Tom Swift and His Atomic Earth Blaster (15 page)

"In a pig’s eye!" protested Bud.

"Now shake hands—both of you!" Tom ordered. "And don’t give me any argument."

The commanding ring in his voice produced an immediate result. Voorhees crawled over to Bud and offered his gloved hand. Bud tottered up on his knees and shook it.

"Sorry if I—er—surprised you, Harold," muttered Bud.

"You sure did, kid," responded Voorhees, breaking into a grin that suggested apology. "And… call me Hal." The concession obviously came hard. Voorhees added:
"If
you must!"

Bud hoarsely explained to Tom that he had arranged with Arv Hanson to bring the
Sky Queen
almost to ground level over a spot that the geo-radar showed was well-cushioned with fresh snow.

"I deserved it," admitted Voorhees. "I have a reputation for being—difficult. I suppose it’s become a habit. I apologize for my comments, Tom. Given the circumstances you’re handling this project masterfully."

Tom chuckled. "I’m just glad we didn’t lose two valuable team members in the snow."

The snow fight released a great deal of the tension that had built up among the mission members. For the next twenty hours, the work seemed to fly by almost effortlessly. The molten iron collector pit, emptied of water, became a point of concentrated activity as a framework gantry tower was constructed to hold the earth blaster. Meanwhile, around the periphery of Pluto Canyon, three narrow shafts, equidistantly spaced, were sunk about six feet into the solid rock that underlay the snow. An ultrasensitive lithosonde sensor was lowered to the bottom of each shaft, and the shafts packed densely with Tomasite foam. These electronic "ears" would allow Tom to monitor the precise speed and position of the blaster during its descent, using three-dimensional triangulation, calculated by computer.

As Tom completed a successful check of the monitoring equipment, Chow Winkler sidled into the control compartment offering hot cider—and a troubled expression.

"Something on your mind, Chow?" Tom inquired.

"Wa-aal, not really… mebbe." The cook approached Tom and spoke softly. "Tom, d’you suppose there’s somethin’ to that stuff the dentist talks about? About how them adenoids underground is goin’ to invade us?"

Tom stifled a smile. "Scientifically speaking, I suppose I can’t
absolutely
rule it out. Does it really bother you?"

"Naw!" he replied unconvincingly. "Mebbe a little."

The young inventor clapped his good friend on his broad back. "Chow, speaking
un
scientifically, I’d say there’s about as much chance of our setting off a Terranoid invasion as—as the Rio Grande taking off for Canada!"

Chow beamed. "Now you’re talkin’ my language!"

But Tom was frowning as Chow left. He was annoyed that Dr. Landis’ strange ideas were being spread to the crew.

As Tom made his way back to the main exit hatchway, intent on inspecting the progress on the launch gantry, he met Daryl Blake and Dr. Faber. Blake, excited as a schoolboy, ushered Tom to the botany lab on the
Sky Queen
, where he had been working steadily since their arrival.

"Now, my friends," announced the red-haired scientist as Tom and Dr. Faber followed him into his workshop, "feast your eyes on this!"

With the air of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, Blake produced two exhibits of lichens—a small clinging plant found at the South Pole. One specimen was frozen solidly in ice, the other was growing luxuriantly under the rays of a sun lamp.

Next, he pointed out a display of ivy and mountain pinks—some quick-frozen and some flourishing in a tray "garden." Tom and Faber looked on fascinated as Blake continued: "This experimental treatment will revolutionize horticulture and the study of plant growth! From now on, seedlings and small plants can be frozen and shipped anywhere in the world, and safely revived!"

Tom exclaimed: "And not only that—freezing would kill off any harmful insect life that might be carried along."

Dr. Faber’s eyes danced. "Think of it! Vital seeds and shoots for growing food and making medicines, quick-frozen for indefinite storage!"

As Blake finished showing his exhibit, Tom congratulated the botanist on his success. "But I’m nowhere near done," said Blake excitedly. "Colonel Eagle Friend and I are about to leave on a little dogsled safari along the base of these mountains. About an hour to the east, satellite photos indicate an ancient lakebed, frozen over since the Mesozoic. I’m anxious to see what sort of micro-plantlife might still be clinging to life along the old shoreline."

"I can’t tell you to keep in touch by radio," Tom commented wryly. "But take impulse rifles and flareguns along." The impulse rifles, like the smaller versions called i-guns, fired silent, paralyzing electric charges at their quarry.

As the three left the laboratory, Dr. Faber said to Tom, "I was wondering if you’d care to accompany me on a short field trip to study the Antarctic wildlife at the edge of the ice shelf? I’m particularly interested in making some observations on the behavior of penguins and whales. Slim Davis has agreed to fly me there, as he is not required here at the moment."

"Fine!" agreed Tom, who was in the mood for some recreation. "Right now I’m not required myself!"

After a good breakfast—for it was early in the nightless day—Tom and Dr. Faber took off, Slim piloting the same jet he had flown from Shopton. At first the sky was clear, and the mountain ridges cast blue-black shadows in the snow. Everything stood out in sharply chiseled detail. On the exposed cliff faces, red and green lichens mingled with white and gray patches against the blackish rock, creating a colorful effect.

But gradually the sky became overcast. Earth and sky seemed to meet in a ghostly, shadowless white universe with no horizon. Faber directed Slim toward the Bay of Whales, a watery indentation in the great Ross Barrier.

On a snow field at the edge of the water, where they sighted a large school of Acklie penguins, Slim brought them down for a landing using the ski undercarriage. The friendly, frolicking birds seemed absolutely fearless and quickly came waddling over to inspect the visitors. With their white breasts, shiny black coats, and flippers, they looked like funny little gentlemen in evening clothes.

Dr. Faber made notes and took photographs while Tom watched some of the penguins playing a game. A group would gather around a snow hill and watch solemnly while one climbed to the top. He would stand staring out to sea for a while, then another would climb up and push him off. The newcomer, too, would stand gazing off into the distance until another penguin pushed him off. One by one, they took turns being "king of the hill."

Finally one of the penguins began picking up small pebbles in his beak and bringing them over to drop at Tom’s feet. "He seems to have taken quite a shine to you." Dr. Faber chuckled. "That’s a sign of penguin approval. Incidentally, that’s how a gentleman penguin woos the lady of his choice."

"Good night!" Tom grinned. "Let’s get out of here before he tries to kiss me!"

They took off, this time cruising over the open water hoping to sight a whale. The bay was studded with drift ice and floating icebergs. Unlike the northern variety, these Antarctic bergs were long and flat, some extending for two miles in length.

At Dr. Faber’s request, Slim brought the plane down again next to the shoreline so they could observe some of the seals which were sliding on the ice. As the veteran pilot maneuvered the craft skillfully alongside several of the creatures and cut the engines, the elder scientist gave a sudden cry of alarm. Tom looked in the direction he was pointing, then gasped.

From behind an iceberg, a mammoth whale had reared its enormous head and was charging directly toward them!

"He’ll beach himself!" exclaimed Slim.

"I rather think, young man, I’d be more concerned about us!" retorted Dr. Faber breathlessly.

Slim gunned the jets and the craft began to bounce and slide across the ice field that ran down to the water. The charging whale seemed attracted to the flame of their exhaust and altered his course as if to intercept them.

"Full throttle, Slim!" urged Tom. "Hit the sky!"

Slim pulled back the stick and blasted the jets. The plane skidded, bounced twice—and lifted off.

Dr. Faber looked back. "The poor fellow looks disappointed."

Tom raised his eyebrows. "I’ll send him a card from Shopton!"

As the jetcraft mounted higher, Tom tried the radio. But again there was only the roar of static. "I don’t get this at all," murmured the young inventor. "They
can’t
have covered the whole of Antarctica with their jamming signal."

"Maybe it’s those underground people," Slim commented under his breath. Tom shot him a glance and was disturbed to see that the pilot was serious!

A short time later the jet rumbled to a stop near the other crafts at Camp Pluto. "Where is everyone?" asked Dr. Faber as they got out.

"That’s what I’d like to know," Tom said. His instincts told him that something was wrong!

Just then the main hatchway popped open on the side of the Flying Lab, and Harold Voorhees leaned out, waving his arms. "Hurry!" he called. "Get on board!"

The three stumbled up the boarding ladder and Voorhees pulled the hatch shut. "We’ve gone to emergency stations," exclaimed the scientist, his voice at its highest pitch. "Despite the interference, Hank Sterling is certain he’s picked up an unidentified aircraft heading this way on the radar!"

"An attack!" gasped Slim.

"And probably a real one this time," Tom declared. "But we can’t cut and run—not with the equipment already in place." But even as he spoke he became aware of the thudding sound of distant helicopter blades. Tom took a quick look out the viewport next to the hatch. "A chopper, coming down the pass in the mountains!"

Tom didn’t bother mentioning what else he saw—an automatic multi-missile launcher suspended beneath the large military-type helicopter gunship. Suddenly flares of bright light flickered across the front of the barrel-like launcher.

In an instant the Swift station was shuddering to the roar of warheads exploding on every side. The attack had begun!

THE
SKY QUEEN
rocked violently from side to side. Keeping his feet with difficulty, Tom switched on a bulkhead intercom.
"All crew! This is Tom! Everyone down to the first deck hangar on the double!"

Tom then made his way up to the control deck, taking the steps two at a time and trying desperately not to fall.

"Tom!" shouted Bud from the steps above him. "Where are you—?"

"Control!" replied the young inventor tersely as he leapt past his pal. He didn’t have to look back to know that Bud Barclay had turned around and was following close behind him.

In the control compartment the two youths crouched down low, making their way between the contour seats toward the main pilot’s panel. Glancing out the large viewpanes they were shocked at the damage being done Camp Pluto by the aerial attack. One of the ice igloos had already collapsed in a haze of black smoke, and even as they watched a series of the small missiles struck another of the domes, which promptly caved in.

"The duplicate blaster!" Bud groaned through gritted teeth. "They got it!"

Tom did not speak but warily rose halfway and fumbled with the control-panel levers. Suddenly there came a sensation of motion—Tom was retracting the Flying Lab’s landing gear, causing the great skyship to sink down toward the ground. "That’ll keep the bottom deck safer," he muttered.

Throughout the incident they could hear the metallic bang of scores of the missiles ramming the hull of the
Sky Queen
. But the warheads were of the proximity type and not a single one detonated, thanks to the radar-absorbent Tomasite coating that enveloped the ship.

Suddenly the roaring racket was replaced by dead silence. Tom and Bud slowly rose to their feet and looked out over the base, ears still ringing.

"There they go!" Bud pointed off into the distance, and Tom glimpsed the chopper disappearing behind a mountain peak.

But was the attack over—or was this a trick to draw the crew into the open?
Tom checked the radar screen and saw, through the swirl of static, the glowing shadow of a large object moving swiftly away. He watched the radar return until the gunship could no longer be distinguished, then picked up the control panel microphone. "This is Tom! The enemy is gone for now, but no one is to exit the ship until further word."

The crew members cautiously filtered back into the rest of the ship. Some were wild with anger, some clearly fearful—but all were shaken and distressed at the damage done the operation.

"Tell me, Tom—will you be able to continue the project?" asked Carol Heiden of the mineralogy department.

It was Chow who answered for his boss. "You must be loco from the cold! Never seen the day that this young’un would turn tail and run—not Tom Swift!"

Chow’s confidence caused a trace of tears to well up in Tom’s eyes. "I swear we’ll go forward somehow."

"Even if we have to dig down to the center of the earth with teaspoons and nail files!" Bud added.

First, though, the overall damage had to be assessed. Despite impressions, the wreckage proved not to be ruinously extensive. Unsurprisingly, Tom’s snowbank message had been targeted and completely obliterated. Far more significant was the damage to the duplicate earth blaster. After the ceiling of the igloo had fallen in, one of the missiles had scored a direct hit on the machine. "The shell of the blaster is so strong it probably could have got through it without a problem, if it had been closed-up," Tom explained to Bud as he stood working a portable control unit next to the blaster. "Unfortunately the access panels were all standing open for testing."

Bud watched keenly as his pal ran a series of diagnostic tests, trying to evoke a sign of life from the device. "Totally dead, Tom?"

"Good as," replied the youthful scientist bitterly. "The coolant gas has leaked away, and the main vector joint assembly—where the chassis bends—is ruined." He fed a small current into the fore-electrodes, producing some sparks. "The new electrode design protected them, and the atomic pile module wasn’t breached, thank goodness. But this baby isn’t going anywhere except home."