Tom Swift Jr - And His Space Solartron Part 11

"Buck up, pal," Bud said stoutly. "We'll find 'em-and soon!"

Nevertheless, it was a gloomy crew of searchers who returned to the s.p.a.ce station aboard the Challenger.

"Any luck?" asked Ken Horton as the station 105.

106 .

crew gathered around anxiously to hear the news.

Tom shook his head. "Looks as if we have three choices-a natural phenomenon, the s.p.a.ce people, and earth enemies. If it's the last group, we'll probably hear from them."

The young inventor was too downhearted to blame the radarmen who should have detected any marauders on their scopes. But Chow reeled off a few scorching remarks of his own.

"I ain't namin' no names," the cook growled, "but if certain hombres had been keepin' watch like they were supposed to, no kidnapers could 'a' gotten within a hundred miles o' this here spread!"

"Now, wait a minute, Chow!" A tall, lanky radarman stepped forward angrily.

"I was manning the detection radar from twelve to four, and I can guarantee I didn't miss any blips on the scope!"

Tom's eyes sparked with interest. "In that case," he declared, "our enemy must have a powerful device that drew Dad and Ted off to a great distance and then took them into a s.p.a.ceship!"

Bud clenched his hands. "Just like that animal rocket was drawn off so mysteriously during our race to the moon. I'll bet this proves your s.p.a.ce friends are the ones your dad is with!"

Because a strange disease was attacking the animal life on fheir planet, the s.p.a.ce people had recently sent a rocket containing infected animals, hoping the Swifts might find a cure. Later, MESSAGE FROM NOWHERE 107.

after the infection was conquered, the ship was propelled away by some mysterious and invisible force.

"You may be right at that, Bud." Tom frowned thoughtfully.

"Sure, I'm right," said Bud cheerfully. "And I wouldn't call them kidnapers either. Remember, your dad had a radio in his s.p.a.ce suit, so he could have called for help. I have a hunch that when a chance came to go off with the s.p.a.ce people, he just couldn't resist the temptation. You'll hear from him, skipper, and probably soon."

"I sure hope so," Tom said.

He was not altogether convinced and took the Challenger out on trip after trip, hoping to find a clue to the missing pair. He was in constant touch with Harlan Ames. But two days went by without any report from Mr. Swift or Ted.

Tom's fears mounted. Even if his father had had no chance to signal by radio at the time he left, Tom thought, surely he would have sent news by now, if he were with friendly beings.

On the third day after the disappearance, Tom was trying to eat some breakfast, although he had no appet.i.te, when a radioman came rushing into the mess compartment.

"Hey, skipper!" he shouted, waving a sheet of paper. "We've just had word on your father!"

Tom sprang from the bench, amid a babble of excitement. "Word from where, Steve? What's the news?"

108 .

"I don't know who sent the message," the radioman replied. "The sender didn't identify himself. Here, read this!" He thrust the paper into Tom's hand.

Tom read the message aloud to the eager crewmen: TOM SWIFT, OUTPOST IN s.p.a.cE. YOUR FATHER AND COMPANION.

ARE SAFE. FURTHER INFORMATION WILL FOLLOW.

"See! I told you, pal!" Bud exclaimed. "Your dad and Ted must be with the s.p.a.ce people!"

"I'm not so sure, Bud," the young inventor replied slowly. "They've never communicated with us before in our own language."

"They've never had your dad aboard their s.p.a.ceship before," Bud pointed out. "He probably worded the message for them."

"Could be," Tom muttered. "If so, let's hope he signs the next one in person before I go off my rocker wondering what's happened!"

To keep his mind off his worries, Tom plunged back to work on his solartron.

He made several more experiments in his laboratory and then asked Arv and Bud to help him install the machine in the Challenger.

"We'll try it out with the energy collectors," Tom told them. "If the setup works okay, we can start planning for a moon expedition."

"Lead on, Moon Boy!" Bud whooped.

Within two hours, the matter maker had been torn down and rea.s.sembled on board the s.p.a.ce- MESSAGE FROM NOWHERE 109.

ship. The energy collectors, baled into small bundles, were there already, leaving only the tanks of helium gas to be stacked on the ship.

Soon the Challenger was streaking off from the outpost. Tom continued to increase the speed, then settled into an orbit far from the station.

"Where do we stage the test, skipper?" Arv Hanson asked.

"This area will do," Tom replied, easing off on the repelatrons.

With the ship coasting along at orbital speed, Arv, Tom, and two of the crewmen donned s.p.a.ce suits and hauled the energy collectors out through the air lock. Standing on the ship's landing platform, they unloosened the bales, then nudged them off into the void, using jet scooters. The free ends of the gas tubing were fed back into the ship through a special airtight fitting on the hull.

"All set, skipper?" Bud's voice came over the intercom after the work party had returned to the ship. Tom and Arv had gone to the compartment where the solartron and gas tanks had been installed.

"All set," Tom replied. "Watch through the view panes and tell me how the sheets unfold."

"Roger!"

Opening the stopc.o.c.ks on the gas tanks, Tom fed helium into the tubing.

"Going fine, Tom!" was Bud's report. "The 110 .

sheets are opening without a hitch!" A few moments later he added, "Okay.

Shut off the gas! They're wide open now!"

Tense with excitement, Tom and Arv hurried up to the flight compartment where Bud was tending the controls. A thrilling spectacle greeted their eyes through the pilots' windows. Streaming off in the blackness of the void, the energy collectors had opened to their full extent, like vast silver lace sails. The tubes glistened with dazzling brilliance in the sunshine. The sheets reflected no light.

"Man, what a sight!" cheered one of the crew who had gathered to watch the experiment.

"s.p.a.ce-age windjammer, that's us!" Bud quipped.

"They really are like sails," Tom remarked. "Only instead of using wind, they'll be drawing power from the-"

His words ended in a gasp as one of the collectors suddenly billowed out of shape and began fluttering wildly in the void.

"Skipper, what's wrong?" cried out Arv, clutching Tom by the arm.

"I don't know, but I'd better find out p.r.o.nto!"

Donning his s.p.a.ce suit hastily, Tom rushed out through the air lock and propelled himself off the landing platform with his jet pistol. The others watched through the view panes.

They saw the young inventor streak toward the billowing energy collector. He reached it and began skimming along its surface, evidently try- MESSAGE FROM NOWHERE 111.

ing to find out what was causing the trouble. Suddenly the framework of foil tubing began to rip loose from the cell leaves!

"Good night! The whole thing's coming apart!" Bud cried out.

Like waving tentacles, the tubes and wiring began to envelop Tom. He was trapped like a fish in a net! His comrades saw him struggle desperately to free himself from the tangle.

"Brand my octopus stew, he's all roped an' hog-tied!" Chow babbled. "Quick!

Someone get me my s.p.a.ce suit! I'm goin' out there an' save him!"

"And I'm going with you!" Bud added. "Take over the controls, Arv!"

The copilot scrambled down to the hangar deck, and Chow was close behind him. But by the time they had climbed into their s.p.a.ce suits and emerged through the air lock, they saw Tom returning safely to the ship.

"What happened?" Bud called anxiously over his suit radio.

"Loose joint somewhere in the tubing," Tom reported. "The gas leaked out under pressure, and eventually the whole sheet went blooey."

"You all right, boss?" Chow asked.

"Sure thing." Tom grinned. "It was a tough fight, but I finally got myself untangled. How about you two helping me reel up some of that loose tubing?"

"You came to the right party, son," Chow boasted. "Reckon that won't be no job at all for an ole lariat expert like me!"

112 .

After twenty minutes of work, the three managed to salvage most of the foil tubing and cell leaves. Then they returned to the Challenger.

"I'll start experiments with the solartron, using the other collectors," Tom announced.

To everyone's delight, the machine worked to perfection, producing simple elements in large quant.i.ties. Tom, instead of being thrilled over the outcome, seemed halfhearted and listless.

"Guess he's worried sick about his dad," Arv Hanson whispered to Chow.

The old cowpoke bustled down to his galley. "Reckon I can cheer him up with a nice tasty mess o' vittles," he told himself.

Cooking was a matter of minutes on the ship's electronic range. A short time later Chow rode up in the elevator to the flight deck with a loaded dinner tray.

From the covered dishes wafted the delicious aroma of corn fritters, T-Bone steak, and hot mince pie.

"Good night, Chow! What's all this?" Tom exclaimed as the cook came into the pilot's cabin. "Up here in s.p.a.ce one can't tell whether it's time for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, but this looks like all three of today's meals rolled into one."

"I'll tell you what it is," said Chow. "A special feast for the smartest young inventor on earth or in s.p.a.ce!" He lifted the dish covers, one by one, and displayed his culinary triumphs.

Tom smiled and thanked Chow gratefully. He tried to eat with a show of appet.i.te while the MESSAGE FROM NOWHERE 113.

cook stood beaming over him. But after the Westerner left the compartment, the young inventor barely picked at the food. All his fears and worries over the fate of his father and Ted Spring seemed to come crowding back on him.

"Am I doing the right thing not telling Mother?" Tom fretted. Yet he dreaded the thought of breaking the news to her. "I'll talk it over with Ames again," he decided.

Shoving his tray aside with the food less than half eaten, Tom hurried down to the radio compartment. In a few moments he made contact with Harlan Ames at Enterprises.

"Hi, Tom! I was just going to call you," the security chief said. "I have some news."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE SECRET FORMULA.

"NEWS about Dad?" Tom asked eagerly.

"Not directly," Ames replied, "but it may have some connection with your father's disappearance."

"Let's hear it!"

Ames's news concerned the Enterprises Journal. When the first issue was sent out to a restricted mailing list, one of the scientists who received a copy had phoned in a surprising bit of information. He pointed out that a certain formula which appeared in one of the articles had nothing to do with the subject matter of that particular article.

"I checked back on the formula," Ames continued, "and it turned out to be part of the circuit design for your new solartron." He read off the formula.

"Good grief, Harlan!" Tom exclaimed. "That was supposed to be top-secret!

I'm sure it wasn't 114.

THE SECRET FORMULA 115.

in the article when Dad and I went over the papers!"

"You're right," Ames said. "It wasn't. We got hold of the original typewritten ma.n.u.scripts from the printer and found that someone had inserted the formula in pencil."

"Who was the 'someone'?" Tom asked.

"We haven't been able to find out yet," the security chief said, "but I have a hunch it was an inside job."