Tom Swift and the Cosmic Astronauts (10 page)

BOOK: Tom Swift and the Cosmic Astronauts
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Tom did not respond. He managed to drag himself across the carpet to a sliding panel in the curving bulkhead wall. A desperate struggle won him entrance to the narrow ring-shaped corridor threading the spoke modules together on the underside of the outpost, just below the rim. He slumped and squirmed over the raised threshold, then crawled along the corridor to the entrance to the laboratory spoke.

Good gosh, we’re still accelerating!
he thought with an inward groan.
We’ll fly apart!
The station was already twirling at a dizzy rate. Tom could see the stars streaking past the portholes like hurricane-driven rain.

The young inventor pulled himself into the "ground floor"—the outmost—of the spoke’s compartments. He knew that here the effects of the centrifugal force would be the strongest. As the rotation increased he could feel the air being crushed from his lungs by the weight of his own body!

He tried to lift an arm to the main experiment control panel, but his arm seemed cast in lead. He couldn’t force it high enough! Then after several attempts he noticed a thick power cable dangling nearby from a ceiling-mounted socket. Grabbing it, he rolled sideways with all his might, yanking it taut. As the cable straightened, it knocked against the side of a lever on the control board, nudging it slightly. Grunting from the strain, Tom yanked the cable violently—and the lever flopped over to its furthest setting.

The acceleration stopped instantly. The station was still whirling madly on momentum, and the pressing force was unabated, but the young inventor knew that without a constant feed of thrust, automatic systems would come into play to counteract the spin. Finally the station slowed and the paralyzing weight lifted away. Then Ken Horton’s voice came over the intercom loud-speakers:

"Hear this, station crew! The spin is almost over and jet equalizers are being fired from the wheel spokes to return us to operational stability. It’s almost over! Just hold fast for another few moments. Lie flat if you can."

At last Tom was able to pull himself to his feet. He woozily activated the intercom and in moments was receiving a cursory report from Ken Horton.

"No serious injuries, Tom, and the structural damage looks minor. We built this thing strong, thank God!" Horton commed. "You say you know the cause of the malfunction?"

"Yes—
me!"
Tom panted. "Or rather my invention, the cosmic reactor. Somehow the micromotors that angle the reaction plates received a trickle of current, just enough to bring the plates into functional orientation. It was the push of the cosmic reactor that was driving the spin." He explained that throwing the lever fed the motors enough steady current to shift the plates out of line again.

An hour later, after verifying the condition of the outpost and its occupants, Tom examined the cosmic reactor’s motor circuitry with Hank Sterling’s assistance. "I see it now, Tom," Hank pronounced. "The flow of charged particles past the outpost from the solar burst produced a current in the motor leads, by induction."

"We’ll wrap some Tomasite around the leads," decided Tom. "That ought to deal with it."

In the hours that followed Tom spent a good amount of time apologizing to the various crew members, some of whom had sustained bruises or other minor injuries. "The induction effect is something I should have anticipated," he told Bud.

"Don’t beat yourself up, pal," Bud replied consolingly. "Or you’ll end up with more bruises than Harry Goldstein!" Goldstein, one of the resident astronomers, had somersaulted right out of his bunk.

But as Tom sifted through the data that had been automatically recorded during the reactor’s unwanted and unexpected "test," he continued to feel that he owed something to Ken Horton and the outpost team. What did they think of him after his carelessness had risked their lives?

"I don’t want to be the ‘big boss’ from twenty thousand miles away who only puts in an appearance to foul things up!" he muttered to himself listlessly. The accident had injured his pride.

Two hours later he saw a chance to redeem himself by lending a hand. One of the manned supply capsules which arrived every day from Loonaui was making its approach. Sitting with Chow and Arv Hanson in the main control room in the outpost’s hub section, he watched the compact, cylindrical vehicle draw nearer. It appeared to be floating motionless in the inky void, but was actually racing along with the outpost at 6,800 miles per hour.

"Aren’t they going to dock at the hub airlock?" asked Arv.

"Guess not. Looks like they’re making for the freight airlock on module 8," Tom observed. "We’ll see how good they are at nosing into the coupling."

"I shore do remember how blame tough it is t’ move stuff around up here," commented Chow. "Even if it don’t weigh nothin’, it’ll wander ever’ which way but straight."

"Come on in,
Loonaui Twelve,"
authorized the radio operator, sitting nearby.

It was easy for Tom to imagine the actions of the pilot. The astronaut switched from computer guidance to manual steering so as to precisely nose the rocket into mooring position. As soon as the capsule’s airlock was lined up with the spoke’s entry port, he flicked on the magnetic grapples that would hold it in place to assure a tight seal.

"Outpost, I’m not getting the green light," signaled the capsule pilot.

"That means the coupling failed to completely engage," Tom explained to his companions.

The capsule pulled off and tried again, but repeated attempts were unsuccessful.

"Hold position,
Loonaui Twelve,"
the station operator advised. "I’ll get up an extravehicular tech to check out the coupling."

Tom stood up suddenly. "Hold it, John," he said to the radioman. "I know the mechanism inside out. I’ll EVA out there and get ’er going."

The young inventor donned his space suit and went out through the closest airlock hatch. Chow, Arv, and the watching crew aboard the
Loonaui
saw him jet across to the spoke and examine the mooring apparatus. Then Tom went back into the station through the entry port. Tedious minutes went by.

"What in tarnation’s wrong?" Chow wondered uneasily. "Are they sendin’ down to earth for a new part?"

"Don’t worry," replied Arv. "That’s baby stuff for Tom. I think he’s just feeling restless."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when Tom emerged again from the space wheel, accompanied by Ken Horton. Both carried tool kits and replacement components. They tinkered with the coupling mechanism.

At last Tom signaled the capsule pilot, Ben Archibald, to proceed with the mooring. As Tom waved the ship forward, Ben fed a slight spurt of power to the steering motors.

"Oh!"
Tom cried out in alarm.

The supply ship had closed in so suddenly that his metal-gauntleted right hand was caught in the automatic coupling!

 

CHAPTER 13
SPACE LIFE

"GREAT snakes! Tom’s caught!" Chow’s leathery face had gone deathly pale. "Do somethin’, Hanson! Quick!" he pleaded.

The big modelmaker was horrified, and so was Ben Archibald aboard the capsule. He tried frantically to back off the rocket craft, but the coupling device was evidently jammed.

"I can’t move ’er!" Ben gasped into the radio. He had already switched off the coupling’s electromagnetic power supply. In desperation, he gunned the steering motors again, trying to break loose by sheer force.

"Hold it, Archibald!"
Ken Horton’s voice came coolly over the radio. "You’ll drag the whole station out of position. I’ll have to free Tom manually."

Archibald cut the thrust motors, then watched in gnawing fear with the other astronauts as Horton went to work with his tools. If Tom’s gauntlet were torn open enough to let air leak from the suit, the air-filled parts of his body might literally explode in the vacuum!

The next few moments seemed endless. Suddenly the watchers saw Tom pull his arm free. His right gauntlet had been severed by the coupling and hung loosely at an angle, and he was clutching the sleeve of his space suit with his left hand!

Ben blanched in horror and backed the ship off instantly. To everyone’s amazed relief, the watchers saw Tom—conscious and apparently uninjured—dash into the space station’s entry port, guided along by Ken Horton.

Chow was whimpering, "Oh, I hope and pray Tom’s all right."

The ship pilot moored the
Loonaui
again in frantic haste. This time the magnetic grapples locked perfectly. Then all aboard rushed out through the airlock and into the space wheel.

Chow, puffing mightily, was already at Tom’s side, as were Bud, Arv, and many members of the outpost team. Tom was crouched on the deck, Ken Horton bending over him. A moment later they were all gulping with relief as Tom greeted them with a grin. His right hand was sticking from the cuff of his spacesuit sleeve, sound and unharmed—and best of all, in place.

"Don’t worry. Even my fingers still work," Tom told them after they had removed their space helmets. He proved it by wiggling his fingers.

Ben Archibald sunk down onto the deck to recover from the shock. "Mr. Swift—Tom—can you ever forgive me for pulling such a dumb stunt?" he pleaded in a dry-throated voice. "I shouldn’t have nudged the ship forward like I did. I—I got impatient, I guess."

"It wasn’t your fault," Tom reassured the shaken astronaut. "I gave you the go-ahead signal and I saw the ship coming. But my metal gauntlet got trapped by the magnetic pull of the coupling as soon as it started functioning properly. I couldn’t yank it loose in time."

As the astronaut nodded, Bud Barclay mopped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. "Accidents happen," he said to Ben, but giving his pal a meaningful side-glance with eyebrows raised. "Part of being human. It’s in the job description."

Chow and the other crew members were still pale. "I don’t see how you escaped losing a hand, Tom," one crewman said.

"As soon as I realized my gauntlet was stuck to the coupling, I pulled my hand up the sleeve," Tom explained. "Just in the nick of time, too. Luckily I was able to seal my sleeve almost airtight by clutching it with both hands, inside with my right and outside with my left—otherwise I’d really have been in a mess!"

"Brand my asteroid soup, I don’t never want to see sech a close call again!" Chow muttered weakly. He added in wry resignation: "Not that I don’t expect to—prob’ly afore dinner!"

Tom labored over his cosmic reactor for the next two days, solving some technical problems that had shown up in the unscheduled test and additional trials. He had it removed from the hull and worked over it in the lab spoke. When he was satisfied, he and Bud put on space suits and set up the device on the outside of the outpost’s hub—a safer position for it. Even a low input of cosmic subtrino radiation proved enough to give a small but measurable push to the whole space station.

Both boys were flushed with excitement when they returned inside the station and described the results to Ken Horton.

"It works—definitely," Tom reported.

"You’re telling me!" Ken chuckled. "I thought for a while you were going to knock us right out of orbit."

As station routine returned to normal after Tom’s crossed-fingers crucial test, Chow headed to the galley. Knowing that this would be the last dinner aboard the outpost before the visitors returned to Earth, he had big plans. The larder was well stocked, and he’d had previous experience turning frozen and dehydrated edibles into incredible simulations. By mess time that evening the Texan had prepared a magnificent feast of roast turkey, dressing, and chocolate pudding topped with whipped cream.

"Man, what a dinner!" said Ken Horton appreciatively when the meal was over. "You should visit us up here more often, Chow!"

The rest of the crew agreed heartily. "Maybe we could talk him into staying," one technician suggested.

Chow’s leathery face broke into a happy grin. "Nothin’ a cook likes better than to feed folks with a good appetite," he said. "I sure appreciate your kind invitation, but I better stick to my reg’lar job—slingin’ hash on Tom’s expeditions. But I’ll treat you to a bit o’ after-supper music, Western style!"

As the diners settled back in their chairs, Bud mentioned to Tom that he had spent the morning in the astronomical observatory, which occupied one whole spoke of the space wheel.

"They’re making a study of Venus," Bud reported. "In fact, they let me listen in on some of the signals they were picking up on the radio telescope—but I suppose a space genius like you knows all about such things."

Tom grinned. "All planets emit such radio signals. It gives us a way to check on their heat, since the frequency of the signal depends on the planet’s surface temperature."

"How do you like that!" Bud made a wry face. "And here I was hoping to surprise you with my keen technical know-how."

"I’ve been impressed by what I have learned," remarked Felix Ming. "The astronomer, Professor Goldstone, told me that the surface temperature of Venus is a sizzling 900 degrees Fahrenheit—hot enough to reduce solid lead to a puddle."

"And to think we’ve been there, or thereabouts," noted Hank Sterling. "If only we’d had time to make detailed observations of the surface."

The outpost’s astronomers, Felix went on, had told him that the extreme temperatures could mean the planet has a hot core. But the most likely explanation is that the temperature is caused by sunshine, since the thick veil of carbon dioxide around Venus would cause a "greenhouse" heat-trapping effect. "They said Venus is a pretty energetic place, too. The entire surface is young, geologically speaking. The planet must have been subject to great upheavals in the last hundred million years or so."

"They figure that means no life could exist on Venus at such a temperature," Bud ended. "They’ve scanned most of it with radar. It’s just a mass of barren rocks and desert."

Tom frowned and set down his water glass. "Bud, that’s one point on which I disagree—I mean, about there being no life on Venus."

"How come?" Bud asked eagerly. "Have you got any space clues which prove there is?"

The young inventor shook his head. "No, my point is that we simply don’t know. I admit that no form of life on our planet could exist under such conditions. But remember, earth life grew up from the very first to fit in specifically with conditions here on earth. But that doesn’t prove a thing about life on other planets.

BOOK: Tom Swift and the Cosmic Astronauts
5.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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