Tom Swift in the Caves of Nuclear Fire (11 page)

"About a mile from here," answered Craig. "I see a rock formation I recognize."

Tom recommended that they put on their antiradiation suits before driving closer. The three climbed into them and adjusted the helmets. Then Tom drove forward.

"There’s the crevice!" Craig pointed to the right. A black, narrow gash cut between two upthrusting rocks.

Tom brought the vehicle to a halt. The various types of self-sealing containers to collect the gas were unpacked. He divided the supply among himself and his two companions.

The three climbed out of the tank and Craig led the way to the narrow opening.

"So this is the crack we traveled halfway around the world to see," Bud remarked, unimpressed. "It sure doesn’t look important."

"Maybe not," Craig responded. "But what’s going on underneath is
mighty
important."

"Let’s get started with our job so we can find out," Tom urged impatiently.

One by one the various bottles were positioned over the crevice. The vacuum-sealed containers had automatic valves. At the first sign of the gas a release would open them. The higher air pressure outside the containers would force samples of the gas inside, then the automatic device would reseal the vessels.

When the task was completed, Tom gazed at the row of glass, lead, and Tomasite-covered containers that bordered the crevice, all securely anchored down into the rock. "That should do it!" he declared. "I wonder how long we’ll have to wait."

The group returned to the tank and removed the headpieces of their antiradiation suits.

"You don’t know how often the gas appears?" Bud queried Craig, gazing at the mountain.

"No," he replied. "I was never able to establish a definite timetable."

"It’s possible we’ll have to wait for days," said Tom.

Morning merged into afternoon. Then the sun began to sink. Nothing had happened at the mountain.

"We’d better return to the
Sky Queen,"
said Tom. "I’m a little anxious about Hanson. I want to make sure the medicine man’s cure was permanent. We’ll come back in the morning."

The containers were left in position while the three travelers backtracked along the swath they had cut through the bush and jungle.

Sterling ran from the plane to meet them. At the same instant Tom asked, "How’s Hanson?" and Sterling said, "How did you make out?"

"Arv’s fine."

"No luck yet on our side."

The following morning Tom, Bud, and Craig returned to the mountain, arriving about ten. "It really isn’t far when you don’t have to hack your way through," Bud remarked.

They crossed the clear section of ground at the base of the mountain, deserted as a moonscape, and veered around a rocky outcropping, bringing their destination in sight. As the tank approached the crevice, Bud gave an involuntary gasp of surprise.

"Tom, the containers!
They’ve disappeared!"

THE mysterious mountain had played her strange trick again! The containers for capturing the gas had vanished!

"This
is
the same crevice where we left those bottles, isn’t it?" Bud asked.

"It has to be," Craig declared. "Don’t you guys remember those big rocks we just went around? And over there’s where we sat in the shade for a few minutes."

Tom, disappointed, put on his antiradiation suit and got out of the tank. The others, similarly garbed, followed and they all walked closer to the narrow opening.

"This certainly is an enigma," murmured the young inventor. "You’re absolutely sure, Craig, that the locals wouldn’t steal the containers?"

"Out of the question!" Craig replied. "As I told you, the mountain is strictly taboo and no Maba would dare come this close or he’d be banished from the tribe."

"But maybe whoever took the containers
isn’t
a Maba," Bud remarked ominously. "Boondah’s men are supposed to be hiding all through this jungle. And let’s not forget Hoplin and company!"

As Tom pondered the strange phenomenon of the mountain, Craig asked, "Do you think something could have caused the bottles to shatter or explode?"

"If they had," Tom replied, "we’d see fragments lying around. But there’s not a scrap." He stepped closer to the edge of the crevice and peered down into the black abyss. "My guess is that when the gas was released during the night not one of my containers was proof against it."

"Good night!" Bud exclaimed. "Then nothing will store that stuff!"

"I have another idea I’d like to try," said Tom, frowning. "But I’ll need some things from the Flying Lab."

As the trio walked back to the tank, a massive shadow swept across their path as a low sound reached their ears. They looked up to see a small twin-engine prop-plane swooping low. The craft then turned steeply and flew out of sight without dipping its wings in salute.

"Who could that have been?" Craig asked. "The pilot acted as if he was spying on us!"

"Who
could
it have been? I’ll tell you who it
was!
—our enemies!" Bud snorted. "The plane looked like an American-built one. I’ll bet it’s the same one the policeman told us about."

"And the same one that dropped those incendiary bombs on the village," said Craig in agreement.

"There certainly was something fishy about that flier’s maneuvers," murmured Tom. "Why would he fly so low over this particular spot? I’m going to notify the authorities when we get back to the
Queen."

They entered the terrasphere tank and Tom flicked the ignition. Nothing happened—the engine was silent!

"Oh no," the young inventor groaned. "The taboo mountain gremlin has struck again. Everything’s dead." Then a horrifying thought struck him. "And we can’t stay here, or we might end up the same way!"

"What? How so?" demanded Craig.

"I think this anti-electrical phenomenon is connected to the release of the antiproton gas," Tom explained. "If it’s occurring now, that may mean the gas is on its way—it may even be issuing from the crevice right now."

"Sure," Bud agreed nervously. "Maybe we can’t see it in the bright sunlight. But if it gobbled up those containers, it’ll do the same to our antirad suits—and us!"

"Then what do we do, Tom?" Craig asked. "Abandon the tank?"

"We’ll have to, at least temporarily," was the answer. "Hopefully the gas will be diluted enough in the air that it won’t hurt the tank—but we can’t be sure."

The three expeditioners trotted across the barren stretch of dirt and rock toward the edge of the green jungle beyond. There they stopped amid the trees and vines and turned to look back.

"The tank’s still there, at least," Tom said with relief.

Craig pointed out that they could not be sure that Tom’s theory was correct. "Maybe there’s no gas coming up right now after all."

"Then it’s time for an experiment!" Bud declared. Bending down, he picked up a bit of a broken wooden branch, with some leaves still attached to it. Then he forcefully hurled it toward the crevice like the ex-footballer he was. The branch segment arced through the air, hit the ground, and bounced toward the crevice. For a moment, all was still. Suddenly the watchers jerked back as the branch burst into flame!

"What sort of fire is
that?"
asked Craig in awe. The flames had a weird, unearthly tinge and seemed to radiate from the wood as if under pressure. In seconds the leaves had turned to ash, the wood had blackened, and the branch had fallen to pieces. Then the pieces themselves seemed to shrivel and evaporate into thin air!

"It’s just like what happened in your lab the other day," Bud said to his friend.

"Now we know," said Tom. "But if we’re dealing with antiproton matter,
everything
should be affected—even rocks."

"I see," Craig said. "You’re wondering why the whole mountain hasn’t disintegrated long ago."

"Exactly."

At intervals Bud hurled more of his "test probes" at the crevice. For more than an hour, all were promptly incinerated. But finally one bit of wood smoked slightly but failed to burst into flame, and the next one was completely unaffected. "Guess this gas attack is over," Bud said. "So maybe the equipment will work now."

The three trooped back to the tank and clambered inside. Sure enough, the steam turbines turned over on the first try without hesitation.

Craig volunteered to drive, leaving Tom and Bud alone in the passenger cabin.

"You have that ‘genius at work’ look on your face, Tom," Bud remarked. "Thinking about the gas, or our enemy?"

"Both, I suppose," he responded. "I wish I’d brought along my electronic camera and taken a picture of that plane. I’d like to know if it was Hoplin or his pal."

"Or the third guy. But maybe he has a
special
assignment."

Tom shot his friend a teasing look. "Still suspicious of Craig? So far he hasn’t tried to poison us, or blow us up—as far as I know!"

Bud winced. "Fine. But I’m suspending judgment until the Hoplin gang gets itself caught."

Tom gazed out one of the long slit-like windows at the passing foliage. "We’ll be defeated even without our enemy’s help if we can’t figure out how to protect the terrasphere from the disintegration effect."

"Bet you have some ideas."

Tom grinned. "A few. And this should help." He pulled a small metal vial from his pack. "I scraped a sample from the rocks near where we left the containers, by the crevice. Did you notice how the ground seemed to be covered with a hard crust of bluish-white mineral?"

Bud nodded. "I guess so. It looked like some kind of calcium deposit—almost like chalk, but baked into a hard shell."

"I’m hoping Ry can help me determine what it is," Tom said. "I have a hunch it’s similar to the substance the tube from space is made from, which was able to contain the gas inside without reacting to it. I can’t even imagine what sort of atomic structure such a substance could have, but if we can crack its secrets we may be able to use it to coat Terry."

Taking turns in the control turret, Tom and his companions drove back to the
Sky Queen
as fast as possible—which was fairly fast, as it was becoming almost a routine commute through the jungle! When they arrived, Hanson was strolling beneath a giant baobab tree. In one hand was Tom’s electronic telephoto camera.

As the three explorers descended from the tank, Hanson flashed them a wide smile. "I hope you don’t mind my using your camera, Tom, but when a queer-acting plane buzzed us I decided to snap a few pictures. I suppose the pilot wanted to find out what we’re doing here."

Tom was overjoyed. "You’ve done us a big favor, Arv. I suspect that plane was doing some snooping."

"I haven’t brought the pictures up on the screen yet," said Arv.

"Let’s take a look."

Tom took the digital camera and began to examine the images as they appeared on the camera’s monitor panel. The others crowded around him, looking over his shoulder.

"Here’s a good view of the cockpit," Tom said. "Let’s enlarge and enhance."

The result was electrifying! "Great Scott!" exclaimed Craig. "The man in the cockpit is Hoplin—the guy I knew as Karl Taylor!"

"Right!" said Tom grimly. "So our enemies
are
here!"

"I can’t make out the face of the fellow next to Hoplin," Bud said, "but I’m willing to bet it’s his partner, Cameron! Or whatever his real name is."

"This is serious," Hanson commented.

"They certainly didn’t follow us for the fun of it," Tom agreed, "and I’m sure they’ll try to make trouble."

"If their plane is the mysterious one the police officer told us about," Bud spoke up, "it may be hidden in this wild country. Too bad we don’t have the
Kub
or the good ol’
Skeeter
to scout around in."

Tom gave Bud a surprised look. "We do have the
Sky Queen,
you know!"

Bud laughed. "True!"

After greeting the other members of the party, Tom lifted off in the Flying Lab and flew around for an hour in an expanding-spiral pattern. But the expeditioners, all gazing down alertly, saw no sign of the mystery craft or any encampment that indicated Hoplin had a hide-out in the bush.

"What’s that group of buildings over there?" asked Ry Cully, pointing. "I thought the native village was off in the other direction."

Mandy Akwabo replied. "That, my dear man, is the village of Hyaddongo. It belongs to the Onaris—enemies of the Maba, relatives of General Boondah. Lift up a few of those palm branches and you’ll find a nice stock of jeeps, guns, and bombs."

"And maybe a hidden plane or two," added Hank Sterling.

Landing again, Tom got in touch with his father, giving him all this information and asking him to notify the authorities.

"I’ll do so, Tom," replied Damon Swift. "But as you know, no one but the Supreme Commander seems to hold much sway over Borukundi."

Tom also told about his disappointing lack of progress so far on the capture of any of the gas. Then he asked for detailed news from home, finally signing off with a touch of homesickness.

Tom spent the balance of the day and evening in the laboratory sector of the
Sky Queen
with Ry and Hank, studying the rock scrapings he had brought back.

"This obstinate stuff defeats our every attempt at analysis," huffed Ry. "I’ve never in my life seen this sort of interlaced crystalline structure. I can’t guess what keeps it from falling apart."

"It reflects light," observed Hank Sterling. "I mean, we
see
it. But the spectrometer readings look more like something from a kaleidoscope!"

Tom rubbed his chain thoughtfully. "In the stolen file, Dad and I quoted some speculation about
entrained space-knots
that might be—"

"Now wait, Tom," Hank interrupted. "What did you say? Space
knots?"

The young inventor grinned. "Sounds funny, doesn’t it? And it’s just a theory—but it works out mathematically. The idea is that there could exist atom-sized ‘twists’ in the fabric of space itself, stable warps that would be resilient and self-sustaining, and would tend to braid or loop together."

"Like chain mail in a suit of armor," Ry put in. "I recall the article in question. One could conceive of a lump of such material—not matter as we know it, but literally
woven space.
It would be an entirely novel mode of physical substance, composed neither of bosons nor fermions, but with certain characteristics of each. A fantastic notion."