Tom Swift on the Phantom Satellite (5 page)

"From
us?"

"Sure." Perkins explained that he had received a standard dated news release on a Swift Enterprises letterhead, giving all the information and signed by George Dilling, Enterprises’ chief of the Communications and Public Interest office. "You mean the story is
phony?"
he burst out, suddenly realizing that something was wrong.

"I mean it was top secret!" Tom exclaimed. "That information could involve the security of the whole world!"

Perkins let out a long whistle and started to apologize, but Tom interrupted him brusquely. "It’s not your fault, Dan. You printed it in good faith. But from now on, please check with me on all releases concerning this project!"

In a matter of moments, Tom had alerted Harlan Ames, and the plant security force whirred into action. Ames hurried to the laboratory to confer with Tom.

"Where did you keep the records of the expedition personnel?" the security chief asked Tom.

"In our office safefile cabinet. As you know, it’s as secure as a bank vault!"

"We’ll grill everyone who has access to your office," Ames said. "How about the date of take-off?"

"That was never written down. Someone must have eavesdropped on our radio communications when Dad was at Fearing Island."

"Which means they cracked the encryption routine."

Frowning thoughtfully, Tom added, "The Swift Enterprises letterhead could easily have been duplicated on a computer printer."

All night long the investigation went on. Everyone on the staff and all others even remotely connected with the expedition were questioned and cross-questioned, and Mr. Swift had the task of trying to mollify and reassure Washington D.C.

Early the next morning Tom sped to the plant with his father, both in a somber mood. Their first caller was Ames, haggard and unshaven after his grueling all-night session.

"Any results?" Tom inquired anxiously.

Ames shook his head grimly. "Not a single lead." Then, pulling an envelope from his pocket, he dropped it on Mr. Swift’s desk.

The inventor raised his eyebrows, puzzled. "Is this what I think it is, Harlan?"

"My resignation," Ames said glumly. "Effective immediately."

FOR A MOMENT Tom and his father were dumbfounded. Mr. Swift’s keen blue eyes studied the security chief.

"Why are you doing this, Harlan?" he asked finally. "Do you really want to resign?"

Ames shrugged unhappily. "What else can I do? I’ve failed to maintain proper security, and now I can’t even find out where the leak occurred."

"We’re no more willing to accept your resignation now than we were in previous situations like this," retorted Mr. Swift. "You know we have complete confidence in you. You took every precaution, but we’re up against a clever enemy. In my opinion, there’s no way you or anyone could have forestalled the leak."

From his pocket Ames pulled a rumpled telegram. "This is from the FBI. Their agents are here to investigate. I’m sure it’s because the officials who asked you to make the expedition think I’ve bungled the security job."

"Well, we don’t!" insisted Tom.

"I want you to continue," added Mr. Swift. "You can’t quit now, Harlan. We need your help to see the project through!"

To clinch the matter, Tom tore up the letter of resignation and dropped it into the wastebasket. "Whoops!—
What
letter of resignation? You’re still working for Enterprises!"

Flushed but grinning, Ames agreed with an expression of gratitude and hurried off to resume his work.

Tom’s face was serious as he turned back to his father. "Dad, we don’t know who’s working against us. But there’s only one thing we can do now to beat the Brungarians or any other country that wants to claim Little Luna. Speed up everything and beat our original deadline!"

The elder scientist nodded. "You’re right, Tom. And it’s theoretically possible. The
Titan
has been assembled on Fearing and is being tested-out even as we speak. All reports are positive. With a little luck, I believe I can have the last of the cargo locked away onboard by the end of the day. You could fly the crew, and your machine components, to the Island this evening and be ready for blast-off by midnight."

"Midnight! That’s fantastic, Dad! We tested the Arv’s model of the atmosphere-making machine yesterday afternoon. It worked perfectly! The main casting was poured last night. If Hank prods the workers, they should have the whole assembly ready to load onto the
Sky Queen
by the end of the afternoon."

With a quick handshake, the Swifts parted.

Tom sought out Bud, and asked him to inform the other members of the space team. "Sure, pal!" Bud agreed. "But when do we have the party?"

"The party?"

"You know, the going-away party. We always have one, Tom."

The young inventor laughed. "This time Sandy and Bashalli are being kept as much in the dark as the rest of the world!"

But at home that evening, Tom discovered that he was in error. "Tom Swift, don’t you think for one minute we believe that ‘going to Fearing to watch the launch of the robot rocket’ story!" Sandy exclaimed.

"Like everyone else on Earth, we have read the
Shopton Bulletin,"
added dark-haired Bashalli Prandit, a visitor for supper who was a close friend. "Obviously this is a not-so-clever ruse to mislead everyone about your departure for Mini-Moona, or whatever you call that thing."

Tom held up his hands wryly. "All right, you two have outfoxed us. We launch at midnight." Tom and his father explained the security concerns surrounding the expedition.

"I understand," said Sandy. "We won’t breathe a word to anyone."

"Not over the next six hours!" Bash continued. "But your
next
going-away party—no doubt only weeks away—will have to be a double one."

"Agreed!" laughed Tom.

After supper Tom made a call to Enterprises to make certain the loading of the
Sky Queen,
his great three-deck Flying Lab, was proceeding apace. After assuring him that all was well, the chief of the loading team asked Tom to hold the line while he transferred him to Harlan Ames’s office. Ames told Tom that his meeting with the FBI officials had gone well. Then he passed on to another subject.

"Tom," said Harlan, irritation in his voice, "you remember my telling you how I ejected that photographer the other day?"

"From the press conference?"

"Yes. Well, he’s back again. Roberts just picked him up near the south fence, trying to sneak onto the grounds on some kind of ladder contraption. He says he’ll sue, talks about freedom of the press, and so on…but also…"

"Also what?" asked Tom, mystified.

"He says he knows you!"

Tom was startled. "He
does?
What’s his name?"

"His identification says Gabriel Knorff."

Tom barked out a laugh of sheer surprise.
"Gabe Knorff!
Harlan, doesn’t that name ring a bell?"

"Good grief, now that you mention it—!" Ames sounded apologetic and embarrassed. "The flying photographer?"

When Tom and Bud had been preparing for their first trip into orbit aboard the
Star Spear,
the Fearing Island high-security zone had been breached by young Gabriel Knorff, a hot-shot journeyman photographer seeking fame. Knorff had flown over the island on a back-mounted rocket belt. Despite some incidents of impulsive behavior, Tom had become friendly with the slightly-built redhead, who had an ingratiating manner.

"Don’t feel bad about not recognizing him," said Tom comfortingly. "You never met Gabe—it was Rad who dealt with him."

"Right," Ames said. "So what shall I do with him? He insists on speaking to you directly—says he’ll wait until you come in tomorrow morning."

"Of course Dad and I will be there within the hour. I think I’ll have time to see what he’s after." Grinning, Tom hung up the phone.

When Tom arrived at the plant, he immediately went to Ames’s office, and the glowering security chief nodded toward the redheaded young man seated in one corner of the room, next to his camera equipment.
"Tom!"
he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and offering his hand.

"Hi, Gabe," responded the young inventor as they shook hands. "I see you’re back to setting off security alerts."

"I seem to have a real talent for doing that," responded Gabe. "And by the way, sorry for getting out of line the other day. I was practicing my assertiveness skills and I guess I went too far. After that story in the paper, I thought I might be able to sneak a peek, by telephoto, at some of your astronauts, and—"

"I know. You needed an interesting angle for the shot."

"Right. I mean, there are buildings all over this place! And also—"

"There’s an
also?"

"Isn’t there always?" Knorff sucked in a deep breath. "Tom, I’m asking you to take me with you to the satellite!"

Tom’s eyes widened at the sheer nerve of the man’s suggestion. "Gabe, why in the—"

"Now listen, Tom, be reasonable and think a little. I’m a pretty persistent guy, and mighty clever too. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a way onto your rocket island before the big launch. And look, you don’t want me to turn up in a crate aboard the spaceship, like that crazy guy did on your South Pole project."

"No," said Tom. "I’d rather avoid surprises."

"Well, here’s a great chance to avoid a really major one! Besides, everyone knows you Swifts work by intuition and taking chances more than by pure science. What does your intuition tell you?"

"That I should have you locked up for about a month."

"Oh really?" Gabe paused. "You must be joking. You
know
I’m a good guy and a fast learner. And I can follow orders, too—when I have to. Besides, I’m so small and compact you can stow me away in the luggage bin for the duration of the flight! But seriously, a professional photographer would be of real benefit to this historic—"

Tom held up a hand. "I suppose if I’m willing to justify taking my chef along, I don’t have any business leaving behind the press. As it happens, it’s no big deal to slide in another acceleration seat."

Gabe beamed. "Tom, buddy, you’ll never regret it!"

"I
already
regret it," said Tom sarcastically, "but I’m willing to give you the chance—
if
you’re prepared not to set one foot off our controlled security zone between now and our return from space."

"Agreed! I know I’ll need a few days training before—"

Tom put a hand on Gabe’s shoulder and smiled. "I’m afraid you’re going into space with
no training at all.
I suppose that’s a worthwhile experiment in itself!"

"No training?"

"We leave for Fearing in twenty minutes. And we leave for Little Luna at midnight!"

The young photographer gulped. "Th-thanks for telling me!"

As the
Sky Queen
prepared to take to the air, Tom introduced the new team member to the others, who had assembled in the Flying Lab’s comfortable lounge on the top deck.

The reactions to the abrupt announcement varied widely. Most of the space team greeted Gabe Knorff warmly, trusting Tom Swift’s judgment without qualm or question. But Jason Graves looked quietly apoplectic, Col. Northrup frowned, and Teodor Kutan withdrew into a calculated silence. Bud shook Gabe’s hand coolly—he had had some run-ins with the photographer before.

As the others talked, Chow pulled his young boss aside.

"Say there, Tom, you sure this is sech a good idea?"

"Why?" Tom asked.

"Wa-al, if’n you count ’em all up—now we got thirteen on this here crew!"

"Don’t tell me you’re superstitious, pardner!"

"Naw, not a bit," Chow protested. "But brand my fallin’ stars, nobody ever died from bein’ careful!"

The
Sky Queen
flew south at transonic speed, and quick hours later landed at Fearing Island on its cushion of jet lifters.

Two hours afterwards a big cargo plane followed, loaded with heavy equipment for the expedition. At the same time, other planes were being rolled out across the island airfield, while mechanics scurried about in the glare of powerful floodlights, unloading their cargoes and carting them to the waiting
Titan
.

As Tom watched the final loading routine, Bud walked over. Like Tom, he already wore the emergency pressure suit that the astronauts would use as a precaution during the flight. "Skipper, that new ship of yours doesn’t look much bigger than the
Star Spear
. How’s she going to carry such a big crew—and all those crates and machines?"

Tom grinned. "Guess I never really gave you my customary explanation of how it works."

"I’ve been waiting!" Bud joked. "All I know is, the
Titan
has some kind of atomic motor. What does she run on, liquid uranium?"

Tom’s grin became a chuckle. "No, something much easier to handle—oxygen!"

"You mean plain old air?"

"The business part of air, anyway," said Tom. "Most of the main central fuselage is tank divided into sections, like a honeycomb, containing oxygen, which we’ve super-pressurized without liquifying it."

"Like the air tanks inside the underwater Fat Man suits, right?"

"Same technique. We needed a gas to serve as a thrust-medium, and oxygen made perfect sense, as we’d need to bring some along anyway to breathe until the atmos-maker is set up."

"So where do the atoms come in?"

Tom drew an imaginary diagram in mid-air. "Pushed by its own pressure, the oxygen flows into a special chamber below the atomic reactor, where the gas is exposed to concentrated ionizing radiation produced in the reactor—high gamma rays, mostly. The radiation knocks electrons loose in the gas, which gives it a powerful electrical charge. The charged oxygen molecules repel one another, much more forcefully than the explosion produced by fuel combustion in standard rocket engines."

"And there’s your thrust," nodded Tom’s pal. "Sounds like the
Titan
will give you a lot more ‘bang for your buck’."

"Right," Tom confirmed. "That’s why the crew section of the ship can be so much larger than the little two-person compartment in the nose of the
Star Spear.
"