Tom Swift on the Phantom Satellite (10 page)

"But we have news!" radioed Ron Corey mysteriously. He would not elaborate.

When the three travelers arrived, they hastened into the spaceship to meet with Tom. "How do the rock samples look?" Tom asked Kent.

"Never mind that!" Graves horned in brusquely. "You’ve got a bigger problem facing you on this moon. We’re not alone!"

Tom was thunderstruck!
"What!"

"Absolutely true," Kent confirmed. He explained that during the return leg of their journey, they had chosen to take a narrow pass that cut through a range of steep hills. "We came out of the pass onto an elevation—a ridge overlooking a plain about two miles across."

"That’s when we saw it," continued Graves. "A big, round enclosure."

"It seemed to be inflatable," said Ron Corey, "a big pressurized dome, a couple hundred feet across."

"The top was painted camouflage colors, Swift—tans and grays to match the landscape. But the sides were transparent, and we could see inside pretty well with the binoculars.
And—!"
Jason Graves paused dramatically.

"Tell me what you saw!" Tom demanded impatiently.

"People walking around, wearing silver-colored outfits. Little enclosures set up all over the place. Machinery!"

Tom asked if there was any sign of a spacecraft.

"We didn’t go close enough to find out." Graves added, "I thought it might be wiser to return to base and decide our official course of action before they spotted us."

"Good work!" Tom nodded approval and frowned thoughtfully. His brain whirled with questions. There was a fantastic possibility!

Could it be that the Swifts’ space friends had made a landing? But if so, why had they not contacted the American base?

More likely, the hidden spaceship had brought visitors from Brungaria to Little Luna!

Before Tom could voice his thoughts, Kent spoke. "Whoever they are, they must have just landed. They sure weren’t here when Dr. Jatczak and Bud scouted Little Luna by telescope!"

"They could have been," Graves argued. "The dome blends in with the ground, and their ship might be done up the same way. If it was on the night side of the satellite, you could easily have missed it!"

"That’s possible," Tom said glumly.

A worried silence fell on the group as the crewmen eyed each other. Perhaps the American spaceship was not the first to land on the satellite and their claim to it was invalid!

Thinking fast, Tom came to a quick decision. "I’d rather not try radioing Earth or the space outpost, now that we know someone might be listening in. But before we make a move, I’ll try to contact my space friends," he said. "If the ship is not theirs, we’ll know it must be the Brungarian expedition!"

Graves looked astounded. "You mean to tell me those people might not
be
people?—they might be aliens from space?"

"Let’s not speculate, sir. What we need now is information!" Dashing to the communications apparatus, Tom raised the long-range antenna and warmed up the powerful transmitter. During their space flight in the
Star Spear,
Tom and Bud had been able to make contact with the space beings through this means. Would it work now?

Tom opened his space dictionary computer file, which contained a list of all the symbols the Swifts had been able to translate, and laboriously worked out a message.

He called in Hank Sterling to assist him, briefly explaining the critical situation. An hour later, the camp abuzz with the disturbing news, Tom decided he had a usable message. While Tom used a special electronic stylus to create the symbols, Hank monitored the outgoing signal on the oscilloscope. Working the tuning knobs, he watched the mathematical symbols, patterns of light which Tom sent flickering across the screen—a flattened circle, two intersecting curves, a wiggly line that looked like a two-headed snake, and others.

"How soon do you hope to get a reply?" Kent Rockland asked when the message was finished.

Tom shrugged. "It’s never consistent. But I’ve set the recorder to keep sending every five minutes until we—"

He broke off as Bud burst through the doorway. "Hey, skipper!" the young pilot yelled in excitement and alarm.
"A rocket just landed outside!"

Tom leapt to his feet, knocking over the chair on which he had been seated. "You mean a spaceship?"

"No. A small missile!"

Pulling on his spacesuit equipment and dashing outside, Tom saw a color-striped, man-sized projectile half buried in the ground twenty yards from the
Titan
, the expedition crew gathered around it.

Dr. Wohl, standing nearby, shot a worried glance at Tom. "What’ll we do? It may be armed."

"I’ll scan it with our instruments." After careful scrutiny with the penetrating Eye-Spy camera and a variety of long-range sensors, Tom announced, "Okay, fellows. It’s not explosive. Its fuel was used up before it crashed."

"It still could have done a lot of damage!" Bud exclaimed.

"What
is
the missile?" Kent asked.

"We’ll soon find out," Tom replied. "There’s some kind of small container inside the head."

"Don’t ask me what the device is in a technical sense," commented Teodor Kutan. "But I
can
tell you where it’s from."

"Brand my cosmic compass!" Chow exclaimed. "How kin you tell that?"

"Look at those stripes painted on it," was the reply. "Black, red, and gold—the colors of the national flag of Brungaria. I would say the thing contains a message, directed right to our doorstep."

The rocket was pulled from the ground by crane and turned upright. Walking up to it, Tom found the catch that opened the nose cone. He extracted the small cylinder and unscrewed it.

Inside was a rolled-up sheet of paper. Tom gasped as he read the message!

TOM’S CREW pressed close as their skipper read the message aloud over his suit transiphone:

TO THE AMERICAN INTRUDERS:

YOU HAVE NO LEGITIMATE CLAIM TO THIS SATELLITE SINCE WE, THE BRUNGARIAN SPACE FORCE, ARRIVED FIRST. UNLESS YOU DEPART WITHIN THREE HOURS, WE WILL BE FORCED TO CONSIDER YOU HOSTILE INVADERS AND WILL TAKE ACTION TO DEFEND OUR RIGHTS AND PROPERTY.

STREFFAN MIROV, COMMANDER

The ultimatum brought an angry outburst from Tom’s crew. Their transiphone channels crackled with indignation.

Jason Graves fumed, "That Brungarian bandit! Telling us to get off this planet! We’re Americans—they can’t shove us around that way!"

"Now you’re talkin’, pardner!" Chow chimed in, shaking his gnarled fist. "Reckon none of us hankers to knuckle under to them space rustlers! They ain’t yet fenced-in the sky, not by a long shot!"

Blistering comments came from Gabe Knorff and Kent Rockland, and the crewmen buzzed like a nestful of angry hornets. Bud, however, kept his own temper in check, waiting to hear what Tom had to say.

The young inventor let the team members express themselves, then called for silence. "No sense losing our heads," he told them. "If possible, we must avoid trouble."

"What!"
Graves exploded. "You mean we’re going to take this insult to our country lying down?"

"I didn’t say that," Tom replied evenly.

"Then what do you propose to do?" Graves challenged.

Tom turned to Teodor Kutan. "Do you have a comment, Dr. Kutan? You’re our resident diplomat, and you know these people."

Kutan nodded and cleared his throat. He had obviously been waiting for someone to solicit his learned opinion. "I
do
know these people, and I speak their language. As a matter of fact, I am acquainted with Streffan Mirov, though we have lost touch over the years."

"That’s surely a stroke of good fortune," remarked Dr. Jatczak softly. "What sort of man is he?"

"He had a nickname in Volkonis—
Za Turouj,
‘The Bull’," replied Kutan. "He had a reputation for stubbornness, and is known to be a proud man. Yet I found him reasonable, and he has a scientific background, which is why he was selected for the expedition, I would think."

"Can we get this ol’ buddy of yours to see things our way?" asked Col. Northrup. "I’m military, but I didn’t plan on fightin’ a war up here."

"We may not have a choice!" snapped Graves.

"Hey, everybody—Jason here just volunteered to lead the charge!" jibed Rafael Franzenberg.

Kutan waited for quiet. "To answer your question, Colonel, I believe the prospects for fruitful negotiation are quite good. The first step is to arrange a meeting of the leaders—a summit conference, as they say."

"But what about that ultimatum?" asked Violet Wohl.

"Think of it as an opening bid," counseled the diplomat.

The expeditioners seemed split, with some clearly jostling for a more forceful response. But Bud spoke up loudly and said:

"Tom, you’re
our
commander—we’re going to do whatever you think is best." He looked around at the others. "And that goes for all of us—right?"

One by one, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, everyone nodded.

"Thanks," Tom responded simply. "My decision is to go to the Brungarian camp with Dr. Kutan and a couple of you others. Let’s see how much of this is real, and how much is posturing."

Chow scowled, a pained look on his face. "Don’t feel right, son. But you’re the boss."

Tom smiled and put a gloved hand on his friend’s spacesuited arm. "I’d write a message in the snow, like we did in Antarctica," he joked, referring to an incident that occurred during the atomic earth blaster adventure; "but there
isn’t
any snow."

Chow looked mollified but said, "Wa-al, if we end up needin’ snow, mebbe that machine o’ your can make us some!"

"Who’ll be going with us, pal?" asked Bud excitedly.

Tom shot Bud an apologetic look and said, "Flyboy, this time I need to ask you to stay behind. I need you high-powered leadership types to take charge of things here, in case—something goes bad."

Though feeling a chill from Tom’s sober words, Bud nodded.

Tom added: "It’s a big responsibility, but I know you’ll have expert help from Mr. Graves." Tom had been careful to speak loudly, so that his transiphone would automatically extend its signal in a wider arc. He was rewarded by noting that Graves suddenly wore a smug smile on his face.

Tom winked at Bud, and his pal broke into a grin. He understood that by leaving his best friend behind, it became easier for Tom to leave Jason Graves out of this delicate negotiation.

"Who
will
be accompanying us, then?" asked Kutan. "I suggest no more than four altogether."

Tom’s answer was, "For the third person, Col. Northrup, who will be well known to the Brungarians and has status representing the U. S. government. As for the fourth person—"

"Me!"
exclaimed Gabriel Knorff. "You’ll want some kind of journalistic record of this historic meeting. Besides, you’re leaving the high-powered leadership types behind, and I’m about as opposite as you can get!"

The young inventor had to smile at Gabe’s peculiar logic. "Okay, Gabe. You can come along as the representative of the average American."

"And besides," commented Jason Graves sourly, "he is obviously the most expendable!"

"We’ll leave at first light," Tom declared, eyeing the sun, which was now down to its last sliver. "While we’re gone, all you scientists and technicians please go on with your work."

Graves spoke up again. "Suppose they attack us while you’re away?"

"I’ll leave
you
in charge of making that decision, Mr. Graves," Tom replied carefully. "If we’re not back in six hours, radio word to my father and the space station. Then blast off and go into a parallel earth orbit near Little Luna until you receive further orders."

Graves saluted, like a general taking over an army.

The next morning, the expeditioners remaining looked on grimly as Tom, Northrup, Gabe, and Kutan embarked in one of the larger exploration tanks.

"Good luck, buckaroos!" Chow called out.

"Thanks, pard. We may need it," Tom replied tersely as he wriggled into the tank’s airlock. "At least they didn’t follow up on their ultimatum—it looks like you were right, Dr. Kutan, thank goodness."

Other voices joined in a tense send-off. Then the hatch was sealed and the tank ground into action. Tom threw the gearshift into high as Gabe said: "If we’re not back on time, Graves probably will start a war!"

Col. Northrup shook his head. "Naw, I’m sure he’ll obey orders," he declared. "I’ve worked with men like ol’ Jake Graves. He doesn’t wanna stick his neck out too far."

"An astute observation," agreed Kutan.

The vehicle rumbled over rocky rising ground and headed into the beetling hills beyond. The slopes were strewn with boulders and upthrusting clumps of granite, craters of all sizes everywhere. Inside the tank, the three travelers were bumped and jolted by the rough terrain, but their weight was so much less than on earth that they felt no real discomfort.

"Next time, let’s build these jobs with better springs!" Gabe remarked. "Don’t want my cameras to get hurt."

His eyes glued to the penetradar output, Tom said, "The tank’s shock absorbers have the wrong resistance constants. Remember, we weren’t expecting significant gravity up here."

They followed the precise directions provided by Kent Rockland. One hour passed, then a second.

Col. Northrup had taken over the tank controls when Tom abruptly held op a hand. "Hold it!" Tom ordered. "Looks like one of those ash craters ahead!" He pointed at the scattered image on the penetradar screen.

Northrup braked the tank hard, and Tom crawled out through the hatch to scout the terrain. "It’s a crater, all right," he reported. "Big one, too. That volcanic ash makes it hard to tell where the solid ground ends."

Cautiously the crew skirted the dangerous chasm, then continued their journey. Twenty minutes later the tank encountered a smaller crater and was detoured again.

As it rumbled across a barren plateau, the vehicle suddenly shuddered under a glancing impact.

"Something hit the hatch cover!" Gabe exclaimed in panic as Northrup jolted the tank to a stop.