Tom Swift and the Visitor From Planet X (13 page)

Thinking of the X-ians, Tom asked: "Do you mean some further outside group is involved? A group feeding these foreigners information and—"

"No!" Oldmother interrupted. "A person—
one
person. Yet..." He sat looking off toward the wall, as if listening to something intently. "Yet the way I’m putting it is not quite correct. What sort of person can this be? He is helpless. He knows not what he does. The Lightning Men hold him in a coffin. He can’t move."

"A
coffin?"

"He lies quietly. No pain. A kind of sleep? Perhaps. The Lightning Men come to awaken him. They want to steal from him the key, the key to shaking the earth. The earthquakes!—it was the Lightning Men who called them forth." He looked away again, as if he were falling into some sort of trance. Suddenly his expression changed! He gasped and erupted in a startled voice. "No! Who are you?
Let me speak!
More are to come, Tom. More of the earthquakes. But not here. That one they moved back. Because you fell into the hole. Then you turned the key. They panicked and had to run. No, not here,
not yet.
But others are coming. Yes, another one, soon, Tom!" Oldmother shook his head violently, as if to clear it—almost as if to free himself from it. "The man in uniform speaks to the man in the dark suit. President!
We can take out the other one afterwards.
He is saying it, the uniformed man. Can you hear? Vol, volka... In the language of the Lightning Men, their country, broom, brunt.
Only one can be permitted,
the President in the dark suit says to—why, it’s the Man in the Moon! The one who speaks is the man on the news, Samson Narko, the leader. Commanding the other, in uniform, who is
always standing next to him.
Standing next. The apple falls from the tree.
This is how it starts, he’s trying to hypnotize me.
Burden of secrets. –No, I’ve lost the thread. Back, back. I should say, very clear now, another earthquake will happen. It will happen, Tom."

"Now you’re doing what you said you couldn’t do, Mr. Oldmother," said Tom. "You’re predicting the future."

But the so-called Eldrich Oldmother shook his head. "It’s not in the future, but
now.
Oh!" he interrupted himself. "That’s who’s here. The fish! Watching on the hillside, the fish you pulled up on the line.
To think that I was permitted to see this marvel, to see it even now!"

"You were speaking of the earthquakes," Tom reminded the man.

"Was I?
Someone
was. Yes indeed.
Now.
The plan exists
now.
Narko has already given the words. A time and a day are set for it. A place is on their map, with a circle, a big circle... No, I don’t know why I’m thinking of a circle. Many circles."

Tom stiffened and had to force himself to stop gripping the edge of the table.
Circles!

"The place is marked.
You can stop it, Tom.
No, I’m not saying it, the fish is saying it.
Listen to me, Tom! A great wave in the ocean. Sue—two—tsunami!
They shake the bottom of the sea. All for just that one room, secret room, machinery, computers. The Department of Defense. No,
more.
Tax collecting? Silly nonsense."

"Drop the—the prophetic hints!" demanded the young inventor, mouth dry. "Where will the tsunami hit? When is it planned for? Or is this just some weird way to leak information to me, to turn in your confederates while saving your own skin?"

The man’s mood changed again, like the flicking of a TV channel. "Oh well, one can’t compel belief," responded Oldmother calmly. "Take it as you like. I’ve obeyed
my
conscience.
I say again: you can stop it!
Is that it? Yes—Tom Swift can stop it!"

"How?"

"A toy. What is it called? He’s trying to show me." He drew a picture in the air with his finger. "Mm, can’t quite get the name. Round like a ball, with—snakes? Snakes like lightning? Blue fire?—no, I’m off track. It’s so difficult, Tom, trying to speak while he keeps jostling me. The snakes and the fire have to do with a person, but not a man—
a former man?
You mean he’s dead? Coffin... A wick burns with blue fire."

Tom tried desperately to quiet his emotions, not wanting to miss anything—if there were anything of significance in the tumbling chaos of the speaker’s verbiage. "If this is some kind of warning, I don’t follow anything you’re saying, Mr. Oldmother. Please concentrate on the tsunami!"

The prophet again attended to whatever voice and vision came to him. "I’m confusing things, mixing them together. That’s what it’s like, to think, to think as a man—as the visitor knows now." Ignoring Tom’s startled stare, Oldmother plunged on, voice becoming hoarse. "The toy is a little thing, round, something in the middle that whirls, whirls. Round on all sides, you see. Oh?
—can’t fall?
Tiny. But there is a large one, a huge one. That’s the one that will..." Suddenly, with a moan, he lowered his head into his hands. "I’m sorry, Tom.
Enough for my blurry brain!
—my head hurts. I have to stop. I’ll go now. I have to."

He rose shakily to his feet, and Tom rose too, trembling with emotion and dread. "Sir, if there really is anything in what you’ve said—tell me plainly what it is! Where will the tsunami strike? When?"

Eldrich Oldmother, Prophet and Exemplar, looked blankly at the young man. "What he said was news to me too, you know. I came here to tell you about those foreigners, that’s all. Do you mean—didn’t he tell you? Did I neglect to say his words? Oh dear. Pacific. Mid-coast. Southern California.
Three hours from now!
Perhaps you’d better hurry."

"SKIPPER, you gotta calm down!" urged Bud Barclay. "It’s only
southern
California that’s in danger, you know, not the whole state." He set a warm grip on Tom’s shoulder. "I’m joking because I can’t believe you’re taking this guy seriously. I was inside that church, remember? It’s all just another new-agey nut group, and now the Supreme Nut himself is trying to scam you!"

Tom paced about his office, dreading and doubting. Was a horrible human cataclysm only hours away, something only he himself had the power to prevent? "Bud, he was babbling, but so much of what he said seemed to reflect reality, all distorted and mixed up. He seemed to know things about Exman, the crop circles, the coup leaders in Brungaria—and he called Narko’s second in command the Man in the Moon! Bud, Nattan Volj was up there on the moon with us!"

"So? Oldmother prepared himself, watched the TV news—"

"Wait! Wait a sec." Tom stared intensely at his pal. "When you went scouting the church, you used an alias, didn’t you?"

The youth gave a wry grimace. "Yes, I thought,
wrongly,
that the name Barclay would be so well known—"

"What name did you use?"

"My middle name, Newton. Why?"

"Oldmother referred to an apple falling from a tree.
That’s the story about how Isaac Newton discovered the law of gravity!"

This drove Bud to silence. Then he noted in a faint voice: "And I gave
Ike
as my first name."

"I can’t just dismiss the possibility that somehow Oldmother’s warning is true." Tom resumed his fretful, agonized pacing. "But what can I do, Bud? He said something about a toy, a little round toy that spins..."

"Like a ball?"

Suddenly Tom stopped in midstride. He pointed at the row of intricate models mounted on a display shelf, Arv Hanson’s scale models of his inventions. One model in particular! "Gyroscope! Bud, the spaceship looks like a
gyroscope!"

Bud’s eyes focused on the model of the
Challenger,
the great repelatron-driven craft in which he and Tom had travelled to the moon. The huge ship, several stories high, had a cube-shaped central fuselage ringed on all sides by the rails that bore the parabolic repulsion-force radiators. More than once the overall form had been compared to a gyroscope!

"All right, genius boy. You’re saying that you can somehow use the
Challenger
to stop a huge ocean wave off the California coast. And this ‘prophet’ says it’ll hit in, what, three hours?"

"Now it’s less!"

"So what can you—we—do? The spaceship isn’t even here at Enterprises! It’s parked like usual on Fearing Island off Georgia! Wouldn’t it make more sense to alert the authorities so they can put together an evacuation?"

"An evacuation from where?" Tom demanded sharply. "From San Diego up to Santa Barbara? How far inland will the tsunami go?"

"Yes. I see your point," conceded the youth.

"With so little time, more people would probably lose their lives in a mass panic than could be saved by the warning! No, chum," he persisted, "if there’s anything at all to this business, I’m the one who has to find the way out." He suddenly trotted over to his computer setup. "But just maybe we can narrow down the part of the coast that’s been targeted."

"How?"

"Oldmother mentioned
tax collecting!"
Tom accessed his journal file and quickly typed:
"Informant says tsunami to hit southern California coast this morning. Mention of Defense installations and something to do with Collections. Can you give me a probable location?"

The cursor hesitated for many blinks. Then:

FIXED ASSETS
DAYS TO REMOVE
REDONDO BEACH
BEACH FRONT
CLOSE TO WATERLINE

"Thank goodness!" Tom breathed. Not turning to look up, he muttered, "So far the artificial quakes have been narrowly focused. If the epicenter is close to the coast, the wave may also be narrow."

"Tom," Bud said softly, "I’m sorry. You must be right about Oldmother. I shouldn’t have—"

Tom managed a smile. "Never mind, flyboy."

The young inventor tried to steel his nerves. They seemed to be sparking like a frayed toaster cord! He called the main switchboard and asked to be put through to Amos Quezada at the Enterprises installation on Fearing Island. "Amos, we have an emergency situations—life and death!"

"Talk to me, Tom."

"Is the
Challenger
prepped for suborbital flight?"

"Yes," replied the Flight Command Chief. "It had a thorough going-over after your last return. How soon do you want to lift off?"

Tom told him. Quezada choked—on Tom’s words as well as his own.
"Now?
As in—immediately?"

"Life and death, Amos! Who’s available to fly ’er?"

"Well, umm—I saw Neil MacColter this morning. I suppose—"

"Don’t suppose, please. Can you commit to me that you’ll have him in the control cabin and ready to go in fifteen?"

"Absolutely." All querulousness was gone from the man’s voice. "Destination?"

"Swift Enterprises!" responded Tom. "Shoot-the-chute suborbital path. Have him call me en route."

"Done, chief!"

"Thanks—chief!" Clicking off, Tom turned to Bud. "Boarding in thirty minutes, pal. Go find Hank, will you, Bud? I know Arv is over at the Construction Company this morning."

"Skipper, hold up for just a sec," Bud requested sheepishly. "I need to catch up. You’ve never landed the
Challenger
here at Enterprises. Is there a runway big enough to hold that giant footprint of hers? You know, given the rail overhang?"

His pal snapped off a single brisk nod. "We’ll use the ceramic brick pad we built for the Flying Lab, before we modified the jet lifters."

"That’s great. But what about the weight of the ship? I’m not so sure even those bricks—"

"I’ve thought it through," Tom interrupted. "We’ll use a wide-angle repelatron array to distribute most of her weight over a broad area, as we did that time on the moon when we were trapped in the fissure. She’ll just barely touch the ground. Now—let’s get moving!"

In forty frantic minutes the great
Challenger
spaceship was arcing high above the state of Illinois, touching the ionosphere and aimed at California. Neil MacColter, a veteran Enterprises astronaut, handled the controls, guiding the craft along a smooth and fast suborbital path. Tom, Bud, and Hank Sterling stood next to Neil in the control cabin, gazing through the ship’s big picture windows at the continent rolling below.

"I guess I grasp the general situation, Tom," commented Hank. "I know this is an effort you can’t afford not to try. But I don’t quite see how the
Challenger
’s repelatrons could possibly make a difference. I mean, remember what happened in the Indian Ocean? Those tsunamis are
huge—
thousands of square miles!"

Tom replied with crisp—if slightly feigned—confidence. "We have to assume that this is something small and localized, in keeping with the other earthquake attacks. And even so, I know the repelatrons can’t just stop the thing in its tracks. But I’ve worked something out on the computer, using what I hope is a reasonable simulation."

"How does it work?" asked Bud. "If you don’t mind taking the time to explain."

"Nothing else to do as we fly," Tom returned. Then he grinned. "Besides, I hear you’re used to ‘scientific lectures’! You might say I’m planning to use a little
judo—
I’ll be turning the force of the tsunami against itself, so to speak." He explained that a carefully focused repulsion push would gradually divert part of the middle of the wave’s leading edge, guiding it sideways as if through a channel or trough. "According to my figures, we’ll slowly build up a sort of giant whirlpool or waterspout that will broaden as it gains momentum. It’ll basically pull the water-rug out from under the tsunami as it goes along. If I’m right, it will wind up very moderate in size by the time it hits the coast."

Bud sighed, and his sigh had a tremor to it. "If, if, if."

"That’s the way it always is in a scientific experiment," Hank commented.

"But in
this
experiment," Tom pronounced, "we don’t get a second chance."

The curved suborbital trajectory, forced by upward-tilted repelatrons, drove the ship closer to the earth than the laws of motion liked. The ship turned upside down—or rather, "up and down" traded places. Centrifugal force put the earth above, outer space below. "Good night!" Bud laughed. "I never thought the day would come when I’d have to look
up
to see California!"