Tom Swift in the Race to the Moon (12 page)

Suddenly the intercom crackled. "We’ve picked up that rocket, skipper," a crewman reported from one of the compartments along the reverse side of the cabin-cube. "That
must
be what it is—a moving flare of light."

"Where?"

The operator read off the relative angle from his instruments. Tom rotated the
Challenger
and the crew of the control deck peered through their view panes into the starry dark.

"There she is!" Bud cried out.

The rival rocket was little more than a glittering speck in the distance. Tom veered course and increased power to bring it within closer range. Mile after mile they drew nearer their foe. Soon they were racing neck and neck, separated by only a few thousand feet.

Chow Winkler and most of the other astronauts were now crowding into the cube-wide compartment behind Tom, Bud, and Hank, anxious to catch a glimpse of their space rival. "Brand my space boots, what kind o’ loco contraption d’ya call that?" Chow muttered.

The space-streaking vehicle was unlike anything the earthmen had yet seen. It’s front end consisted of a green, spherical capsule sitting like an egg in an egg-cup in the long section below. This section, bright silver, tapered to a narrow waist, then widened again in an hourglass-shape. The ship flared out in a stern assembly—evidently the propulsion unit—consisting of oval segments spreading like the petals of a weird metal flower. A faint, luminous exhaust trail extended behind.

"What do you think, Hank?" Tom asked quietly.

As if in response, Nicky the monkey chattered a few shrill syllables. "Hey, the captain was asking
me,
Nick!" Sterling reproved jokingly. "Tom, like the man said—some sort of nuclear-ion propulsion."

"Tell me, are we certain this is, indeed, the vehicle of our enemies?" asked Dr. Faber in an awe-stricken voice. "Might it not be the ‘space ark’—the capsule of diseased animals?"

"According to the original message, the capsule from space was not to arrive at the moon for another two days," Tom replied. "And besides—look!"

The vehicle had been slowly rotating along its major axis, spindle-fashion. Now a section of the prow capsule rotated into view that bore a small insignia—a flag. "Black, red, and gold, lads," said Dr. Glennon. "And sure as I live, that’s the national colors of Brungaria."

"I suppose she uses nuke power," Bud remarked.

But Tom pointed to the way the harsh sunlight rebounded from some transparent substance that coated the middle section, producing a rainbow sheen like a prism. "I think it’s drawing on power from the sun," he said. "That may be why it’s rotating, to expose the entire surface to the solar rays."

Even as Tom spoke, the rival ship, presumably the
Dyaune-1,
seemed to gather a new burst of power. "Great creepin’ coyotes, she’s pullin’ ahead! Do somethin’, boss!"

In answer Tom opened the throttle levers wider, gunning the repelatrons still more as they braced their focused rays of force against the distant globe of Earth. The sudden acceleration that resulted drove the watching crew downward against the deck as the mighty
Challenger
picked up speed—and more speed!

The race to the moon was on as the two ships ripped through the void at unthinkable speed!

In minutes the
Challenger
astronauts gave forth a muted cheer—the Brungarian ship was clearly falling behind. Without warning it suddenly veered to starboard, as if wanting to put distance between the competitors. In five minutes it was no longer visible to the eye.

"Should we chase her, skipper?" Bud asked.

Tom shook his head. "No point to that." He rose from his seat. "Take over, Bud," Tom ordered. Leaving the main controls, he relieved the communications engineer at his post and beamed a prepared message into the void in the symbolic space code:

TOM SWIFT TO SPACE FRIENDS. WE HAVE TAKEN OFF FOR THE MOON. ENEMY SHIP ALSO ON THE WAY. PLEASE INFORM US OF PLANS FOR ANIMAL ROCKET. IT IS NECESSARY THAT WE REACH IT FIRST.

"I hope they can grasp the idea that
inconsistent negative resultant
means
enemy,"
muttered the young inventor to himself. If only they would reply and break the puzzling curtain of self-imposed silence. Tom waited hopefully, eyes glued to the space oscilloscope’s imaging screen. But as the minutes dragged by, his heart sank—there was no response.

"Looks like they expect us to work this out on our own," said Arv Hanson. "Kind of a compliment to their ‘space friend’ Tom Swift, don’t you think?"

Arv’s comment filled Tom with fresh determination. He must reach the rocket first to save his space friends, and perhaps his own world, from possible destruction!

MULLING over the situation, Tom decided to try communicating directly with the Brungarian ship. After all, the men aboard were scientists themselves. Maybe they would cooperate if asked in a friendly fashion.

The scientist-inventor radioed a call signal across the void, using a wide mix of frequencies. But repeated efforts brought no response. Finally Tom gave up and returned to the controls.

"Where are they?" he asked. "Still getting a frequency signature?"

"Not for a while," Hank replied. "They may have cut back on their power outflow—might even be coasting, unpowered."

"Maybe they gave up the race!" Bud speculated excitedly. "They’d fallen considerably astern last time we checked."

"Not likely," retorted Tom. "Let’s step up the pace!" He fed more power to the repelatrons. Slowly but steadily, the earth dwindled in the distance as the bright moon swelled before them.

"Brand the Bull constellation, we’ll lick them space rustlers yet!" Chow whooped.

"But soon we’ll have to start decelerating," Tom pointed out. "Head back to your seats and strap in, everyone."

Tom flicked on the space position finder. The earth had shrunken now on the screen to a small disk, its diminished cross-section illustrating the greater difficulty the repelatron beams were having as they strained to interact with its distant bulk. By the same token the colored patch representing the moon was growing rapidly in size. Tom reoriented the
Challenger
and altered the array of radiators on the rail-ring tracks. He cut in the repelatrons to produce a deceleration by pushing against the moon, and "down" now meant the lunar surface.

Fifty minutes later the moon loomed ahead in the viewpanes, immense and radiant, a strange dust-colored world that spread out in all directions to a curving horizon.

"Incredible!" Dr. Faber gasped to his companions on Deck 2, almost in a whisper.

Numerous features were clearly visible to the naked eye—jagged mountain ranges, yawning cracks and craters, great darkened plains of cooled, solidified lava left behind by the cataclysms of aeons past.

Slowing continuously, the Swift spaceship drew ever closer to the harsh surface, baked beneath an unforgiving sun and a black-velvet universe of glittering stars.

"Say there, Tom," intercommed Chow from his station on a lower deck, "we’re lookin’ out this here winder o’ ours and—something’s going on down there!"

"Down on the surface?" Tom repeated in doubtful alarm.
Had the Brungarian ship somehow beat them after all?
Tom stood up from the pilot’s seat to look, slightly tilting the vertical axis of the ship. Hundreds of miles below on one of the great lunar plains he could make out a dark spreading cloud. The others with him took turns examining it and offered various theories as to the cause.

"Maybe there’s life on the moon after all," Bud said, only half in jest. "Could be a flock of moon creatures rushing for cover now that they’ve seen us!"

"I’d suggest some sort of eruption of subsurface gases," said Hank thoughtfully. "But as I recall, the moon is pretty quiet and dead, geologically speaking."

Tom felt that more likely it was a storm of rock fragments or volcanic ash churned up by waves from their repulsion beams. Some of the force-rays being used to slow down the
Challenger
had been given a broad sideways slant and could produce such an effect. As the ship continued its approach, Tom’s theory was confirmed.

"Don’t worry, Chow," Tom intercommed. "Just a little sideways avalanche—a repelatron rock stampede!"

As they drew closer and closer to their destination, the first ripple of excitement that surged through the crew was replaced by a somber feeling, a feeling of awe and of separation from everything they had ever known. "We’re a good 200,000 miles from Shopton, from New York, from Los Angeles, from Kansas—from everything!" Hank Sterling remarked quietly. "It’s no wonder we feel a little homesick."

The historic journey was nearing its end. When they were within a hundred miles of the moon’s surface, the
Challenger
came to a gentle stop and hovered, as if taking its bearings and catching its breath. With a significant look at his comrades, Tom eased off on the repelatrons and began the final slow descent.

An awed hush fell over the space travelers. They stared ahead, as if spellbound, until Tom brought the ship to a floating halt mere yards above the floor of the Crater of Copernicus.

He picked up the ship microphone. "Well, we’re here, folks," Tom Swift announced.

The young inventor’s simple words broke the silence, and instantly the
Challenger
reverberated from top to bottom with wild cheers from its crew.

Chow half-bounced, half-flew up the inter-deck ladder to the control compartment. "Yippee!" yelled the range cook as he and Bud grabbed Tom and hugged him excitedly.

"Tom Swift, first earthman to come back to the moon!" Bud cried. "You’re a wonder, pal!"

Others came crowding up and in, expressing the same feelings of awe, pride, and gratitude. Heart thudding, Tom grinned, pleased and touched. "Thanks, fellows—all of you." Then he grew serious. "But I just want to say that everyone here has helped me to reach our destination. Every step came after the step before. And now, here we are!"

"Here
we
are at the finish line," added Arv. "But where are the others?"

"Aaa, let us not waste our thoughts on those dunces and schemers!" urged Evan Glennon. "Now on to the next item—saving a couple worlds, you know."

Tom and the others went to take a closer look at the enormous crater spread out around them, approaching the twin viewports to peer outside. To provide a broader view, Tom gave the spaceship some altitude. Stretching fifty or sixty miles across, Copernicus was rimmed by towering rock walls. The inner bowl seemed filled with gritty debris and rubble from ancient landslides. Tom knew he would have to check the composition and depth of the surface material before allowing anyone to set foot on it. If it were loose dust and fine particles, it could prove a deathtrap for anyone falling into it.

Just then Dinah Ingraham, who had remained at her station to monitor the
Challenger
’s tracking instruments, sang out a warning through the ship intercom. "Tom, I’m getting that frequency signature again—the other ship! It’s closing fast!"

Instantly Tom flew at the controls and slightly turned the ship. "There she is, coming over the horizon," he grated. "While we’ve been dawdling and admiring the scenery, the
Dyaune
must’ve come in on the far side and looped back toward us."

The rival ship was still miles distant, but some details had become visible. Tiny flashes of light erupted from her prow. "Radar blips!" shouted Bud.
Missiles!

Tom jabbed the master control levers, yelling for everyone to brace themselves. The
Challenger
leapt spaceward like a fantastic jackrabbit! Instants later a string of shiny objects flashed across the crater beneath them. The missiles plowed into the ancient walls of Copernicus and dissolved in silent bursts of blinding orange light.

"Slithe-ea-simeon!"
gasped Dr. Glennon as the deck of the
Challenger
rocked under the impact of the waves of jetting gases spreading from the blast centers.

The ship’s leap accelerated and became a horizon-spanning arc. Tom poured on the power, pushing the ship to the limit as he strove to escape his enemies.

Chow started to erupt, an angry and resentful look on his face, but Tom cut him off. "I know—I don’t like to turn tail any more than you do. But we didn’t come to the moon to fight a space war. We have a duty to save ourselves!"

Chow nodded reluctantly. "Leastways I don’t hafta
like
it!"

They crossed the crater wall and fled over the curve of the far horizon at top speed. The
Dyaune
seemed about to pursue them, but then turned about and zoomed back where she had come from, finally disappearing with distance.

"Thank the lord!" panted Anton Faber.

Perched on Violet Wohl’s shoulder, Nicky chattered and scolded. "Sorry sweetheart," the physician said gently. "You can twist their ears some other time."

Some time later, having crossed into the lunar farside unseen from the vantage point of the earth, Tom again slowed the
Challenger
and brought it to a halt at a height of thirty miles. At last he felt he had time to contact his father through the powerful long-range transmitter.

"What is your plan, son?" asked Damon Swift.

"Wish I could tell you," replied Tom. "I could use your advice right now. But we both know we don’t dare speak freely about—the situation."

"Yes—understood. It seems someone has managed to relay word of your course to your enemy, though. The Tomasite composition of your ship should make you as invisible to their radar as their ship is to yours, as it seems."

"Actually, Dad, there’s a more straightforward explanation. After our courses diverged on the way to the moon, we kept pretty much to a straight line in order to save time. They could have projected our trajectory all the way to the vicinity of the moon. Their only assumption, which turned out to be correct, was that we would hang around in one spot for a time. That’s what allowed them to sneak up on us below the horizon."

Tom received a report on his mother’s health, rapidly improving. They spoke a bit more, cautiously and elliptically, and then signed off with expressions of love and luck.