Tom Swift and His Atomic Earth Blaster (12 page)

Tom went on to explain that the cargo jets would carry extra clothing and food supplies, machines for creating several "ice domes" for various storage needs, other tools of use in the frigid environment, an air conditioners for warming and ventilating the domes, tractors and snowmobiles; and last but not least, the extra blaster.

"What’s that for?" inquired Bud.

"Safety precaution. There’s always a chance the main blaster may be crushed or pinned by a sudden shift in the earth’s crust. Or the shaft might be blocked off. Either way, we’d be stymied without a spare machine on hand."

"I see what you mean," said Bud. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the desk before resuming the conversation. "You know, skipper, I’ve been wondering if it might not be smart to take along some huskies and dogsleds on this picnic. They could take us anywhere—places we couldn’t go even in a snowmobile. And dogs don’t stall or freeze up on you."

"I may be able to make a contribution on that subject," Hanson interjected. "You know, my mother and father have retired to Alaska—we Swedes are a mighty hardy bunch! I think they’ll be able to connect you to a veteran dog-team trainer from their neighborhood."

Tom nodded. "An excellent idea, Arv."

As the meeting broke up, it was decided to fly to Alaska the following day to purchase huskies and sleds. "We can take Sandy and Bashalli along, and make it a day’s outing," Tom suggested. "If that’s all right, Dad."

As Mr. Swift nodded, Bud exclaimed. "Now you’re talking like a
real
genius, pal! Let’s give the girls a call this very minute!"

At nine o’clock the next morning the
Sky Queen
was lifted from the underground hangar on its huge elevator platform. When it was ready for take-off, Tom, Bud, Arv, and the girls boarded the three-decker silver skyship.

Tom gunned the powerful engines into life. As he poured power into the jet lifters, the huge ship rose into the air.

Sandy and Bash sat up front in the pilot’s cabin with the others. "This is
just
what I needed, big brother," Sandy said. Tom knew what she was referring to. Despite all efforts she and Bashalli had failed to place in the sailboat race over the weekend, and their spirits needed a lift.

"We are becoming great sailors of the
skies,
at least," Bashalli remarked.

"Where in Alaska do you plan to buy your huskies?" Sandy asked Arv Hanson as they streaked across the continent at a speed faster than sound.

"From an acquaintance of my folks, an Indian named Colonel George Eagle Friend," replied Hanson.

"Goodness, that’s quite a name!"

"He’s quite a man, from what my Dad tells me. Colonel Eagle Friend has a wonderful military record, and now he makes a business of breeding sled dogs. He and my Dad were in the service together."

At noontime Tom eased the huge plane down on the airfield at Fairbanks, Alaska. It was strange to feel the abrupt bite of winter in the air when they stepped from the plane.

While Arvid Hanson visited his parents, the younger foursome ate lunch at a local restaurant, then took a taxi to the kennels, which were located a short distance from town.

Colonel Eagle Friend, a full-blooded Alaskan Indian, greeted them with delight. Over sixty years of age, he was a splendid figure of a man, tall and straight as an arrow, with a shock of blue-black hair and black eyes that sparkled with love of life.

"Klahowya!
Welcome to Alaska!"

When they were comfortably seated inside his rambling log bungalow, Tom explained the reason for their visit, which he had only touched upon over his initial telephone call. "We’d like to buy a good dog team and all the necessary equipment. You see, we’re planning a scientific expedition to the South Pole."

The colonel’s eyebrows rose in surprise. "Another one, eh?"

Tom was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"What I meant was, I just sold an outfit to another fellow who’s going there," the Indian explained. "Maybe you know him."

"What’s his name?" Tom asked, startled by the news.

"He called himself Mr. Brown," the Indian replied, "but I doubt that’s his real name. He had a heavy accent."

"Brown
equals
Bronich,
I’ll bet!" Bud groaned, as Tom quickly gave Colonel Eagle Friend a description of their nemesis.

"That’s the man!" the Indian said. "I’m afraid he’s got a head start on you!"

GEORGE EAGLE Friend shared in the dismay of his guests. "I take it you’ve crossed his trail before!"

"Most of the time, he’s been crossing ours!" Bud declared.

"He’s actually an agent of the Kranjovian government," explained Tom, "wanted by the FBI for espionage and on several other counts. Now it looks as if he’s trying to beat us to the South Pole!"

Obtaining a promise to keep the matter secret, the young inventor told the colonel about his atomic earth blaster and his plans for tapping iron from deep within the earth.

"Well, at least I can outfit you with a good team of huskies," said the Indian. "I’ll give you the best dogs in my kennel."

Slipping on their coats again, the four young people accompanied their host out to the back of his cabins where the huskies were kept in wire-enclosed runs.

At Colonel Eagle Friend’s approach, the dogs set up a loud, eager barking, jumping up against the wire and wagging their tails frantically. They were of various sizes and mostly black, white, or wolf gray in color. All had slant eyes and a thick ruff of fur around their necks, as well as curling, bushy tails.

"How big a team do you want?" inquired the colonel, turning to Tom.

"What do you advise?"

The Indian thought for a moment. "Well, nine dogs are enough even for the heaviest loads. But I’ll give you two more dogs for spares. Then, if you like, you can split them into two smaller teams for light hauling."

Opening a gate, he went into one of the runs and brought out a small, wiry husky with a mask of silver-white fur around the eyes and muzzle, outlined by blackish fur on the head and ears.

"This is my sweetheart Klootch," he announced. "She’ll be your lead dog."

"I thought lead dogs were supposed to be big and powerful," Bud said.

"It’s more important to have one that’s smart and fast. And Klootch is all of that."

So that the boys might accustom themselves to handling a dog team, Colonel Eagle Friend hitched up two outfits—one for Tom and one for Bud.

The boys mounted the sled runners and grasped the handle bars. After some instruction, the colonel called, "All set?"

"Sure." Bud grinned. "But now what? Don’t tell me you kick-start ’em!"

"Watch and learn," replied the Indian. With a crack of his long rawhide whip, he shouted,
"Mush!"
Instantly the dogs strained against the harness and the sleds glided away.

"Hey, this is almost as much fun as jockeying a jet!" yelled Bud to Tom. "Let’s make it a race, chum!"

"You’re on! Winner buys the next round of whale-blubber!"

Picking up the whips from their sleds, the boys cracked them in the air and shouted words of encouragement to their teams. The dogs put on speed, stretching their legs farther and faster with every stride. Soon the sleds seemed to be flying over the snow! Cheeks red from the stinging wintry air, the boys laughed and yelled back and forth.

Neither was aware that the huskies were gradually getting out of hand. The sleds carried no loads, and the dogs sensed the inexperience of their drivers.

Soon they came to a dip in the terrain, where a high, steep hillside sloped down to a frozen creek bed.

"Look out, Bud!" Tom shouted.
"Whoa!
Whoa, you huskies!"

Tom had suddenly realized that the teams were running away with them. Bud, too, tried frantically to stop his team. But the dogs paid no heed. At headlong speed, they went racing down the slope.

A moment later one of Bud’s sled runners hit a boulder. The jarring jolt caused the sled to flip over, throwing Bud against a nearby tree trunk!

Rocketing down the hill at breakneck speed, Tom, too, lost his footing on the sled runners. As his legs spun out from under him, his hands slipped from the bars. Over and over he tumbled down the icy hillside like a human snowball.

At the bottom, he lay dazed for a minute or two before struggling painfully to his feet.
"Bud!"
Tom cried. Halfway up the hillside, the dark-haired pilot was sprawled, motionless, at the foot of a tree. Tom scrambled to his friend’s side and crouched down beside him, gently placing his hand beneath the youth’s parka. When Tom pulled his hand back, it was smeared with bright scarlet!

Overwhelmed with fear for Bud’s life—all secret suspicions momentarily forgotten—Tom began to chafe his wrists, speaking Bud’s name over and over as if to call him back to consciousness. Then another dog team came into view. The colonel was riding the sled. He halted his dogs on the brow of the hill, and, jumping from the runners, hurried toward the boys. When he saw that Bud’s forehead bore a darkening bruise and a nasty cut, he said: "I was afraid this might happen when I saw you start racing. That’s why I followed."

Bud soon revived and grinned sheepishly at his own plight. "Looks as if huskies are even
trickier
to handle than a jet!" he muttered under his breath.

"Especially on loops and wingovers," remarked the Indian, as the corners of his mouth twitched in a faint smile. Turning away, Tom sighed his relief.

After the dog breeder had recovered the runaway teams, the boys drove them carefully back to the cabin.

As Tom and Bud were washing up and treating their scrapes and bruises with antiseptic, Bud remarked, "Doggone, that old Eagle Eye is a real swell Joe. I wish he could come with us on the expedition!"

"Great minds run in the same channel!" Tom grinned. "I was just wishing the same thing. Why don’t we ask him?"

Over a tasty snack which Mrs. Eagle Friend prepared for her guests before their departure, Tom broached the question. In reply, the Indian said: "I’ve been hoping you’d ask me ever since I heard about the expedition! But, of course, my answer is not for me alone to give. My wife must give her approval."

Tom nodded in understanding. "When do you plan to ask her?"

"Oh, about an hour ago!" he grinned. "She said,
‘George—go! You’re not getting any younger!’"

Everyone laughed, and Sandy added, "I think it’s wonderful that you’re going along on the expedition, Colonel Eagle Friend! Now I feel better about these two roughnecks going, too, because I’m
sure
you’ll keep an eye on them!"

"I must tell you, Colonel—neither of them can stand too many more hits on the head!" Bashalli remarked.

"My dearest Klootch and I will look after them both," chuckled the colonel.

Leaving the care and feeding of the remaining huskies in his wife’s capable hands, the Indian drove his four young companions to the airport. They rode in a rickety old sedan with a huge trailer hitched in back, carrying the eleven dogs and equipment selected for the expedition.

At sight of the
Sky Queen,
Colonel Eagle Friend muttered in awe,
"Skookum kallakalla!"

"Come again?" Bud said, blinking.

"In the Chinook tongue that means
mighty bird,"
explained the colonel. "And never have I seen a plane which more deserved the title!"

Tom showed him the cargo stowage space on the first deck. Then, with Sandy and Bashalli, he went topside to contact Shopton via short-wave radio.

"What do you plan on doing with the dogs?" Bud asked the colonel. "Just turn ’em loose here in this cargo compartment?"

The Indian snorted. "They’d be at each other’s throats the moment you did so. These dogs are powerful fighters! I think the safest plan is to partition them off in separate stalls."

Using lumber which he had brought along in the trailer, he proceeded to put together some crude wooden stalls, one for each dog. With Bud helping him, the job was quickly completed.

Meanwhile, Tom had made radio contact with his father back at Swift Enterprises. He told him of Bronich’s visit to Colonel Eagle Friend. Damon Swift reported, "We’re in good shape to leave ahead of schedule, son. Hank Sterling says the alterations on the blaster’s electrodes should be ready for testing tomorrow."

"That’s great news, Dad! In the meantime, how about contacting Washington for final clearance?"

Mr. Swift promised to do so immediately, and Tom signed off. A short time later the huge plane headed back to Shopton.

Following a successful test of the new electrodes the next day, Tom informed his crew that their departure for the South Pole was imminent. He then directed the loading of the two earth blasters into their cradles in the
Queen
’s aerial hangar deck.

"Hank did a fine job installing the atomic pile modules," Tom told his father. "I see no reason why we can’t take off as soon as we’ve purchased the last of our subzero-weather gear."

The elder Swift smiled. "If that’s the only holdup remaining, it’s already been solved. Harriman over in the purchasing department was able to let it get around—discreetly—that Enterprises was mounting a scientific trip to the polar regions. A national sporting goods chain donated several big crates of just about everything one can think of, from ski poles to long underwear. They’ll be delivered tomorrow."

Tom gave a low cheer at the news, relishing the first moment of closeness between himself and his father since the day of Steve Ames’ visit.

A knock on the office door heralded the arrival of Harlan Ames. His face bore a guarded expression. "Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but I just got off the phone with our congressional point man in DC. I’m afraid I have bad news. You’ll have to call off your South Pole trip!"

THE TWO Swifts were stunned by Ames’ announcement.

"I can’t believe it!" Tom cried in dismay. "You’ve got to be kidding!"

The security chief paused for a moment in sympathetic silence—then broke out in a laugh! "I
am
kidding, you guys! I was just playing the same prank on you two that was played on me five minutes ago."