Tom Swift and The Visitor from Planet X

KIDNAPED!

The message which Tom signaled in code over the electronic brain said: 

    WE HAVE A DANGEROUS PLAN.  IF PLAN WORKS, YOU MAY BE EXPOSED TO
    ENEMY TAMPERING.  WILL THIS BE SAFE?  CAN YOU STAND THIS?

There was a tense pause.  Then the signal bell rang on the machine and the keys began to punch out a reply on tape: 

    NO ONE CAN ALTER THIS BRAIN NOR CAN THEY CHANGE ITS PURPOSE. 
    THEY CAN ONLY DESTROY THE ENERGY HOLDER.

As Tom finished reading the message aloud, Chow gave a whoop of delight and the whole group burst into spontaneous cheers.

“Terrific, skipper!” Bud exclaimed, clapping his pal on the back.  The others gathered around to add their congratulations.

Mr. Swift, beaming with pride, gave Tom a quick hand-squeeze.  “It’s an amazing achievement, son.  And it may prove to be the key for unlocking the secrets of space, if and when we have time for some research after this crisis is over.”

“I sure hope so, Dad,” Tom murmured.  Though jubilant, the young inventor realized that this was only the first step in his plan to checkmate the Brungarian rebels.

The real perils still lay ahead!

Tom called Harlan Ames and asked him to come to the laboratory for a conference.  When the security chief arrived, he was as impressed as the others with the way Tom was able to communicate with Exman.

“The problem now,” Tom said, “is how do we have him kidnaped?”

Chow, wary as a coyote, offered his opinion that the safest way would be merely to leave the space robot unguarded somewhere about the grounds of Enterprises.

Ames shook his head.  “Too obvious.  They’d suspect a trap.”  Tom agreed.

“Wal, then, how about truckin’ him along the highway hereabouts, as if you all were sendin’ him down to Washington?”

This, too, was vetoed on the grounds that a shrewd espionage agent would guess that such a valuable prize would never be entrusted to a slow and vulnerable method of transport.

“Then what about an air flight?” Hank Sterling suggested.

“Brand my six-guns, that’d be jest beggin’ to git yourself shot down!” Chow fumed.

“Not if we used a plane like the Sky Queen, equipped with jet lifters,” Hank argued.  “If any hijack planes jumped us, they’d have to let us come down safely in order to get their hands on Exman.  We could land on the water or just hover while they made the transfer.”

“And after they had it safe aboard their own plane, they’d blast yours to smithereens!” Chow retorted.

Tom, too, thought a plane flight unwise, but for different reasons.  It might look suspicious to the Brungarians after the Swifts had been warned by one aerial hijack attempt.  Also, they might be deterred by fear of war, thinking that the United States Air Force would doubtless be alerted to the possibility of attack.

“So right,” Ames agreed.  After a thoughtful pause, he added, “Tom, what about transporting Exman by submarine?  We know that every spy apparatus in this hemisphere is constantly trying to probe what goes on at Fearing Island, where our subs are based.”

“No doubt about that,” Tom conceded.

“So,” Ames continued, “any move to Fearing would certainly make the Brungarian agents prick up their ears.  Their own spy subs probably would come prowling around the island and detect the departure of a Swift sub.  And they might feel that an undersea hijack attempt would be a fairly safe gamble.”

The others looked thoughtful, then slowly nodded in agreement.  Ames’s reasoning sounded highly logical.

“Tom, you’ll insist on going, I suppose,” Mr. Swift said somberly.

“Of course, Dad.  After all, the kidnap plan was my own idea,” Tom replied.  “Another thing I’ll insist on is that you don’t go.  We have Mother and Sandy to think of, and it’s not right that both of us risk our necks.”

Realizing that it was hopeless to dissuade his son, and realizing the basic fairness of Tom’s position, Mr. Swift did not argue.  Bud, Hank, Chow, and Arv immediately volunteered to accompany the young inventor on his dangerous mission.

Tom gratefully accepted their help.  He asked all hands to assemble on the Enterprises airfield at six the next morning for the flight to Fearing.

After the others had left, Tom and his father resumed their experiments with Exman.  Mr. Swift suggested adding a device to the radio equipment to make it disintegrate if tampered with.  “Before those rebel Brungarians can learn the secret of your electronic spy.”

“Good idea, Dad.  And how about our doing the job with Swiftonium?” This was an unusual radioactive ore which Tom had discovered in South America.

Mr. Swift nodded as he began work.

Tom watched admiringly as his father reconstructed the radio, coating the entire thing with a Swiftonium compound.  He at once placed the set in a small oven which he raised to 50 degrees centigrade.

“When this cools, the set will be stable,” Mr. Swift said.  “But if you should move any part of it after it cools, all of the organic parts, like the circuit boards, the insulation, the carbon resistors, etc., will oxidize and disappear as gas.  You will not even be able to tamper with a single unit.”

“Wonderful, Dad,” Tom murmured when the device was finished.  “I wish I had your know-how in microchemistry.”

“And I wish I had yours in electronics!” the elder scientist declared with a chuckle.

After Mr. Swift had installed the device in Exman’s star head, Tom used the electronic brain to inform the robot about the whole scheme.

Both Tom Jr. and Tom Sr. were delighted when Exman showed real enthusiasm.  It replied via the printed tape on the decoder: 

    DO NOT WORRY, MY FRIENDS.  I WILL NOT RESPOND TO ANY ATTEMPTS BY
    BRUNGARIAN SCIENTISTS TO COMMUNICATE WITH ME.  MY PLANET IS WELL
    AWARE OF THEIR DANGEROUS AIMS. HAVING CONQUERED YOUR WORLD, THEY
    WOULD NEXT INVADE SPACE.

“Looks as though Exman’s got their number, all right!” Tom said with satisfaction.

Early the next morning Mr. Swift drove Tom to the Enterprises airfield to meet his friends.  Hank Sterling, Bud, and Chow were already on hand, and Arv Hanson arrived a few moments later.  Tom and Bud left the others to bring Exman in a small panel truck.

Soon the space robot was safely loaded aboard a transport helicopter.  The others took their places inside the cabin.

“Good luck, son!” Mr. Swift forced a smile as he gave Tom a parting handshake.

“Don’t worry, Dad.  I’ll be back soon!” Tom assured him.  The nature of the trip had been described only vaguely to Mrs. Swift and Sandy in order to keep them from worrying.

The short hop overwater to Fearing Island was soon completed.  Lying just off the Atlantic coast, Fearing had once been a barren, thumb-shaped expanse of scrubgrass and sand dunes.  Now it was the Swifts’ top-secret rocket base, tightly guarded by drone planes and radar.

As the helicopter approached its destination, Tom radioed for clearance, then whirred down toward the landing field.  The barracks, workshops, and launching area of the base lay spread out in full view.  Cargo rockets bristled on their launching pads, along with Tom’s spaceships, including the mighty Titan, and the oddly shaped Challenger and Cosmic Sailer.

North and south, the island was fringed with docks.  Here the recovery tugs and fuel tankers were moored, as well as the Swifts’ fleet of undersea craft.

Tom had chosen a cargo-hauling jetmarine, named the Swiftsure.  It was a larger version of his original two-man jet sub, the Ocean Dart.  He had given orders the night before to have it ready for sea by morning.

By jeep and truck, Tom’s group sped across the island to the dock.  Exman was quickly lowered aboard through the sub’s hatch.  The others followed, the conning-tower hatch was dogged shut, and soon the Swiftsure was gliding off into the shadowy blue-green depths.

“What’s your sailing plan, skipper?” Hank Sterling inquired.  The quiet-spoken, square-jawed engineer stood beside Tom at the atomic turbine controls and looked out through the transparent nose of the jetmarine.

“Go slow.  Give ’em plenty of chance to pick up our trail,” Tom replied.

For two hours they cruised at moderate speed.  Nothing happened.  Disappointed, Tom surfaced and radioed his father for news, after cutting in the automatic scrambling device.

“You’re in time for an exciting flash,” Mr. Swift reported jubilantly.

“What is it, Dad?”

“An attempt to earthquake New York has just failed!”

Grins broke out on the faces of the crew as they heard Mr. Swift’s words come over the loud-speaker.  Bud let out a happy whoop.

“That’s great, Dad!” Tom said.  “Maybe we’ve got ’em licked on the quake front.  No luck so far, though, on our new project.”

“Well, keep in touch and let me know at once if anything happens,” Mr. Swift urged.

“Right, Dad!” Tom promised.

Again the Swiftsure submerged.  This time it was only a few minutes before Arv Hanson gave a cry of warning.

“Something on the sonarscope, skipper!”

Bud, Hank, and Chow hastily gathered around the scope to watch.  The blip grew larger rapidly.  It was clearly another submarine, closing in on a collision course.

Tom put on a burst of speed, as if attempting to outrace their pursuer.  But he was careful to gauge his knots by reports from the sonarscope, in order not to widen the gap between the two craft.  There seemed no danger that this would happen, although the Swiftsure raced ahead faster and faster.  Still the enemy sub continued to close in like a marauding shark, finally passing Tom’s craft.

“Some baby!” Bud muttered respectfully.

The words were hardly out of his mouth when a missile streaked across their bow, in plain view through the Swiftsure’s transparent nose.  Its foaming wake rocked the jetmarine.

“They’re attacking us!” Bud cried out.

Tom slammed shut the turbine throttle, bringing his craft to a gliding halt in the water.  At the same time, he switched on the sonarphone.

“Orders to Swift sub!” a voice barked over the set.  “Surface and heave to!  No tricks, or the next missile will not be across your bow!”

Tom blew his tanks and sent the Swiftsure spearing upward.  As the conning tower broke water, Tom and his men swarmed up on deck.  Seconds later, a sleek gray enemy submarine knifed into view.  Its hatch opened and several men climbed out.

To Tom’s amazement, their leader was Samson Narko!

Chow let out a yelp of rage.  “Why, you sneakin’, double-dyed, bushwhackin’ polecat!” the old Westerner bellowed.  “We shoulda kept you hawg-tied, ‘stead o’ lettin’ you go free!”

Narko ignored the outburst and raised a megaphone to his lips.  “Hand over your cargo and do it quickly!”

“What cargo?” Tom snapped back.  “And what’s the meaning of this outrage?  You realize this is piracy?”

“I realize you will wind up on the bottom at the slightest show of resistance!” Narko warned menacingly.  “You know very well what cargo I refer to!  Now do not try our patience!”

  [Illustration (a submarine attacks the Swiftsure)]

Tom and his crew pretended to put up a blustering, indignant front.  Chow was especially convincing, with a blistering torrent of salty Texas invectives.

Narko’s only response was a barked-out order to his men in Brungarian.  Quickly the enemy submarine maneuvered closer until the two craft were almost chockablock.  Narko and his men then leaped aboard the Swiftsure, armed with sub-machine guns and automatics.

“I’m warning you, Narko—­” Tom began angrily.  But Narko cut the young inventor short by a poke in his ribs with the gun muzzle, then issued orders to two of his men to go below.

Moments later, Exman was being hauled up through the hatch and transferred aboard the raider.  The Americans glared in angry silence.

“Thanks so much, my stupid friends!” Narko taunted them with a jeering laugh.  Then he followed his crewmen as the last one scrambled back to the enemy submarine.

With laughs and waves, they disappeared into its conning tower.  The hatch was clamped shut and the raider promptly submerged.

Tom and his men were amazed, but delighted at not having been taken prisoner along with Exman.  All of them broke into happy chuckles of relief.

“Wow!  That’s what I call fast service!” Bud exclaimed.

“It was sure a blamed sight easier’n I expected,” Chow said.  “Thought fer a while we might end up feedin’ the fishes!”

“You put on a real act, Chow!” Tom said, clapping the stout old cook on the back.  “Well, they’ve taken the bait.  Now let’s hope it pays off—­for us!”

The Americans swarmed below again, closed the hatch, and submerged.  Tom took his time in bringing the jet pumps up to speed.  “Wonder if we should pretend to proceed on course, or turn around and head for home?” he murmured to Hank.

Hank’s reply was cut short by a yell from Hanson at the sonarphone.

“Missile coming, skipper!  Straight at us!”