Tom Swift Jr - And His Space Solartron Part 4

"But the spectroscope shows that it's pure oxygen," Bud spoke up.

"Yes, which weighs up to exactly one one-thousandth of a gram!"

Chow pushed back his ten-gallon hat and scratched his balding head.

"Reckon that ain't very much, eh?"

"About enough to keep a flea alive for half a second." Tom whipped out his slide rule and did some rapid figuring. "Chow, with the power I used to make this much oxygen, you could run your toaster an hour a day for eighty-one years!"

"Wai, brand my coyote cutlets!" Chow gulped. "I-uh-how-" he floundered, trying to think

38.

EXCITING PLANS 39.

of some way to comfort his young boss, but words failed him. He glanced helplessly at Bud and Ted.

Bud broke the glum silence by clapping Tom on the back. "So what? Fleas need oxygen too, don't they? Cheer up, pal. At least your machine works!"

Tom chuckled good-naturedly. "Guess you're right at that, Bud. But this is only a start." He paced back and forth with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, then turned to face Bud and Ted. "It looks as if even the Citadel isn't the place to finish this experiment."

"Meaning what?" Ted asked.

"Meaning we'll rocket up to our s.p.a.ce station and use solar radiation as our source of power."

Tom Swift's outpost in s.p.a.ce was a huge, wheel-shaped satellite, orbiting 22,300 miles above the earth. Tom had designed it as a factory for charging his famous solar batteries, as well as a scientific observation post and TV relay station.

"Yip-pee!" Bud yelled, and swung his friend around the floor a couple of times.

"Put 'er there, skipper!" said Ted and pumped Tom's hand up and down.

"Hold it, fellows!" Tom spluttered with laughter. "This is serious business."

"Who said it wasn't?" retorted Bud cheerfully.

"I mean it," Tom insisted. "Look! Some day I hope to colonize the moon. A base there would 40 .

yield all sorts of valuable data-not just about the moon itself, but the earth and the rest of the solar system."

"You mean through observations by telescope from a lunar observatory?"

Ted asked.

"Exactly," Tom replied. "What's more, we might be able to mine valuable raw materials up there, such as that unknown hydrogen compound I picked up on our Swift spectroscope."

Tom had made this exciting discovery a few months before, when he had won a victory over his Brungarian rivals in making the first landing on the moon.

"However," Tom went on, "in order to set up a permanent base on the moon, we'll need a tremendous supply of oxygen, food, and water. And the only way I can see to accomplish that is by perfecting my matter-making machine."

"Wouldn't it be possible to grow plants on the moon to feed your lunar colony?" Ted asked.

Tom shook his head. "No, because on the moon you'd get two weeks of daylight, followed by two weeks of darkness. Plants couldn't survive under those conditions."

"How about growing them underground by artificial light?" Bud suggested.

"Too wasteful of energy," Tom pointed out. "Also, to feed even a few men, we'd need too large an area for raising the plants. And that's not even mentioning the extremes of heat and cold which would kill oE most forms of plant life in short order."

EXCITING PLANS 41.

"Okay, I'm convinced!" Bud exclaimed. "How soon do we start for the outpost?"

Tom smiled. "I want to discuss the whole project with Dad first. We'll start back to Shop-ton early tomorrow morning."

"Hold on now, boss," Chow spoke up plaintively. "You ain't said nothin' yet about me goin' along on this trail drive up yonder."

Bud pretended to look worried. "Old-timer, we weren't going to tell you the bad news just yet. But the fact is, crewmen with oversized bay windows won't qualify for any more s.p.a.ce flights. The strain is too great."

"The strain is too great?" Chow snorted indignantly. "Why, brand my s.p.a.ce boots, didn't I stand the strain all right when we built the s.p.a.ce wheel and explored the satellite Little Luna and even flew clear up to the moon? Didn't crack up on any o' them s.p.a.ce flights, did I?"

"Oh, I'm not worried about you," said Bud. "I mean the strain of the extra poundage might be too great on the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p."

A deep red flush spread over Chow's tanned features. "I can't help what my own cookin' does to me," he said. "Now can I, Tom?"

"Don't let Bud kid you, Chow," Tom said. "I wouldn't take off without my old pal any more than I'd take off without a s.p.a.ce helmet. Why, a good s.p.a.ce cook like you is the most important man in the crew!"

Chow grinned in relief and threw out his chest until he seemed in danger of popping a b.u.t.ton.

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"Thanks, boss. And as fer you, Buddy boy, don't come runnin' to ole Chow next time you get s.p.a.ce sick. If you can't stand the gaff, we'll jest have to s.h.i.+p you straight back to earth!"

The session broke up in good-natured needling, and the following day Tom and his three companions took off for Shopton. A heavy overcast darkened the sky. Within an hour after leaving the Citadel, they saw lightning flashes arc through the clouds, while the heavens rumbled with thunder.

"Looks as if we're in for a rough flight," Ted remarked.

The words were hardly out of his mouth when terrific headwinds buffeted the plane. Splashes of rain pelted the cabin window as the storm unleashed its full fury below.

"I'd better take her upstairs," Torn said, hauling back on the stick. The big cargo jet zoomed upward in a steep climb. "Flick on the radio to Enterprises, will you?" he asked Bud.

The copilot tuned to the special frequency. "Swift jet calling Enterprises! Can you read me?"

The Enterprises operator responded, and a moment later switched the call to Mr. Swift in his private office.

"h.e.l.lo, Bud! Is Tom aboard?"

"Yes, Mr. Swift. He's right here."

Tom used his throat mike. "Hi, Dad! How's everyone?"

"All fine, son, but we were a bit worried when we heard about you getting burned." Tom re- EXCITING PLANS 43.

a.s.sured his father and Mr. Swift went on, "How about your matter-making machine? Did the tests work out?"

"Well enough to prove my point," Tom replied. "But the power consumption is so high, I believe I'd better continue my experiments up at the s.p.a.ce station."

Tom waited for his father to comment, but the set remained silent. "Dad, are you there? Can you read me?"

Tom thumbed his mike switch and adjusted the tuning, but the radio seemed to have gone dead.

"What's wrong?" Bud shot a puzzled glance at the young pilot.

"Not sure," Tom replied, "but take a look at some of those dials."

"Jumpin* jets! The flight instruments have gone haywire too!"

Ted bent forward to look over Bud's shoulder.

"What caused it, skipper?"

Tom shook his head, a worried frown creasing his brow. "I don't know, but I have a hunch it may be due to sunspots."

Fortunately, the gyrocompa.s.s was not affected and the plane continued its steady flight above the storm area. After a moment's silence, Bud asked thoughtfully: "Skipper, what would happen if we were up on the moon and depending on your matter maker for food and oxygen? Would sunspots throw that out of kilter too?"

44 .

"Brand my jet scooter," Chow burst out nervously, "why bring that up?"

Tom grinned at the apprehensive stares of his three friends. "Relax," he said.

"It actually wouldn't make much difference. Might cut down on production a little, or even boost it a bit, but otherwise it wouldn't affect the machine at all."

Chow fanned himself with his ten-gallon hat. "Might 'a' knowed that Buddy boy was jest tryin' to spook us. Trouble with some hombres is they got too much ee-magination!"

Shortly before noon, the s.h.i.+p landed at Enterprises and Tom hurried to the big double office he shared with his father. Besides the huge modern desks for father and son, the room contained comfortable leather chairs, push-b.u.t.ton drawing boards, and in front of one wall near the door a movable stack of shelves. They were crowded with books and s.h.i.+ny models of Tom Sr.'s and Tom Jr.'s greatest inventions, and also sample bottles of their various chemical compounds.

Over a tasty lunch of chicken sandwiches, Tom discussed with his father the new plans for experimenting with his matter-making machine at the outpost in s.p.a.ce.

"I agree, son," the elder scientist nodded. "You apparently need the intense solar radiation you'll get above the earth's atmosphere to provide you with an unlimited source of power."

Mr, Swift broke off as the telephone rang. He lifted the receiver, spoke for a few minutes, then hung up with a chuckle.

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"Better fit a dinner party this evening into your schedule," he told Tom. "That was Sandy. She has invited Phyl and wants you to bring Bud and Ted."

"We'll be there," Tom promised, grinning.

Phyllis Newton was Tom's favorite date. A pretty brunette, she was the daughter of "Uncle Ned" Newton, stanch and long-time friend of Mr. Swift. He was now manager of the Swift Construction Company. In their youth the two men had struggled side by side through many exciting adventures when Tom Sr. was first startling the world with his advanced scientific achievements.

That evening, the dining-room table in the Swift home looked unusually attractive, with flowers, silver, fine china, and candles. As Tom held his mother's chair, he asked, "Did I forget somebody's birthday?"

Sandy laughed. "No, but this is a special occasion."

"What are we celebrating?" Bud asked.

"Well," said Sandy, "Phyl and I decided to drum up a little excitement. You boys have all the fun on these s.p.a.ce flights. Why not take us along? You could teach me to pilot the Challenger, Tom!"

"And I could be her back-seat driver!" added Phyl, her brown eyes twinkling.

The Challenger, Tom's amazing new s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p powered by repelatron drive, had already successfully orbited the moon.

As Tom hesitated, his father spoke up. "That 46 .

might be a good idea. You could observe the feminine reaction to s.p.a.ce travel." He chuckled. "I've heard they're better in their behavior than men."

"Oh, Dad, you're wonderful!" Sandy cried, popping up from her chair to give her father a hug. "Then it's all settled."

Dinner proceeded to the accompaniment of frequent laughter and banter among the Swifts and their guests. As they were eating dessert, apple pie a la mode, the phone rang and Sandy went to answer it.

"For you, Ted," she informed him.

Ted excused himself to take the call. When he returned to the table a few moments later, his face was very pale. The others noticed his concern with alarm.

"I do hope it wasn't bad news, Ted," Mrs. Swift said.

Ted shrugged uneasily as he resumed his place. "I'm not sure how to take it,"

he replied. "I've just been threatened!"

CHAPTER VI.

A NIGHT OF PERIL.

TED'S announcement brought gasps of dismay from his listeners.

"Who was it?" Tom questioned. "That Mr. Hamps.h.i.+re again?"