Tom Swift and The Visitor from Planet X

ENERGY FROM PLANET X

Tom and Bud listened in dismay as Blake reported all the details he had been able to gather.

“Was my Quakelizor a flop, Bud?” Tom muttered, his shoulders drooping as the announcer signed off.  “It must have been!”

“Don’t be silly!  Snap out of it!” Bud gave his pal a cheerful poke in the ribs, hoping to buck him up.  “You heard what Blake said—­Washington itself was hardly touched.  Without your setup, think of all the people that might have been killed or injured!  And all the government buildings that might have been wrecked, maybe even the White House.  I’d say your shock-wave deflector must have been at least ninety per cent effective!”

Tom brightened somewhat on hearing Bud’s words.  He picked up the phone, and placed a call to Dr. Miles at the Bureau of Mines.  It was almost half an hour before the operator was able to get a line through.  But Tom felt the suspense had been worth while when Dr. Miles exclaimed: 

“Tom, it was a miracle you completed the Quakelizor installation in time!  In all probability it saved us from a major national disaster, perhaps worse than Pearl Harbor!”

Tom felt a glow of pride and relief.  “Thanks, sir.  But what about the shipyard destruction?” he added, still not entirely convinced.

“That was a bad break, Tom,” Dr. Miles admitted.  “Our detectors showed that the shock waves had been almost damped out when a sudden power failure occurred.  It turned out that an overload had shorted the Quakelizor’s power plant.  The crew had it fixed within moments, but by that time the damage was done.”

Tom winced as he heard of the unfortunate accident, but was thankful the results had been no worse.

Miles went on to say that he had just been conferring with Ahlgren at the Pentagon.  The Defense Department now feared that attempts might be made against other large cities and was therefore eager to have Tom deliver several quake deflectors as soon as possible.  These would be installed at strategic points around the country.

“The government heads were so impressed with your invention, Tom,” Dr. Miles added, “that they’ll probably be walking the floor anxiously until the others arrive.”

Tom chuckled, then became serious.  “Tell them we’ll go to work right away,” he informed the seismologist.  “I’ll have the new Quakelizors ready as soon as possible, but you’d better warn your associates it’s bound to take a few days.”

As soon as the conversation was completed, Tom dialed Ned Newton at the Swift Construction Company.  Although he was actually not a relative of the Swifts, both Tom and Sandy had from childhood called him “Uncle Ned.”

“What’s up, Tom?” he asked.

Tom told him of the latest request from Washington and asked that another three-shift work schedule be set up to turn out the additional Quakelizors.

“Hank and I will bring the blueprints over right away, if you don’t mind being late to dinner,” Tom said.

Ned Newton agreed willingly, only too happy to help cope with the quake menace.  By eight o’clock that evening, work on the project was proceeding at great speed.  The Swift Construction Company continued humming with activity around the clock.

The week end was almost over by the time Mr. Swift arrived back from the space station.  Tom flew to Fearing Island to meet him.  On the short hop back to Enterprises, they discussed the radio problem.

“I think the solution’s been staring us in the face, Dad, but we’ve been too worried to think of it,” Tom said.  “Remember Li Ching’s jamming-wave generator?”

He was referring to a device used recently by an Oriental foe of Tom and his father.  Mr. Swift’s eyes lighted up with a quick flash of understanding.

“Dad, you wrote a report on the generator for the government with a memo on possible ways to combat it,” Tom went on.  “Maybe the same measures would work in this case.”

The Swifts had discovered that their enemy had been intercepting Tom’s messages, thereby learning the frequency to which the Swifts’ receiver was tuned.  They then radiated a signal at this frequency, modulated at the frequency to which the local oscillator was set.  This had caused a buildup of energy in the I.F. transformers, resulting in their explosion.

Now Mr. Swift said, “You’re right, son.  We’ll insert a blocking filter in the R.F. stage that should do the trick.”

Their minds relieved of this problem, the Swifts were eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the brain energy from space the next day.  The scheduled time, if pinpointed at exactly two weeks from the moment when the first message was received, would be half an hour past noon.

The spot, two miles from Enterprises, was on a lonely hillside.  It was shaded by trees, higher up the slope, with bushes and other wild-growing greenery softening its contours.  Over the week end, Tom had had carpenters from Enterprises put up a small cabin at the foot.

As twelve-thirty approached, Tom, Bud, Mr. Swift, Hank Sterling, Arv Hanson, and several other Swift technicians stood by at the scene with the star-headed container.  Chow had also begged to be on hand.

“I jest got to see Ole Think Box come to life!” he said.

Eyes darted back and forth from wrist watches to sky as the zero moment ticked closer.  Bud even began muttering a countdown.

“X minus three…  X minus two…  X minus one…  This is it!”

All eyes flashed skyward. But nothing happened! Not a speck showed in the blue, cloudless sky.

The watchers glanced at one another uncertainly.  More minutes went by.  Soon it was quarter to one… then one o’clock.

“No mistake about the time, was there?” Arv asked.

Mr. Swift shook his head.  “Not if the code was translated correctly.”  He frowned.  “It’s true they spoke merely in terms of days.  But their time references are usually very precise.”

The waiting group fidgeted and prowled back and forth to ease their tension.  Feelings of suspense began changing into gloom after two more hours had passed with no sign from the sky.

Disappointed but unable to wait any longer, the technical men went back to the plant, one by one.  Hank Sterling, too, and Arv Hanson finally had to leave.

“Sorry, skipper,” Hank muttered.  “Ring us right away if it shows up.”

“Sure, Hank.”

As six o’clock went by, Chow tried to pep up his companions’ drooping spirits with a simple but tasty supper, warmed up on an electric hot plate in the cabin.

“What do you think, skipper?  Are we out of luck?” Bud asked as they ate.

“Our space friends haven’t let us down yet,” Tom replied.  “I’m sure they won’t this time.”  Though he didn’t say so aloud, Tom was worried that their Brungarian enemies might have managed to divert and capture the energy.

Mr. Swift seemed to read Tom’s thoughts.  “Let’s hope no hitch has occurred,” he said quietly.

The sun went down.  Twilight slowly deepened.  The trees on the hillside faded from view in the gathering darkness.

“There it is!” Bud yelled suddenly.

Electrified, the four sprang up in an instant.  A speck of light was sailing across the sky!  But their faces fell as it drew closer.

“Only an airplane,” Bud grumbled.

At ten o’clock Mr. Swift gave a weary yawn.  “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak,” he confessed.  “I got only two hours of sleep on the space wheel, and apparently last night wasn’t enough to catch up.  Sorry, fellows.”

“Why don’t you go home, Dad?  Hit the hay,” Tom said sympathetically.

Promising to take a turn on watch if the vigil continued through the next day, Mr. Swift drove off in his car.

Time dragged by slowly as the three remaining watchers chatted and looked hopefully at the stars.  Eventually Chow propped himself against a tree and dropped off to sleep to the accompaniment of low-droning snores.  Bud too began to drowse.

It was long past midnight when Tom suddenly caught sight of a moving light in the sky.  He stiffened and held his breath.  Another false alarm?

But no!  A glowing, faintly bluish mass with a comet tail of luminous orange red was slowly proceeding through the pattern of stars!

“Hey, fellows!  Wake up!” Tom shouted.  He sprang to his feet and unlatched a single point of the star head.  Within seconds, Bud and Chow were both wide awake, as excited as Tom.  The blue nebulous mass moved closer and closer.  The three watchers were speechless with awe.

As the ball of energy descended toward them, it lit up the whole scene.  The hillside looked almost as if it were on fire.  The earth vibrated, and the air had the sharp smell of ozone.  This was followed by a frightening clatter and rumble.  The force of the energy was sweeping down rocks, gravel, and shrubbery in a hillside avalanche!

“Look out!” Chow shrieked.  “We’ll be pulverized in this rock stampede!” He streaked for cover as a huge boulder came plunging straight toward him.

“Hold fast, Bud!” Tom cried.  “Nothing’s headed our way!”

Steeling his nerves, he grabbed the waiting container and held on grimly.  An instant later the glowing mass sharpened and narrowed itself into a snakelike bolt of fire that arced straight into the head of Tom’s invention.

Tom gave a yell of triumph and clamped the star point shut, then pushed a button to activate the self-sealing process.

Chow peered out cautiously from behind a clump of rock.  The next second, he let out a Texas whoop, bounded from cover like an over-sized gnome, and sent his ten-gallon hat sailing high into the air.

“Yippee!”

Bud cheered too.  “The visitor from Planet X has arrived!”

In their excitement and relief, the three hugged one another and jumped for joy.

“Should we wake up your dad and tell him the good news—­or keep it a surprise till morning?” Bud asked Tom.

“I guess we’d better—­”

Tom broke off in a gasp as the robotlike container suddenly began to whirl—­slowly at first, then faster and faster.  Spinning crazily like a huge runaway top, it darted up, down, and about the hillside.

Tom and his two companions stared in helpless amazement.

“Great horned toads!  What’s it up to?” Chow exclaimed.

“Seems like the energy’s trying to get out!” Bud guessed.  “Something must be bothering it.”

Tom shook his head incredulously.  “No reason for that.  The container was absolutely empty.”

Chow suddenly gave a groan and slapped his forehead in dismay.  “Brand my Big Dipper!” the cook said.  “Mebbe Ole Think Box has gone loco!  An’ it could be my fault!”