Tom Swift and The Visitor from Planet X

A UNIQUE EXPERIMENT

“Bearing?” Tom cried.

“One-seven-five!” Arv Hanson sang out.

Tom gunned his port jet turbine and swung the Swiftsure hard right.  The abrupt turn at high speed sent the craft sideslipping crazily like a skidding race boat.

“Here she comes, skipper!” Bud yelled.  He had rushed to the sonarscope with the other members of the crew.

Tom’s maneuver had carried them a good hundred yards off the missile’s course.  Now he yanked a lever, pulling the cadmium rods still farther from the atomic pile, in order to increase power and jet-blast their sub still farther out of range.

But suddenly the men at the scope blanched.  “The missile’s turning too!” Hank cried.  “It’s homing in on us!”

Unlike most Swift craft used on scientific expeditions, the cargo sub’s hull had not been coated with Tomasite.  This would have insulated it from all magnetic effects or any form of pulse detection.  Tom had chosen the Swiftsure partly for this very reason, so that the Brungarian rebels could easily pick up its trail after leaving Fearing.

How ironic if his choice should prove fatal!  As the thought flashed through Tom’s brain, the missile came streaking into view through the sub’s transparent nose.

By this time, Tom had flipped up the Swiftsure’s diving planes.  The craft plummeted deeper into the ocean depths.

“Brand my whale blubber, she’s turnin’ again!” Chow gulped.  The missile’s arc, as it veered around to follow, painted a streak of light on the sonarscope.

Anxious moments raced by while Tom steered their craft in a deadly game of tag with the sub-killer.  Gradually the missile appeared to be losing momentum.

“It’s slowing down, all right!” Arv called out.

In a few minutes the missile had lost so much way that Tom was easily able to outdistance it.  The crew crowded to the scope, heaving sighs of relief.  The missile, its velocity spent, sank harmlessly toward the bottom.

“Boy, what a close call!” Bud gasped weakly.  “You played that thing like a toreador sidestepping a bull, Tom!  Nice going!”

The others echoed Bud’s sentiments, with fervent handshakes and backslaps for Tom’s skillful evasive action.

“Jest the same,” said Chow, “I’d sure like to make Narko an’ them Brungarian hoss thieves dance a Texas jig with a little hot lead sprayed around their boot heels!  Sneakin’ bushwhackers!  It’s jest like I told Hank about his airplane scheme—­they’d try to gun us down, like as not, soon as they got their hands on Exman!”

“I guess you had them figured right, Chow,” Tom agreed wryly.  “Well, at least we’ve lost their sub!”

The Brungarian raider was no longer visible even as a faint blip on their radarscope.  Evidently Narko had thought the jetmarine a sure victim and headed back to his own base.

Nevertheless, Tom steered a wary zigzag course back to Fearing.  When they arrived at the island, he immediately telephoned Bernt Ahlgren and Wes Norris in Washington to report the hijacking of the space brain.  Both men praised the young inventor for his daring scheme to outwit the ruthless Brungarian rebel clique.

“If your idea pays off, Tom, we should be able to checkmate every move those phonies and their allies make!” Norris declared.

“I’m hoping we can do even better than that,” Tom replied.  “Part of my plan is to help the Brungarian loyalists through Exman’s tip-offs.  With some smart quarterbacking, we might be able to rally the rightful government before all resistance is crushed out.”

“Terrific!” Norris exclaimed.  “Let’s hope your scheme works!”

Tom had ordered the space oscilloscopes to be manned constantly, both at Fearing and at Enterprises, in case of a flash from Exman.  But no word had yet been received when Tom and his companions arrived at the mainland late that afternoon.

Mr. Swift greeted his son warmly at the airfield.  Tom had refrained from radioing the news to Enterprises after the hijacking and the missile attempt.  Any such message, Tom feared, might be picked up by the enemy and bring on another attack.  But the young inventor had telephoned his father immediately after calling Washington.

Now Mr. Swift threw his arm affectionately around the lanky youth.  “You look pretty well bushed, son.  Why not hustle home and call it a day?  That goes for the rest of you, too,” he added to Bud, Chow, and the others.  “You’ve just risked your lives and the strain is bound to tell.”

Tom urged his companions to comply.  “But I’m sticking right here,” the young inventor told his father.  “I want to be on hand the minute Exman contacts us.”

Bud insisted upon staying with his pal.  The two boys ate a quiet supper in Tom’s private laboratory and finally lay down on cots in the adjoining apartment.  But first Tom posted a night operator to watch the electronic brain.

“Wake me up the second that alarm bell goes off,” he ordered.

“Okay, skipper,” the radioman promised.

No message arrived to disturb the boys’ rest.  Tom felt a pang of worry as he dressed the next morning, and then relieved the man on duty at the decoder.  Had the Brungarians somehow outwitted him?  Surely Exman should have reported by this time!

“Relax, pal,” Bud urged.  “Our space chum’s hardly had time to learn any secrets yet.  Besides, those Brungarian scientists are probably giving him the once-over with all sorts of electronic doodads.  Why risk sending a message till he has something important to tell us?”

“That’s true,” Tom admitted.

Chow brought in breakfast.  “You jest tie into these vittles, boss, an’ stop frettin’,” the cook said soothingly.  “I reckon Ole Think Box won’t let us down.”

Tom sniffed the appetizing aroma of flapjacks and sausages.  “Guess you’re right, Chow,” he said with a chuckle.

As the boys ate hungrily, Tom’s thoughts turned back to the problem of how to equip Exman with senses.  He talked the project over with Bud.  Most of his ideas were too technical for Bud to follow, but he listened attentively.  He knew the young inventor found it helpful to have a “sounding board” for his ideas.

“Too bad I didn’t have time to tackle the job before Exman was kidnaped,” Tom mused.  “Think how much more he could learn with ‘eyes’ and ’ears’!”

“Stop crabbing,” Bud joked.  “Isn’t an electronic spy with a brain like Einstein’s good enough?”

Mr. Swift arrived at the laboratory an hour or so later.  He found Tom setting up an experiment with a glass sphere to which were affixed six powerful electromagnets.  Two shiny electrodes, with cables attached to their outer ends, had also been molded into the glass.  Bud was looking on, wide-eyed.

Tom explained to his father that he had blown the sphere himself, following a formula adapted from the quartz glass used for view panels in his space and undersea craft.

“What’s it for, son?” Mr. Swift asked, after studying the setup curiously.

“Don’t laugh, Dad, but I’m trying to produce a brain of pure energy.  A substitute for Exman, so we can go ahead with our sensing experiments.”

Mr. Swift reacted with keen interest and offered to help.  “But remember, son,” he cautioned, “at best you can only hope to produce an ersatz brain energy—­which will be vastly different from the real thing.  Don’t forget, Tom, the mind of a human being or any thinking inhabitant of our universe is based on a divine soul.  No scientist must ever delude himself into thinking he can copy the work of our Creator.”

“I know that, Dad,” Tom said soberly.  “Man’s work will always be a crude groping, compared to the miracles of Nature.  All I’m hoping to come up with here is a sort of stimulus-response unit that we can use for testing any sensing apparatus we devise.”

The two scientists plunged into work.  First, a bank of delicate gauges was assembled to record precisely every electrical reaction that took place inside the sphere.  Then Tom threw a switch, shooting a powerful bolt of current across the electrodes.  The field strength of the electromagnets, controlled by rheostats, instantly shaped the charge into a glowing ball of fire!

“Wow!  A real hothead!” Bud wisecracked, trying to hide his excitement.

Tom grinned as he twirled several knobs and checked the gauges.  The slightest variation in field strength triggered an instant response from the ball of energy.  Mr. Swift tried exposing it to radio and repelatron waves.  Each time the gauges showed a sensitive reaction.

“Looks as if we’re in business, Dad!” Tom said jubilantly.

Bud left soon afterward as the two Swifts buckled down to work on the problem of perfecting an apparatus to simulate the human senses.  Each concentrated on a different line of approach.

At noon they broke off briefly for a lunch wheeled in by Chow.  Then silence settled again over the laboratory.

Tom had rigged up a jointed, clawlike mechanical arrangement with sensitive diaphragms in its “finger tips.”  The diaphragms were connected to a transistorized circuit designed to modulate the field current to the electromagnets.

Suddenly the young inventor looked up at his father with a glow of triumph.

“Dad, I just got a reaction to my sense-of-touch experiment!”