Tom Swift and His Aquatomic Tracker (17 page)

"The molecules line up in ranks and files, right?"

"Yup. One of the properties of the molecule, the hydrogen bond, is what makes it clumpy and sort of ‘sticky,’ which is why surface tension evolves, like a skin on top of a body of water. But when you break the skin—by diving through it, let’s say—it closes itself up right away."

Bud nodded wisely. "Got it all figured, genius boy. Your machine uses water’s electrical super-powers to hold sections of it together as you move ’em along."

Tom grinned. "Exactly! The stasis-conveyor pumps in phased energy to create self-cohering supramolecular ‘cubes’ of water that can be maneuvered into the innards of the aquatomic analysis equipment without distortion. It’s like capturing a sample between two microscope slides—but in 3-D!"

"Which makes your tracker more sensitive?"

"Much more." Tom explained that the aquatomic tracker system would use two distinct methods simultaneously. The repelascan feature of the aquatometer would detect the overall distribution of trace materials in the seawater surrounding the
SnooperSub
for a distance of several miles, allowing the computer to create a background-reading or "baseline" to be compared with the output of the second system. "The fine-tuning comes from what I just showed you. We take water samples through the separated tubes, maintaining the internal ordering of the molecules in each sample. The analysis sensors can then read the fine detail, and the main computer can put it all together."

"Showing you where the underwater scent is coming from."

"Like a trail of molecular bread-crumbs in the water, Hansel and Gretel style."

"Then maybe you could name the sub― "

"Pal," Tom interrupted with smiling firmness, "she’s the
SnooperSub
. And by the way—we take her out for a spin tomorrow!"

EVEN AS Tom was working out the bugs in his new invention, it was being constructed, piece by piece in Swift Enterprises’ main assembly building, nicknamed The Barn. As soon as each element of the aquatomic tracker was tested and deemed worthy, Art Wiltessa, the talented engineer who was the Swifts’ chief of assembly operations, commenced installing it into the compact
SnooperSub
.

By noon the following day Tom was able to contact John Thurston by PER to announce that the submersible had been loaded aboard the
Sky Queen
for freighting to the spot in the Baltic Sea where the
Naiad
had mysteriously vanished. "But Tom, am I to understand that you haven’t yet tested out your tracker in oceanic conditions?"

"True," Tom confirmed. "But since we’re under the gun, sir, there was no reason not to test it in action. If modifications are needed, I should be able to make them on the spot using the equipment in the Flying Lab’s hangar compartment." With a faint smile Tom signed off, clicking off the beginnings of a dignified sputter at the other end, in Spain.

Hours later, the
Queen
was hovering only yards above the frigid gray waters of the Baltic. The deck of the vehicular hangar was lowered on pistons, plunging beneath the waves. Inside the
SnooperSub
, Tom and Bud shared excited glances. The young inventor activated the craft’s propulsion system and adjusted the electronic buoyancy modulators. The tiny ship floated up from its cradle and edged gently into the gloom.

As they descended to the seafloor, Tom switched on the sub’s twin headlamps. "I think you just startled some fish!" Bud joked.

"They
do
look kind of wide-eyed!"

The
SnooperSub
made use of the same localculator instrumentation as the hydrolung suits, and it was quick work to cruise to the precise coordinates desired. "No sign of anything unusual," Tom muttered, gazing out the viewport.

"Wait, Tom—veer off to starboard, will you?"

"See something?"

"
Some
thing."

What Bud had made out was a wide, long section of the sandy bottom that appeared to have been subjected to a recent disturbance. "Scuff marks! Gouging!—Tom,
it’s the tracks of Kong Dubya
!" exclaimed the youth.

"I’m sure you’re right, flyboy," was the reply. "Some of the markings resemble the photos I’ve seen." The sub began to follow the trail westward, only to find that it petered out almost immediately. "The floor gets rockier here," Tom observed. "So now let’s follow an
invisible
trail."

The aquatomic tracker’s instrument panel lit up in front of the two pilots, displaying complex oscilloscope patterns and long lists of trace substances in the water ahead of them. "The intake conveyors are working perfectly," proclaimed the young inventor happily. "No loss of coherence in the samples!"

"Have you got a scent?"

"Well—we’ve got a lot to choose from, anyway."

Tom had been provided with extensive information about the
Naiad
—hull composition, paint specification, fuels, lubricants, even the chemicals used for waste treatment. "But still," Bud pointed out, "a lot of that could tag just about
any
boat, don’t you think?"

"Maybe," Tom responded. "But
this
particular boat leaves its chemical trail down deep, not near the surface."

They found a likely molecular profile within minutes, and set off on the trail with enthusiasm. "I’m sure it’s the yacht," Tom stated with determination, keen eyes focused on the crystal-ball spheroscreen. "And there’s a second set of readings, too." He nodded toward the detailed readout monitor on the board.

"The Worm?"

"Yep—except it isn’t a worm, pal, or an eel or a fish."

"Or a sea serpent?"

"The only ‘serpents’ we’re dealing with here are
human
ones! The readings show industrial materials and metals."

"Shoulda known," said Bud wryly. "Some kind of sub craft for real bottom-crawlers. Ham and George will be disappointed."

Tom nodded distractedly, adding: "There’s another wrinkle, too. I’m getting strong readings for Configuration Eighteen."

"Jetz! Do you think the gang has already perfected a supersteam engine?"

Frowning thoughtfully, the young inventor shook his head. "I don’t think so. I’m not picking up the signature for any sort of steam exhaust." He suddenly turned to Bud. "Pal, I think the Conqueror Worm is a
submarine tanker
!"

Bud was startled at this new notion. "You mean it’s hauling around oil or something?"

"It’s hauling C-18!—or at least that’s one thing it’s been used for." As the scenario unfolded in his imagination, Tom reported on it. "The Drowning Roman boys are doing the same thing the
Centurion
was doing, shipping tankfulls of ‘water X’ from the guyot—they must have made a side-tap to the source—to some facility where it’s being analyzed and studied."

"Stealing it right under the noses of the NATO operation!"

"Right," Tom agreed. "Those bulging pods we saw along its back must be storage tanks, flexible containers, maybe elastic like balloons, anchored down to the transport mechanism." He noted that if the Worm were something manmade, it would explain another of the mysteries associated with it. "The people who made it must have installed anti-sonar technology, counting on the fact that it would be hard to detect anyway as it scurries along more or less flat to the bottom."

"Then onward to the Worm’s—er, what do worms live in? A nest?"

Tom grinned. "In this case, an undersea garage!"

As they followed the trail hour after hour. Though Tom’s description of its "rowboat" cruising speed had been a joking exaggeration, , the slow pace of the
Snooper
took a toll on the patience of its young crew of two. "Good grief, we haven’t even reached the SMB site yet!" Bud grumbled.

"They probably towed the
Naiad
to their main base, wherever it is," his comrade stated. "I’d guess one of the North Sea coasts. Maybe an island."

"Maybe Iceland! We’ve got quite a swim ahead of us, Skipper."

"Then let’s skip the swim and fly instead." Tom slipped the quantum cartridge for the
Sky Queen
into his Private Ear unit and contacted Red Jones, who was piloting. "Come fish us out, Red. I’ll give you the Loki coordinates."

"You’re not giving up the search, are you, Boss?"

"Not on your life! But I’m going to make it a lot shorter."

With the
SnooperSub
again aboard the
Queen
, Tom had Red set a course to the west, leapfrogging over the SubMoBahn site and the Scandinavian Penninsula. "It looks certain that all the pieces of the puzzle are connected," Tom explained. "The theft of the
Naiad
, the sinking of the
Centurion
, the Oberjuerge guyot, and now the Conqueror Worm—all part of the same overall plot. So if I’m right, we can pick up the trail again at the place the tanker went down off Norway."

Tom’s guess proved correct. Back below, the aquatomic tracker led the boys further westward. After a time Tom told Bud, "We’re now paralleling the route we followed before in the diversuits."

"You’re sure it’s not just traces from the guyot?"

"It may well lead us to the guyot," replied the young hydronaut; "but now I can detect what was too scrambled and faint for the aquatometers to handle—not just C-18, but the trail of Kong Dubya and the two ships." That they were following a real track was confirmed by occasional sightings of the Worm’s scuff-marks on the bottom.

Bud asked his pal why the subocean abductors had bothered to drag the yacht such a great distance. "If all they wanted was to kill or capture that scientist, it seems to me they’d just scuttle her after dragging her under."

Tom shrugged. "Hey, I’m just a tinkerer. I don’t have all the answers. It could be they thought Professor Vaxilis had research notes aboard the
Naiad
, or some sort of specialized analysis equipment. They may have been right."

After several more aerial leaps it soon became apparent that the trail had forked. One branch, mostly indicated by Configuration Eighteen alone, angled off toward the guyot. The stronger and more complex line of traces was aimed like an arrow at the eastern coast of Iceland. "Want another lift, Tom?" inquired Red from high above and many miles away.

"No," Tom PER’ed back. "In fact, veer off and make for the horizon. The
Snoop
is sonar-invisible, but the presence of the plane could tip off the enemy way in advance."

"Wilco! I’m outta here."

Within minutes the aquatomic tracker’s readouts reported a sudden increase in concentrations on all channels. Cutting the external lamps to remain undetectable, Tom consulted a map and told Bud: "Iceland ahead. It looks like we’re heading for a little bay—a mini-fjord backing up into a glacier. No major settlements for miles around."

"Great place for a hideout," Bud nodded. "Do you think they’d have brought the
Centurion
up to the surface?"

"No way, flyboy. But the bay shows as quite deep—room for a supertanker under the surface if you don’t mind a snug fit."

The silhouette of the coastal rise was now painted across the sonarscope monitor. Adjusting the wide-range data input from the repelascan analyzer, Tom swerved the heading northward and paralleled the jagged coast two miles out. As a deep shadow crawled onto the screen, Tom slowed and checked the Loki. "There it is—the mouth of the bay."

"Pretty dark in there."

Tom checked his instruments and chuckled.

"No wonder it’s dark—and no wonder the Drowning Roman group picked the bottom of the bay as a hideout. It’s frozen over!"

Now Bud noted, high above, glints of blue, white, and green. "Man, it’s like hiding under an iceberg!"

"Perfect protection from standard airborne detection instruments, including infrared scopers. And here—the map-notes say the bay is completely unnavigable ten months of the year. We’re within miles of the Arctic Circle."

Frowning intently, Bud stared into the gloom ahead of them as they edged closer and the seafloor rose to meet them. "I’d sure like to know if the tanker’s up in there."

"Can’t tell from the sonar readings," Tom murmured. "Wish we had a resonance-locator or gravy-scope on board. Well, let’s sneak a peek with the aqualamps on external-invisible mode. With our Antitec coating they won’t know the
Snoop
is out here—it’s probably unlikely that they’d be set up to detect the lamp’s wave beam."

The young inventor switched on the
SnooperSub’s
sunbright twin aqualamps. A huge form loomed out of the dimness ahead!

"It’s the
Centurion
!" Tom cried.

"THANK YOU aquatomic tracker!" Bud chortled. "Looks like she’s in one piece, don’t you think?"

Tom nodded, studying the colossus. The
Centurion
rested nose-down at an acute angle, her wide stern almost wedged against the ceiling of ice. He switched off the aqualamps again and darkness closed in with a clap of blackness. "No lights, no sign of divers."

"It’s just a big storage tank, genius boy," was Bud’s opinion. "They’ve probably hooked up a pipe someplace to pump the C-18 up to their lab whenever they need more of it. Hey—I wonder if that Apollo statue is still on board? Naw, probably not."

"What now?" Tom asked himself. "Kong Dubya traces all around us. Bud, they could have the Worm floating someplace on the far side of the ship, out of sight."

"Shall we cruise over and take a look?"

Tom shook his head. "We’ve seen how fast the thing can scurry along—and it has claws. Our sub doesn’t have the speed to escape if they catch sight of us."

"Yeah. True." The Californian’s handsome face brightened. "Okay, but we don’t have to turn tail. How ’bout if I do a little recon in one of the Fat Men?"

"But if they see you― "

"Look, Tom, it makes sense," Bud insisted. "Hang back a good ways for safety. If the Worm comes slithering after me, I can get away easily. Remember, the new suits can do a lot more than they used to."

Tom had recently redesigned his egg-shaped Fat Man suits, deepwater one-person vehicles with mechanical limbs that were carried aboard many Swift Enterprises submersibles for emergency escape from the deep. The new suits had incorporated many of the features Tom had devised for his hydrolung diversuits—the air-supply mechanism, disguised sonar, and small, powerful hydrojets that used the ion-drive principle of the diverjets. The young inventor agreed, reluctantly, that the thick-shelled suits would provide Bud with considerable protection and maneuverability. "Loop around the ship once, just once, and stay in contact," Tom directed his friend.