)

"So someone’s out there armed and dangerous," pronounced Tom in near despair. "He could start picking us off any time."

"But you can still send out one group of searchers, can you not?" suggested the Professor. "You referred to another weapon, though I did not quite understand you."

"Yes," Tom confirmed, "the electric impulse pistol. We call it an i-gun."

He unlocked a metal armaments cabinet and withdrew a pistol-shaped device, handing it to Centas to examine. "It appears quite deadly," muttered the scientist. "You say it is electrical?"

"It has a solar battery inside for power."

Bud said, "Let’s give him a demonstration!" He found a scrap of cardboard and held it out at arm’s length, standing across the cabin in front of a blank bulkhead. "Go ahead, skipper."

Tom carefully aimed the i-gun and depressed its trigger-button. Instantly a round burn mark appeared on the cardboard. "And that’s at low power," Tom commented to the Professor.

"Most impressive!" declared Centas.

"I don’t like the idea of using a single patrol," said Fraser, picking up the discussion. "But it’d be worth it if I could find the stowaway—if that’s what he is—who took my revolver."

As the group straggled out the hatchway, Tom said, "Even two guns won’t count for much if the
Hydra-Gaea
starts in on the canyon walls with explosives."

"It is my understanding, Tom Swift, that you are a dependable fount of ideas," Mordo commented with a smile.

"Whyn’t we jest go up there in one o’ the subs and ram ’em, like you did that sea serpent?" suggested Chow.

But Tom politely squelched the idea. "I’m sure they’ve set up various sensor devices in the channel. Even our Tomasite coatings won’t block all of them."

"Yeah," sighed Bud. "And I suppose we’d set them off even if we tried to escape in a Fat Man suit."

"Now wait jest a second!" interrupted Chow abruptly. "Got me another one—that’s two in one day!"

"We’re all ears," Fraser said.

Chow screwed up his forehead almost all the way to his nonexistent hairline. "Struck me just now like a bell. They’s more’n one way outa this here canyon!"

Bud shrugged his broad shoulders. "Right, that gash we came through the first time, in the
Ocean Arrow.
But all that falling junk blocked it off—it looked like the cliffsides had collapsed together. There isn’t even an opening at the top any more."

"Shor, buddy boy, I know that’s what you all saw the other week, but lissen. Mebbe a feller could work his way around some o’ them big boulders in a Fat Man suit, y’see? If he could get up to th’ surface, he could radio fer help—call in the Navy or somethin’ afore the Kranjovian subs get here!"

Tom was silent. Lieutenant Fraser said, "Good thought, but it wouldn’t work. The
Hydra-Gaea
has all manner of long range detectors—"

"Correct," declared Centas. "Very sophisticated devices."

"And so," Brian concluded, "they’d easily pick up a Fat Man trying to jet away, and snag it with a torpedo. No way you could outrun it with those piddly little suit jets."

Tom suddenly spoke. "That’s true, but Chow’s idea got me thinking. We do have an undersea vehicle available to us with a much more powerful propulsion system!"

"Sure—the mantas. But they couldn’t fit through that little crack in the cliffs," Bud objected. "Much less between the boulders and junk."

"I’m not talking about the mantas," Tom grinned in excitement. "We could escape in the Oc
ean Arrow!"

After a moment of stunned, staring silence, Bud said: "You’ve lost me, pal. The
Arrow
’s back in her berth on Fearing Island with the other seacops."

"Yup—but not all of her!" exclaimed the young inventor as the others looked on in puzzlement. "Don’t you get it? Somewhere down beneath this seamount is the section we had to jettison and abandon!"

"Well… yeah…" Bud said dubiously. Noting the query on Brian’s face, Bud explained that during the original expedition, the
Ocean Arrow
had been pinned down in the narrow crack by falling rock. "We were stuck on a ledge next to some big hole in the sea floor, and one of the two compartments was flooded, so we didn’t have any buoyancy."

"Uh-huh," Chow put in. "We slipped off’n the ledge and were way down in that hole afore we could set loose our half o’ the ship and float ourselves up."

"But the flooded compartment is still down there," Tom said. "We could descend to it in a few Fat Men, then use one of the small repelatrons Billy brought us to force out the water. I think I know how to reactivate the electrical system. We wouldn’t have the rotors, which were ruined, but the repelatron bubble would restore buoyancy, and the steam jets are more than powerful enough to keep us ahead of any torpedos from the
Hydra-Gaea!"

"Jetz!" gasped Bud.

"Brand my sea snakes!" Chow echoed.

"As for me, I’ll just say—let’s get going!" urged Brian with a big grin.

They returned to the
Fathomer
and commenced detailed planning. "We’ll go in four of the Fat Man suits—me, Bud, Arv Hanson, and Hank Sterling."

Lieutenant Fraser frowned. "I realize that you’re selecting your best technicians, but may I suggest making me one of the four? Even though Drozhal knows English, it might assist you to have someone on your side who speaks Kranjov. And besides, the presence of an officer of the United States Navy might count for something if they’re debating whether to attack us." Agreeing with this logic, Tom put Brian in place of Arv.

Tom decided to tell only a few key members of his crew about the daring, dangerous plan, knowing the result—good or bad—would speak for itself. When Bud pointed out that Professor Centas already knew of the basics, his chum could only shrug. "It can’t be helped now. I don’t think he has any means to contact the
H-G
from down here, not with that twisty channel blocking sonar-type communications. But there
is
another danger on my mind."

"What?"

"Though I agree with what Brian said, he managed to make a place for himself in this ploy—and I’m not entirely sure he’s trustworthy. We have only his word about that canister business."

"Yeah, I know." Bud gave forth an eloquent groan. "Seems to me this particular Tom Swift adventure is getting just a bit too grim!"

Hours later the desperate venture got underway. Four Fat Men trudged underwater across Aurum City toward the narrow cliffside opening, Tom in the lead. Bud and Hank carried the small repelatron between them.

Reaching the cliff they paused, and Fraser sonophoned: "Can we really fit through that pass, Tom?" Rock and debris not only choked the fissure, but fanned out in front of it in heaps.

"I can make out a route higher up," Tom replied. "I just hope it goes all the way to the abyss. Let’s go in."

They made their way along for some time, often single file, the darkness relieved by their suit lights. At one point it seemed they could go no further, but Tom ordered the repelatron switched on at low power. As its compressed air reservoir filled the expanding bubble, the bubble’s periphery touched the pile of debris—and suddenly a big boulder shifted position, revealing enough space for the team to continue.

"Take away the water pressure on one side, and the other side’ll work for us," Tom explained, leading his fellows forward.

They came upon their goal without warning. Tom called a halt. "I’m almost at the edge of the fissure," he sonophoned. "Looks like it’s still wide open, as far down as my beam can go." He chuckled. "Walk this way, boys!"

With their suit buoyancy devices set a shade below neutral, the foursome slowly descended down, down, down through the darkness.

"We’ve got to be below the point where the compartment broke loose," Bud signaled Tom.

"Yep. My suit mini-sonar shows a bottom, two-twenty feet more. Increase buoyancy, guys. We’ll use our jets for the final maneuvers."

"Hey, I see it!" cried Hank.

The scarlet half-hull of Tom’s first diving seacopter was scratched, scraped, and dented, but generally intact, resting at a sharp angle on its nose. After a brief survey, the four used the powerful motorized muscles of their suit arms to overbalance and level the compact subcraft. The repelatron was attached to the top of the hull by suction mounts and activated. As Tom slowly increased its power, the big bubble grew until it encompassed not only the half-saucer of the
Arrow
, but most of the bottom of the crevice.

"Lava rock," murmured Hank. "This must be part of an extinct volcano."

"We’ll explore it some other time, Hank. You free next Tuesday?" gibed Bud.

When the air inside the bubble had reached a breathable minimum, the four shed their Fat Man suits, which were far too bulky to fit through the
Arrow
’s hatchway. They walked over in shirtsleeves and pried it open mechanically.

"The water level’s fallen already," Tom reported. "The repelatron is forcing it out of the cabin the same way it came in." At last the small control compartment was almost totally dry, and Tom began to work on restoring the electrical system, Hank assisting. He was able to verify that the small atomic pile was still functioning and had not been breached.

The work was arduous and complicated, but its completion was announced by the cabin lights suddenly coming to life. "We’re in business!" Bud cheered.

Tom wiped his brow. "We sure are, flyboy. But hold off the celebrating. The real rough stuff still lies ahead!" At Tom’s direction Bud and Hank went topside and worked the repelatron down through the hatchway. It barely fit. In the cabin Tom bolted the unit securely to the deck.

"Those bolts look pretty strong," remarked Fraser.

"They have to be," Tom explained. "The machine itself receives back all the lift-force from the buoyancy of the air bubble. If we don’t secure it to the seacop frame, it’ll go through the roof and leave us stranded."

Tom ran a test of the of the gimballed steam-thrust jets beneath the hull, then gave his comrades a look that said:
Here we go!
He boosted power to the repelatron, sending the bubble walls out even further.

There was a creak from the bolts holding the machine in place, and the seacopter shifted slightly. "A little more," Tom muttered.

The
Arrow
suddenly made a leap upward!
"We’re off!"
Hank cried.

Tom tried to adjust the radius of the bubble to diminish its lift-buoyancy to a bare minimum. "We’ll crash hard enough against the sides as it is," he said. And they did.

"Those windows are
unbreakable
—right?" asked Lieutenant Fraser nervously after a screeching jolt.

"Well," Bud replied, "they always were
before!"

In minutes they had risen through the mouth of the well-like abyss and were floating in the channel between the cliffs. Tom played the aqualamp in all directions. "I don’t see a way through, skipper," Hank stated. "All those gaps between the boulders are way too narrow."

Tom smiled tensely. "Don’t underestimate my way with rocks, Hank." Bobbing about and maneuvering with the steam jets, Tom extended the bubble over several spots that looked promising. Finally his technique met with success! Several midsized boulders and bits of rubble suddenly burst outward and tumbled down into the chasm, leaving a clear space broad enough for the stripped-down
Ocean Arrow.

"The rest of the way looks pretty open," Tom announced happily.

In minutes they floated at the entrance to the channel, the aqualamp on a setting that made it invisible outside the control cabin.

"Nothing in view," Hank reported from the sonarscope console. "The
Hydra-Gaea
must be low on the other side of the hump of the seamount."

"They can’t see us, we can’t see them," stated Fraser. "Let’s lay rubber, guys."

Tom’s answer was to pull back the jet control lever. The
Ocean Arrow
’s answer was to zoom off horizontally with an enormous thrust and a trail of superhot bubbles. The fleeing oceannauts struggled to hold on against the kick of acceleration.

"D-Don’t hold back, Tom!" Bud gulped.

"There she is, skipper!" Hank sang out. "The
H-G
’s on the move, fast!"

"They’ve spotted us," Tom murmured. "We’ve got to pull out of their torpedo range."

The two super-scientific subs were now locked in a deadly race, the
Arrow
taking the lead as the undersea crags fled past the viewpane.

"How’re we doin’, Hank?" called Bud.

"We’re pulling away," the engineer announced. "They can’t keep up with us in that tub."

"But we’re still in the danger zone," warned Brian. "Can you take her to the surface, Tom?"

"If I expand the bubble too much, it’ll take the jets out of the water and they’ll choke," he replied. "We’ll stop dead!"

Hank suddenly burst forth with a cry of dismay.
"Torpedos!"

"How many?"

"Three on our tail!"

With a gasp Tom slightly decreased the repelatron force, shrinking the radius of the bubble by a couple feet.
That’ll give us less cross-section and less resistance,
he thought. The seacopter accelerated slightly.

"Not enough, Tom," said Bud quietly in his pal’s ear. "They’re still closing the gap."

"We’re at maximum thrust. I can’t wring out any more—" Tom interrupted himself, shooting Bud a wild glance and yelling:

"Grab ahold, everybody—you’ll be thrown forward!"

"Forward?"
repeated Fraser. "What in the—"

The young inventor slammed power into the repelatron! The shining sphere around the seacop burst out in all directions, further and further, to a radius of seventy feet. Instantly the
Arrow
dragged to a near stop—but began to buoy upward rapidly.

"The torpedos are compensating," Hank warned. "But—not fast enough!"

The crew caught a glimpse of first one torpedo, then another, hurtling past at a lower level. In moments the seacopter rocked from a pair of distant concussions.

"Two down!" exulted Brian. "What about the third?"

"I think the trailing one’s been able to zero in on us," Hank breathed. "Tom, it’s barely four hundred feet behind, and closing. Seconds to go!"