Tom Swift and the Visitor From Planet X (17 page)

"That’s occurred to me too," Tom said. "Are you just maybe suggesting some particular use?"

"An immediate application of just one part of Ole Think Box—the apparatus you put together to mimic the sense of hearing."

Tom nodded, instantly intrigued. "You’re talking about the auditory trans-modulator. What’s the idea?"

"I’ll tell you, son," was the reply. "At the funeral I was introduced to a young boy, the son of one of Munson’s executives. His name is Jad Wassil. A nice, well-behaved youngster—and deaf. You know what a cochlear implant is, don’t you?"

"Sure," Tom confirmed. "An electrical device is surgically placed under the skin of the head, near the ear. It gives off impulses, weak currents, that reproduce sound frequencies, allowing the deaf to hear without using the ear at all by directly stimulating the nerves. A small external unit, like a hearing aid, serves as a microphone."

"That’s right. Little Jad is rather a bad case. He was born deaf, but has been helped by his implants—two of them, in fact. Yet even so, he is only slightly better off. Even the newest devices, with the newest technology, fall short of the sort of tone and frequency resolution you and I take for granted. Our brains have their own inbuilt filtering processors, evidently. Jad perceives sound and its rhythms, but it’s all garbled and words are difficult to make out."

The young inventor nodded his understanding. "I’ve heard it compared to the rumble of the ocean at the sea shore. So—to jump ahead—you’re suggesting that I adapt Exman’s hearing mechanism to this boy’s needs."

"That’s it. I’m quite certain your receiver setup could be used in place of the external part of the implant, the sound-detecting part. I hate to interrupt your work so abruptly, but the matter is a bit pressing, as Jad is facing a series of surgical procedures beginning this week. I was told they’re medically risky, and recovery can be very slow. But if my young genius can work his usual magic, it won’t be necessary."

"It won’t be your young genius who deserves the credit," pronounced the young scientist-inventor. "We’ll call it a gift from space—from Exman!" And with this Mr. Swift knew that Tom had accepted the challenge. In truth, Damon Swift had known the outcome of his request before opening the door!

After receiving technical information concerning Jad’s particular implant units, Tom and Arvid Hanson worked for several hours on creating a compatible adaptation of Exman’s ingenious audio-receptor device, while Hank Sterling continued work with the space brain.

The microsized apparatus was flexible and slightly curved, about the size and shape of a thumbnail. "That nano-battery inside will last just as long as the kid himself does!" exulted Hanson.

"But the real breakthrough was using the entire outer surface of the chip as our sound-wave sensor."

"Yes indeed, boss. And your basic approach, the ultra-long-wave diffraction processor—"

Tom interrupted with a grin. "Arv, let’s postpone the backpatting until later!"

Mr. and Mrs. Wassil had requested that the installation of the units be done in comfortable surroundings that would ease the boy’s anxiety, and the Swifts had invited the family to the Swift residence. With Jad’s specialist doctor observing keenly and the boy seated in a living room chair, Tom applied the twin units to their places just behind the ears. They were held in place by what Tom had nicknamed his biopolymer "meat glue." The simple procedure was completed in seconds.

The doctor motioned Tom to the other side of the living room as the Wassils spoke to their son. "Just to reiterate, I am authorizing this procedure prior to official approval of your invention because it is completely noninvasive," the doctor said quietly. "I presume their will be no difficulties." Something in the man’s tone suggested to Tom that there would be no difficulties because the matter would not be reported!

Tom winked. "I understand. Oh, by the way, you can remove those old implants whenever it’s convenient."

"Remove
them? But I thought—"

"I
thought I’d bypass them by using some proven technology I developed for our TeleVoc devices. The external units themselves transmit the sound-analog impulses into Jad’s auditory nerve without an intermediary mechanism. But of course I mentioned it to you before your go-ahead."

"But
of course
you did, Tom." The doctor returned the wink.

"And I’m real glad you did!" Jad called from across the room. Tears edged into Tom’s eyes as he realized that the boy had been able to pick out the across-the-room conversation from among the other murmurings in the room. The device worked perfectly!

Tom drove back to the plant, many thoughts crowding his mind.
We can do so many wonderful things, yet a fanatical enemy can destroy it all,
he pondered. What if the threatened Shopton earthquake wiped out the entire town—and Swift Enterprises? Tom knew the threat had only been postponed, not eliminated.

As his sportscar drew near the intersection with the main highway fronting Enterprises, Tom slowed suddenly. A large RV camper was stopped next to the road, leaning slightly to one side. "Pretty bad blowout," he noted. "Maybe they need the use of a phone."

Pulling over he got out and strode three steps toward the vehicle. The door creaked open, and a tall, familiar figure stepped down into view.

"Hello there, Tom," said Eldrich Oldmother pleasantly. "Been expecting you."

His right hand held a gun!

OLDMOTHER motioned for Tom to come closer. But when the young inventor started to raise his hands, the Prophet-Exemplar motioned negatively with his gun hand. "Young man, this deadly weapon is not aimed your way. Don’t let it make you nervous. Be
soul-steady!"

As Tom came close to the man, Oldmother leaned forward and whispered into the youth’s ear, "Just for show. I expended its sole bullet for purposes of demonstration. Wouldn’t look good, high-planed Oldmother engaged in armed kidnapping, hmm?"

"Kidnapping?
Who have you—"

"Why not step inside and look? To insist on pointless abstract explanation is what we call
encyclopedia-ism.
Live life! Clear the decks!"

"I’d love to," Tom replied dryly.

Inside the RV a young man sat on the edge of a mattress, face grim. Tom guessed who it was even before Oldmother said his name. "Tom Swift, may I
interroduce
—that is, introduce for interrogation—Mr. Scott Anderman, fugitive Speaker of the Fort Shopton church."

"He’s holding me prisoner, Swift," grumbled Anderman harshly. "You’ll be an accessory if you participate."

Oldmother chuckled. "Don’t be silly, Andy-Bear, old friend. You’re not being held prisoner. You are being gently detained in a citizen’s arrest while I look up the phone number of the authorities. First, of course, I have to decide
which
authorities have jurisdiction, which requires a degree of contemplation. Meanwhile, I’d like you to be calm and comfortable here in my travelling home. Now, I’ve always found that conversation has a calming effect. And of course Informatics advocates relieving oneself of one’s burden of secrets. What do you say, Mr. Anderman? Care to relieve yourself?" Oldmother gestured casually with his gun. "Please don’t be distracted by this little object. It won’t go off. Unless, of course, I should have one of my sneezing fits."

"You’re nuts, Oldmother!" snapped Anderman contemptuously. "Not that we haven’t all known that for about twenty years. I’m not about to say anything in front of you and Swiftboy here."

"Oh, I see—I—ah—
ahhh—"
Oldmother seemed about to sneeze, and Anderman turned white. Somehow the gun was aimed at the ex-Speaker’s head!

"Maybe you’d better talk," Tom suggested. "Tell me about Fort Shopton, the thefts, the earthquakes, and—Brungaria!"

Anderman looked pained but, nervously, decided to comply. "All right, all right. It’s been going on for years, blackmail, money payoffs, threats, bribing people to look the other way. A sweet setup, running your own religion."

"I certainly agree," commented Oldmother.

"We started to do it in Shopton in the usual way. Then, a few weeks ago I had a little private meeting with a foreigner named Runkle—Brungarian—who seemed to know everything about the deal and threatened to expose us unless we worked with him and his operation. He said there were people in the home country who knew how to transmit earthquakes to selected targets, even on the other side of the world! He said our Prime Movers would be allowed to steal valuable stuff from the ruins if we turned over particular items—technological secrets, you’d call it—to him and his group. Some of our other Forts were brought in on it."

"What secrets were targeted at Enterprises?" demanded Tom.

"Wullgrath was to verify information we’d collected as to where those artifacts were being kept. Got it from one of your maintenance people who’d joined the Church, but she thought they might have been moved and wasn’t in a position to check it out. That was gonna be our reward when the quake brought down the house. As to what Runkle wanted for his own cut—this time it wasn’t to steal something, but to make sure it was destroyed. He said it was some kind of tank or container, probably under high security. The Brunnies didn’t know exactly what it looked like or where it was, but they said they had a little detector gizmo that could zero in on it. We were supposed to smash it up, break it open if possible. God knows why."

"Now now," corrected Oldmother. "Say
‘Highest Orb’
."

"Aaa, forget that idiotic stuff!"

The Prophet-Exemplar shrugged. "How thin is the reed of faith!"

"I know what the object is," Tom pronounced. All his suspicions had been confirmed—the Brungarian part of the Shopton operation was directed at Exman! "It’s one of the most valuable things on this planet. But why destroy it rather than stealing it?"

"Ask Runkle," snarled Anderman. "He works over at Grandyke University under an alias. Far as I’m concerned, you can shoot him dead."

"Listen, Anderman, right now the important thing is how to stop the quakes!" exclaimed the young inventor. "Where is the quake-maker device located?"

"Think they’d tell me, Swift? Somewhere in Europe—try Brungaria. So. Got enough now?"

Tom turned to Oldmother. "How did you find him?"

The Prophet-Exemplar smiled broadly. "How?
‘How
is a
hook!’
I have my special ways. I’ve known Andy-Bear for years and know his habits very well."

"I’d turn him over to the Shopton PD," Tom advised. "I’m heading back to work. But thanks, sir."

"No thanks required, Tom. I’m—"

"I know. On a Higher Plane!"

After briefing Harlan Ames and speaking to Captain Rock, Tom rejoined Hank and Arv in the lab.

Hank was beaming. "Listen to this, Tom." He turned to Ole Think Box. "Exman, time to exercise that Earth custom we discussed."

Tom grinned as a weird, odd-rhythmed voice issued from Exman’s new speaking mechanism. "Greetings to you, my Earth friends!" It sounded like:
gree-tinxtuyu-myerth-ferenz.

"Exman, you’re a sound for sore ears!" exclaimed Tom with a whoop.

"Is that an idiomatic expression?" asked the visitor haltingly.

"Yes. It means I’m pleased."

"I am also pleased, Tom. I believe with definiteness that what I experience is pleasure; or at least corresponds to it within my own template of cognition. It is a good thing." The space-brain added: "I am Exman."

"Does that statement have special significance to you?" Arv Hanson asked.

"I does indeed. It affirms not only
what
I am, but
that
I am. There is an ‘I’ within this container."

"There sure is!" came a voice from the unlocked door. Bud strode jauntily into the room. "Genius boy, I hear you’ve got more of the symbols to work on! Cracked the case yet?"

Gesturing at the sheets of copied symbol-sets laid out flat on a counter, Tom shook his head. "Not yet. Don’t have the key so far." Then Tom was startled as Exman said:

"Please allow me to examine these shapes."

"Wow! Never thought of that!" chirped Bud excitedly. "But it makes sense—he knows all about the space symbols!"

Exman rolled up to the counter and moved slowly along it, passing both sensarray globes over the sheets at very close range. He seemed to be absorbing whatever the sheets exhibited at amazing speed.

He stopped and swiveled to face Tom. "I have combined the four sets mentally according to a formula of permutations partially expressed within each set. I hope you will not feel displeased at my succeeding after you failed the task, my friends."

"Don’t worry about that!" cried Tom. "What does the message say?" But as Exman started to speak, Tom added: "Please output it to the monitor, Exman—that way we’ll have a record of it to study."

They gathered at the screen. In a moment they were a-gasp with startled amazement!

TO TOM SWIFT. WE ARE FRIENDS. WE HAVE COMMUNICATED IN THIS MODE BECAUSE OUR MASTERS PREVENT ALL CONTACT ON DATA OF FOLLOWING KIND AND WOULD INTERVENE UPON DETECTION OF THIS EFFORT . WE ARE OURSELVES AT RISK BUT HAVE SOLVED FOR THIS RESULTANT .

OUR MASTERS HAVE WITHHELD FROM YOU COMPLETE DATA CONCERNING BRAIN ENERGY VISITATION TO YOUR HABITAT PLANET. WE KNOW THAT OUR MASTERS HAVE ESTABLISHED RADIOMETRIC CONTACT WITH PERSON VOLJ IDENTIFIED DURING PRESENCE IN DISEASED ANIMAL VESSEL . THEY SEEK TO STUDY BEHAVIOR RESPONSES OF THIS VARIANT HUMAN LIFEFORM IN RATIO TO VARIANT OF TOM SWIFT KIND . OTHER BRAIN ENERGY MATRIX WAS TRANSMITTED TO VOLJ HABITAT PRIOR TO TRANSMISSION OF MATRIX TO TOM SWIFT AND IS ACTIVE THERE . ALTERNATE MATRIX IS NOT MOBILE BUT IS ABLE TO COMMUNICATE .

WE UNDERSTAND THAT VOLJ VARIANTS ARE USING CAPACITIES OF OTHER MATRIX TO CAUSE DANGER TO OUR FRIEND TOM SWIFT . WE HAVE CHOSEN TO ASSIST YOU BY THIS WARNING . ALTERNATE MATRIX MUST BE NULLIFIED TO SOLVE FOR POSITIVE RESULTANT.

Another Exman!
The four terrestrials exchanged fearful glances. Arv broke the stunned silence. "Now we know for sure where Volj and his pals got their quake-making technology. That other brain ‘knows not what he do’!"