Tom Swift and the Visitor From Planet X (11 page)

With the fundamental scientific and technical challenges apparently behind them—and the earth beneath their feet quiescent for the moment—the Swifts were eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the brain energy from space the next day. The scheduled time, as indicated by the complicated time-measuring system of the X-ians, would be seventeen minutes, fifty-nine seconds past Sunday midnight.

Sunday evening the falling darkness revealed a sky glittering with stars. Looking up through his office window, Tom could not help but wonder which of those stars bore the world he had come to call Planet X.
Are they looking at their own night sky right now, thinking of me?
he asked himself.

As the fateful hour approached, Tom, Bud, Mr. Swift, Hank Sterling, and Arv Hanson worked together to load Ole Think Box onto a covered flatbed truck, carefully lashing the mechanism in place.

Chow had also begged to be on hand. "I jest
got
to see Ole Think Box come to life!" he said.

"Fine, pardner," said Tom. "But you’ll have to watch from a distance away with Dad and the others. I need Bud to help me with the container, but I don’t want to expose any more people than necessary to danger."

Chow looked pitiful and pleading. "Aw, now, son, you know you don’t need t’worry about ol’ Chow!"

Tom gave his old friend’s arm a squeeze. "I know. But I need you and that six-gun eye of yours to protect the men on the truck from any strangers that
aren’t
from outer space!"

Chow beamed. "I know yuh’re jokin’ with me. But I sure will do the job, boss!"

Tom drove the truck along the lonely road that circled Lake Carlopa, Hank and Arv sitting back on the flatbed with the energy container. At the campground they drove over the flat, weed-choked field to a spot near the low hill that had given the facility its name. Here they unloaded the Think Box, and Tom switched on the radio beacon. "Won’t be long now," murmured the young inventor.

"Good luck, son," Mr. Swift said with emotion in his voice. "You’ve done everything possible—and a few things impossible!—to make this incredible event a success. We’ll be watching you from the rise."

The youths watched as the truck made its way to a rise almost a mile distant. In minutes a Swift Searchlight, mounted on the truckbed, gleamed to diamond-bright life. Adjusted to a diffusion setting, the device illuminated the entire field almost all the way to the chain link fence, dappling the campground in elongated, eerie shadows.

Eyes darted back and forth from wristwatches to sky as the zero moment ticked closer. "Some clouds coming in," Bud muttered. "But I guess Exman doesn’t have to see the target, not with the beacon going. Why do you need a beacon in the first place, Tom? Can’t the X-ians set the thing down anywhere they want to, by remote control? On a dime, with—well,
on a dime
is good enough!"

Tom hid a smile. His pal was talking rapidly in a piping voice.
Bud’s as nervous as I am!
thought Tom. "They seem to have some trouble keeping everything on the beam when they get too close to the earth—it must be that unknown environmental factor that prevents them from visiting us in their, er, own bodies." He noted—speaking rapidly himself!—that the strange half-unreal objects they had encountered in space had seemed to be of a different type than the more solid rocketlike transport vessels that had penetrated the atmosphere.

"Um, yeah, skipper, I—I guess so..." Tom’s listener was barely listening. Less than a minute to go! Bud glanced at his watch and began muttering a countdown under his breath. "X minus three... X minus two... X minus one... X!
This is it!"

Four wide eyes flashed skyward. But nothing happened! Not a speck showed in the black-blue sky.

The watchers glanced at one another uncertainly. More minutes went by.

"No mistake about the time, was there?" Bud asked Tom. "You think something could have happened to Exman up in space?"

Tom Swift shook his head. "It’s more likely that our earthly time references are at fault. The calculations of the X-ians are based on some astronomical factors that our scientists don’t yet know with absolute—"

"Jetz! Look!" Bud suddenly cried out. Electrified, Tom sprang to the side of the Think Box to have his hand near the shutter control. A speck of light was sailing across the sky! But their faces fell as it drew closer.

"Only an airplane," Bud grumbled. "Out of Shopton Airport, probably." They saw several more such lights as the minutes ticked past.

Reacting to the increasingly disgusted expression on Bud’s face, Tom broke into a laugh. "Aw, come on, flyboy! You know how it is when you’re expecting guests from out of town."

"Yeah. I’m gonna be limp as an oil rag by the time
this
guest gets settled in!"

Tom gave a big wave in the direction of the truck and the searchlight, which blinked in response. "I wonder if they got that on tape?" At George Dilling’s request, the historic moment was to be video-recorded, using a prismatic telescopic lens.

The restless duo fidgeted and prowled back and forth to ease their tension. Feelings of suspense began changing into gloom after eight minutes had passed with no sign from the sky. "What do you think, skipper? Are we out of luck?" Bud asked. "I don’t
want
to say this, but what if those Brungarians have somehow lured Exman to another spot on Earth?"

"The space beings haven’t let us down yet," Tom replied somewhat weakly. "I’m
sure
they won’t this time." Though he didn’t say so aloud, Tom was as worried as Bud. Both boys knew that, in some manner, the Sentimentalists faction had managed to make sufficient contact with Planet X to acquire at least a few pieces of their technology!

Lost in his thoughts, Tom suddenly realized that Bud had spoken. "What did you say?"

The athletic youth repeated it, so faintly it could barely be heard.
"Tom..."

"What, pal? What’s wrong?"

"Up—up
there!"

Following Bud’s pointing finger, Tom caught sight of a moving light in the sky. He stiffened and held his breath. Another false alarm?

But no! A glowing, faintly bluish mass with a thin comet tail of luminous orange-red was proceeding majestically through the pattern of stars! The light was small as a pinpoint, yet bright as a flare. It had a peculiar, almost frightening quality—it made the watching eye
feel
funny!

As it passed through a wisp of low clouds, the clouds were illuminated from behind as if someone were running through them with a lantern in hand. It became very clear that the object was descending and slowing down from what was evidently an astounding speed.

"When we first saw it, it was further off than it seemed," declared Tom thoughtfully. "It must have been travelling at thousands of miles per hour!"

Exman had heard the radio beacon. The point of light described a smooth curve in the sky. It was now beneath the clouds and moving directly toward them, slowing constantly. As the nebulous mass glided closer and closer, the two young watchers—and the others at the truck—were speechless with awe. Near as it was by now, the ball of energy still seemed no more than a brilliant speck with a phosphorescent tail. Yet as it descended it lit up the whole scene. The hillside looked almost as if it were on fire—yet Tom and Bud felt no heat whatsoever. But the visitor could not conceal his tremendous power. The earth vibrated beneath their feet, and the air had suddenly the sharp smell of ozone.

The boys cried out as one. Passing close to Bryant Hill, the energy-matrix was setting off fiery explosions, one after another! "Natural gas pockets!" Tom shouted to Bud. "The energy’s igniting them!"

Then came another explosion, more powerful than the others. This was followed by a frightening clatter and rumble. The force of the blowup was sweeping down rocks, gravel, and shrubbery in a hillside avalanche!

"Hold fast, Bud!" Tom cried. "Nothing’s headed our way!"

Steeling his nerves, he grabbed the waiting container near the shutter switch and held on grimly as Bud leaned against its other side—less to steady the gyrostabilized canister than to steady himself!

Exman was finally revealing his true form. The light consisted of snakelike streaks of blue-white brilliance darting back and forth at a tremendous rate, forming a sort of yarn-ball of woven lightning enclosed in a hazy corona.

Would Exman’s unearthly energies shock his waiting hosts, perhaps fatally? Too late now! But the fireball seemed somehow aware of the danger. Its glowing halo suddenly dimmed and shrank close to the writhing shell of the space brain.

Tom popped open the shuttered port in the star-head as the slowly drifting energy-brain came within a few arm-lengths of the earthlings. An instant later the glowing mass sharpened and narrowed itself into a spindly bolt of fire that arced straight into the head of Tom’s invention in a blinding flash.

Tom gave a yell of triumph and clamped the portal shut, then pushed a button to activate the self-sealing process. White-faced, trembling with emotion, the young inventor turned to face his friend—and let loose a mighty cheer worthy of Chow Winkler!
"Yip-pee!"

Bud cheered too. "The visitor from Planet X has arrived!"

IN THEIR excitement and relief, the two friends hugged one another and jumped for joy. They could hear a distant honking of congratulations from the truck.

"Should we send him a message? W
elcome to Earth
or something?" Bud asked, giddy and grinning.

Tom waved away the idea. "Can’t do it. The X-ians instructed us to leave Exman alone for several hours to replenish his energies from the power feed in his habitat cell. I won’t activate the sense instruments until tomorrow morning—I mean, later
this
morning!"

The truck came rumbling up and Tom and Bud received hearty backpats and handshakes from the others.

"Didn’t know he’d look like a blame ball o’ fire!" Chow declared. "But whatever he looks like, I’m sure glad he’s here!"

"Believe me," laughed Hank Sterling, "so are the rest of us! By the way, Exman is now a video star as well as a shooting star. We taped the whole thing very clearly."

"That’ll make George Dilling a happy man," Tom replied, his bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "I guess we’d better—"

Tom broke off in a gasp as the robotlike container suddenly began to move! After seeming to test its flexi-tread underpinnings, Ole Think Box started to whirl—slowly at first, then faster and faster. Spinning crazily like a huge runaway top, it darted up, down, and about the flat, weedy campground as the Enterprises team ran after it, unsure of what to do.

Tom and his companions stared in helpless amazement at the bizarre whirling-dervish display. "Great horned toads! What’s it up to?" Chow exclaimed.

"Almost seems like the energy’s trying to get out!" Bud guessed. "Something must be bothering it." At which Chow suddenly turned a shade paler.

Tom shook his head incredulously. "No reason for that. The container was absolutely empty."

Breaking his fearful silence, Chow gave a groan and slapped his forehead in dismay. "Brand my Big Dipper!" the cook said. "Mebbe Ole Think Box has gone loco! An’ it’s my own blame fault!"

"What are you talking about, Chow?" Mr. Swift asked, turning to the grizzled westerner in amazement.

Chow meekly related how he had dropped the bubble gum stick inside the robot’s head compartment. "Don’t ask me why I did it. Ya know how I am! D-Did I ruin the critter?" he asked fearfully.

Tom was thoughtful for a moment, frowning as they watched Ole Think Box continue its gyrations. The figure seemed to be calming down somewhat, although Tom could not be sure of this.

Suddenly his face brightened. A new thought had just struck the young inventor! To Chow’s amazement, Tom slapped the cook happily on the back.

The cook broke into a relieved smile. "I know that look o’ yours, Tom Swift! Yer gonna tell me how what I thought was bad-doin’s was really somethin’ good!"

"Yup! I think you’ve done me a favor, Chow!" Tom exclaimed.

"I
knew
I ’as smarter’n I thought! So how come?"

"You saw how Exman reacted to the gum," Tom explained. "That shows the energy really
is
like a brain! Even without using the special sense organs we’ve designed for it, it’s responsive and sensitive to conditions of its environment, especially when coming up against something new and unexpected."

"You mean they don’t have bubble gum on Planet X?" Chow asked with a grin.

Tom smiled as Arv Hanson said, "This means we should be able to communicate with it—with
him!"

"And the brain will probably be able to communicate back to us!" Tom went on excitedly.

As he spoke, Ole Think Box’s whirling became slower and slower. Finally it came to rest close to the six humans.

"What do you suppose happened to the gum?" Bud asked. "Did he chew it all up?"

Everyone laughed at the image. "It’s probably unchanged," Tom replied. "Our visitor is used to it now. He has adapted to his environment just like a natural lifeform."

Chow was still wide-eyed with awe. He stared at the strange metal creature as if expecting it to snap at him in revenge for the gum invasion.

"Don’t worry, old-timer. Think Box won’t bite," Bud teased. "With that gum spree, Exman’s just been initiated into our American tribal customs!"

"Wa-aal, speakin’ o’ customs, seems t’me if we’re gonna plant a monicker on this feller, we ought to give him a proper christening," pronounced Chow. "Doncha think?"

"Perhaps Tom can work on that problem after we have our guest ensconced in the high-security lab at the plant," Damon Swift advised with a smile. "My own nonmetal body suddenly feels weary." Arv and Hank nodded agreement, a bit reluctantly.

Ole Think Box was loaded back onto the truck, and within the hour it was standing at the center of the large, shielded lab room at Enterprises, electronically protected from any and all intruders. After a last look at the remarkable visitor, Mr. Swift, Arv, and Hank left to catch whatever sleep the rest of the morning offered them.