Tom Swift and His Megascope Space Prober (17 page)

His pal’s next words were dead-grim. "Holbrook’s taken over the ship, Tom. And I don’t know what he plans to do with it!"

AFTER getting as many details as he could from Bud, Tom sprinted to his office and placed an emergency call to Col. Jessup, who was with Clarke and Franklin at Astro-Dynamics’ mission control facility.

"That explains what we’re hearing," stated Jessup. "Wild stuff from Chippy Holbrook. Listen, I’ll play it back."

The first message sounded reasonably calm. "This is Lieutenant Holbrook. Captain Barclay has become ill from food poisoning. I have taken temporary command of the ship. The mission will continue."

But Holbrook seemed to deteriorate rapidly, minute by minute, message by message. "What do you mean, you want me to put Barclay on?—he’s too ill!" And then: "You’re all nuts! Why don’t you trust me? I
can’t
let them out—they’re all sick! They’ll infect me and we’ll have to scrub—we won’t make it to― " After several minutes, Holbrook’s hysterical voice came in over the radio again: "Do something! For heaven’s sake, do something! The ship’s completely out of control, I tell you! Don’t leave me stranded in― " The words ended in a gasp and confused sounds.

"That’s all," declared Jessup. "No further contact."

Tom clenched his fists. He felt a desperate need to take action, any kind of action, now that his chum was in possible danger! "Colonel, I’m going after them in the
Challenger
!" Tom blurted out suddenly.

Jessup did not reply, but handed the telephone to John Clarke. The voice of the president of Astro-Dynamics was hoarse and haggard with strain. "I take it you already know what’s happened, Tom?" he asked bluntly.

"I’ve been in contact with Bud, and the recordings told me the rest. I know they’re in high orbit and calling for assistance," Tom replied. "What are the details?"

"We scarcely know ourselves," Clarke admitted. "They’ve begun lunar flyby, and just now the ship is rounding the rim and going beyond instrumental monitoring. But we’ve definitely determined that the ship’s completely out of control. It won’t respond to telemetered guidance and Holbrook is obviously unable to maneuver the
Highroad
manually."

"Any objection to my taking over the rescue operation?" Tom asked.

The man’s voice showed his relief clearly. "None at all, Tom," the president said with an eager note of hope. "Franklin and I will be eternally grateful if you can get those men down safely."

"I
will
. Stand by and we’ll keep you posted. We’ll commence preparations immediately," Tom added.

After setting things in motion at a frantic pace, Tom raced back to the observatory with his father and Hank Sterling.

All eyes were glued to the megascope screen as Tom deftly "kinked" the spacewave funnel around the bulk of Luna, which the spiraling microwave beam could not penetrate. The spacecraft blinked into focus. Outwardly, the
Highroad
seemed perfectly shipshape and spaceworthy as it accelerated in a spreading curve around the moon. Then, gradually, as Tom noticed its flight attitude shifting on the screen, he realized it was veering off course.

"Dad! The ship’s stopped its probe!" Tom gasped in alarm. "It’s going into orbit!"

Mr. Swift laid a hand on his son’s forearm. "Steady, boy. We’ll have to be patient until we know more of what’s going on. We can use the positioning computer to determine the new parameters."

The elder scientist’s reasonable tone helped somewhat to calm the young inventor. "You’re right, Dad," he said, swallowing hard. "We—I—can’t do Bud and the rest any good if we start getting panicky. I’ll start downloading the data."

"Leave Fearing to me, Tom," offered Hank Sterling. "I’ll have Amos Quezada put together a small crew and ready the
Challenger
. We’ll be on our way in hours."

As Mr. Swift helped Tom at the megascope console, Hank darted to the observatory wall phone and began issuing a stream of orders. First he contacted Quezada at the Enterprises space facility on Fearing Island off the Georgia coast, telling him to round up a space team and prepare the
Challenger
for immediate takeoff.

"Roger! She’ll be ready when you fellows get here!"

Remarkably soon it was time to leave for Fearing, an hour away by supersonic jet. As Tom hung up from a call to Bud’s parents, his father patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck, son. I’ll man the space prober and the radio here however long it takes, until you and the boys out there are back to Earth."

"Thanks, Dad." Tom tried to keep his voice steady as they shook hands, then hugged warmly. "I know I can depend on you to give us the coaching we’ll need to get back safely.’’

Tom grinned with a confidence he was far from feeling.

He leapt into a waiting nanocar with Hank and sped out onto the airfield. Chow Winkler was waiting next to the jet. "Brand my coyote cutlets, you ain’t takin’ off without your space cook, are you, boss?" the stout Texan panted anxiously.

"Not a chance, Chow! Climb aboard!"

Minutes later, Tom was streaking toward the rocket base like a silver thunderbolt. A truck roared out on the island’s airfield to meet them as the landing gear braked to a halt. The passengers piled in and sped to the launching area where the oddly shaped
Challenger
waited glistening in the Atlantic sunlight.

Tom briefed the crew of Fearing astronauts about the tense situation. Precious minutes went by, with Tom striving to control his impatience as the final flight preparations were made. Even Harlan Ames, usually the iciest-nerved man at Enterprises, seemed to be on edge with anxiety.

At last Tom was buckling himself into the pilot’s seat. He barely received clearance from Amos Quezada before he sent the
Challenger
zooming aloft. All could feel the G-force building up as he pressed the ship’s powerful repelatrons to full force. A steady stream of computer data from Astro-Dynamics’ tracking crew, again available as the ship reappeared from behind the moon, guided them toward the helpless probe craft.

"H-how’re they doin’ out there, boss?" asked Chow. "Buddy Boy okay?"

"He says he’s fine, pard," was the reply. "As for the ship, she’s stuck in a very hightailed orbit around the earth and moon. Holbrook’s using the laser drive erratically, but we think she’ll peak at around 700,000 miles."

"But...now...when y’ say
peak
― "

"Peak means
peak
, Chow. After that point the
Highroad
will swoop back toward the earth at a very steep angle. We don’t know what will happen in the end."

Finally the bullet-shaped form of the stricken
Highroad
could be seen through the
Challenger
’s broad double viewpanes, its twin laser emitters gleaming through the blackness of the space void. The craft was dead ahead but somewhat above their own orbit altitude. Tom increased speed slightly to rise closer to its orbit.

"Going to grapple ’em?" a crew member asked Tom.

The pilot shook his head. "We couldn’t just haul them down through the atmosphere at the end of a chain. We’ll get up close, then Hank and I will spacewalk over and board her."

But Tom knew boarding the
Highroad
would be anything but simple. The access airlock adjoined the control deck—where the berserk Chippy Holbrook awaited them!

As they drew near Tom switched on the Private Ear Radio and spoke into the mike. "We’re here, Bud. How goes it?"

"Not too good, Skipper," Bud’s voice replied weakly. "Holbrook’s done something to the oxygen recirculators. I feel... as if... as if I may pass out."

Tom glanced at Hank with a look of dismay. "Now
listen
, Captain Barclay, this is the boss speaking!" he barked. "I
order
you to stay conscious and strong! We may need some muscle to back us up."

Bud could not joke in return. "I’ll try, Tom. That’s all I can do."

"Yes, I know, pal. Don’t worry."

There was no answer.

Whitefaced, Tom desperately tried to contact Holbrook, over and over. "Look, Lieutenant, I’m trying to save your neck. I’m not going to hurt you. If I can get inside I’m sure I’ll be able to restore control. I just need you to work the airlock."

At last came one brief answer. Holbrook’s voice quivered on the verge of hysteria as he replied: "Are you crazy? If I open the airlock, space will get in! I’ll suffocate!" And that was all.

"Hey, what’s he doing?" exclaimed Hank moments later. "He’s shifting the long axis of the ship."

Tom nodded. "He’s got gyro control, at least. But as to― " He interrupted himself suddenly. "Hank, he’s turning the ship so the laser emitters point directly at us!"

"Ya mean—ya mean he’s gonna burn us up with them lasers?" gulped Chow. "Mebbe we’d better back away fer a spell!"

"We can’t," muttered Tom as he studied the glowing control readouts. "Earth and Moon are in the wrong position for that kind of maneuvering. And it’ll take way too long for the repelatron beams to reach the sun or some other big repulsion target. Right now we’re just gliding along."

The team flinched back, covering their eyes, as the laser radiance swept across the viewpanes, bringing not only blinding light but a flash of heat. Tom touched the controls to bring the
Challenger
’s own gyros into play, rotating the huge ship. "But the beams are still hitting us," he grated. "Even with the Inertite coating, the hull can only take so much!"

Hank suggested using the ship’s repelatrons to push the
Highroad
to some far distance. Tom shook his head. "With their systems so fouled up we might just set her spinning and rip her apart! But—maybe there’s another approach."

Turning the controls over to Hank, Tom stepped aside and slipped a different cartridge into his PER unit, one that would link him to his father in the observatory. Tom explained his idea, and Damon Swift responded with: "I think it will work, Tom!"

The young inventor returned to the controls and cautiously gyroed the ship around again, for a clear view.

"Wa-aal I’ll be!" exclaimed Chow. "What happened t’ them lights?" The laser flares had become noticeably dimmer and had taken on a rainbow swath of shifting colors.

"Dad’s set the megascope at its highest power and positioned the lens-field directly in front of the photon emitters," Tom explained. "I realized that since the matrix interacts with photons, it could be used to diffuse and refract them. The effect is weak, but it’s enough to mess up the frequency coherence of the lasers."

Hank whistled. "At least we’ve bought some time."

"If I’m right, we may have bought more than that!" declared Tom. "Don’t we still have a few of those big reflectors on board, down in the hold?"

"From your Dad’s solar experiments? Sure, but― "

Tom gave further instructions, ending with, "Now I’m suiting up and heading outside."

Tom left the
Challenger
, accelerating into space on his spacesuit micro-thrusters. Meanwhile Hank ejected two of the mirrorlike solar reflectors from the ship’s hold hatch, using their own propulsion units to guide them into position.

Approaching the dome atop the
Highroad
, Tom maneuvered one of the reflectors into position by hand. "Here we go!" he radioed. "Tell Dad to get the megascope lens out of the way."

Tom could see Holbrook through the dome windows, rushing about wildly. Light from within the control compartment shone through the
Highroad
’s viewports. And Tom reasoned that if light could shine
out
, it could penetrate
inward
just as easily!

The first reflector was positioned near the tail of the Venus craft. As it moved directly into the line of the laser-drive beams, they were reflected to the second mirror next to Tom—and then into the control compartment like a whitehot javelin! It pierced through to the rear bulkhead and fell upon the immoveable hatch that imprisoned Bud and the rest of the crew. In moments the metal hatch had begun to glow with heat.

Tom had Hank patch him through to Bud via the PER. "Ready in there?"

"Getting mighty warm, pal, but—yeah."

A few seconds more, and the weakened hatch suddenly burst inward. Through the viewports Tom could see the mission astronauts, led by Bud Barclay, surge into the cabin. Tom hastily shoved the reflector to a safe angle, cutting off the deadly beams.

"Holbrook’s collapsed," reported Bud presently. "Looks like we’ve got at least partial control of the ship. But there’s been damage. I’m guessing Astro-Dynamics will want to scrub the Venus probe for now."

"You’ve guessed right, chum!" Tom exclaimed happily. "Head back to Earth!"

The two spaceships gradually put about, each in its own way, and commenced the arc back to Earth, a journey of several days. But as the
Highroad
began to enter the atmosphere, there came alarming news from Bud. "Problems,
Challenger
! We’re getting a loss of aerodynamics on starboard—control damage we didn’t detect!"

Tom turned pale. If the
Highroad
were unable to reenter at the right flight angle, the craft would incinerate from friction! "Cut all flight externals,
Highroad
. Big Brother’s coming in with repelatrons!"

"Roger! All power off and standing by!"

"This is going to require some tricky, delicate navigating," Tom said grimly to Hank Sterling. "The whole undertaking will be a desperate maneuver—but I don’t need to tell you that. If the
Highroad
breaks away from us from here on out, both ships are done for."

"Aw now, jest git to it, Tom Swift!" ordered Chow. "We kin talk later!"

With the upper air roaring about them, Tom maneuvered the
Challenger
until the
Highroad
was just above him in almost a piggyback position. He did this by using one set of repelatrons to hold back the rocket ship and the other set to slow his own ship down by repelling the earth, slackening his speed to ease the descent to within relatively safe limits.

Continents and oceans became more clearly visible as the ships raced around the horizon. As Tom’s eyes flew over the banks of instruments he breathed a silent prayer for his friend and all whose lives were now in his hands. The slightest miscalculation now would be fatal.