Tom Swift and His Outpost in Space (13 page)

"Nice…to see you…" rasped Tom weakly as Bud, still in the harness that had lowered him from the chopper, struggled to free Tom’s handcuffs as the aircraft set down in the water nearby.

A few gulps of water from a thermos bottle helped to revive Tom. Inside the helicopter he related what had happened.

"We know a little more now!" Bud growled. "Pali confessed, and his two buddies caved right away, too."

If Pali told the truth, Tom thought elatedly, he might get to the bottom of the mystery!

It seemed Pali had been truthful in saying that he was a trained engineer, and that he was not native to Loonaui. He had been born in American Samoa, and had worked in a factory in the States. "But my boss fired me," he told Tom at the local jailhouse. "For revenge, I sabotaged the plant machinery. I was caught and went to prison. After I got out, no one would hire me. Why should they? Then a man offered me money to come to Loonaui."

"Who was he?" Tom asked.

"His name is Blatka—Stanis Blatka."

"What did this man look like?"

Pali described a man unlike any Bud or Tom had yet encountered—very pale, with white-blond hair. "Never have I seen a human like that. Most of his body seemed of normal build, but his legs and arms and fingers were grotesquely thin. I thought of him as ‘the Mosquito’. Yet his voice was very deep, and he spoke in a monotone. Most of the time he wrote his commands on paper and held the sheets up to be read—then he destroyed them."

"What did this Blatka want you to do?" Hank Sterling asked.

"Come here to Loonaui, where I once lived for a time. Stir up the natives and make trouble. He was hoping I might get them to attack your group. The people wouldn’t do it. So Blatka came and told me to hire canoemen—bad men I knew—to take boy-Tom out to sea."

"But why is this Blatka out to get me?" Tom wondered, frowning.

"He didn’t say," replied Pali. "And who am I to ask?"

"We will interrogate this man fully, and his accomplices" remarked the police captain. "Soon we shall have the answer."

It was not to be. Checking later at the police station where Pali and the others had been taken, the police captain, shame-faced, told Tom, Bud, and Hank that his prisoners had escaped!

"I cannot believe it!" moaned Captain Yoru, shaking his head. "But you see, Mr. Swift, Loonaui has little crime and we rarely use the jail for more than an overnight drunk-tank. Some men came into the station, drew guns and demanded the cell keys—and now the three are all gone."

Bud started to erupt angrily but Tom lay a calming hand on his arm. "Swift Enterprises will be glad to pay your government for the costs of any investigation. This gang, whatever it is, has attempted murder both here and in the U.S. They must be caught!"

"Did you learn any more from them?" Hank prodded.

The man’s eyes showed fear. "These are very strange matters, sir. Pali finally said Blatka, this Mosquito—he’s head of a dangerous group. Foreigners from many countries, all fanatics—half crazy! He said he knew no details, only that they wished to prevent your Enterprises from placing its moon in the sky."

Bud turned to Tom with a startled look. "This must be even bigger than we thought!"

Tom gave a worried and thoughtful nod. "We’ll have to hire a security force to keep an eye on Space Central and the Bolutanbu facility. But for the time being, I think I’d be better off working in Shopton."

Preparations for the return trip were made speedily, and a few hours later the
Sky Queen
was streaking high over the Pacific carrying Tom, Bud, and Hank. The great silvery ship winged in over the four-mile-square Enterprises plant late that afternoon, local time. Having rested and fully recovered, Tom reported the events in detail to Harlan Ames and his father.

"I’m utterly in the dark as to why anyone would object to the outpost in space to such an extent that they would be willing to kill to prevent it," commented Mr. Swift. "There seems to be an international element to the problem, though."

Tom gave a weary smile. "I don’t think it’s just Jaston York and his battery company trying to ace a rival."

"No," said Ames. "And the Gorilla, Miza Ranooq—where does he fit in? The Canadian authorities have been unable to locate him."

Tom wandered back to his laboratory, not yet ready to call it a day. After a few futile minutes trying to busy himself productively, he sat down before the computer to make an entry in his daily journal, which was maintained in a securely encrypted file.

As he finished the entry he leaned forward on his elbows. How next should he proceed? He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, then began to reach to shut down the computer. But something caught his eye.

ZED ZED SEPT

The words floated on the screen, all capitalized, just after the end of his journal entry.

I didn’t type that!
Thought the young inventor with growing excitement. Could it be—?

Before his eyes, a new line suddenly materialized.

THE MOSQUITO
WE CALL HIM THE SPIDER

Tom leaned forward and typed:
"Are our tax dollars still at work?"

BETTER BE OR IM OUT OF A JOB

Some time before, when Tom and Bud had first blasted into space aboard Tom’s rocket ship the
Star Spear,
a mysterious informant, apparently connected to a secret U.S. government agency, had sent Tom useful information in just this manner, as if able to access Tom’s encrypted journal despite his security precautions. Because the informant had identified himself with the phrase
your tax dollars at work,
Tom had begun to call him the Taxman. But there had been no subsequent contact—until now!

"How are you, Asa?"
Tom typed. He believed the Taxman was the same person who had masqueraded as an elderly caretaker named Asa Pike.

DON’T KNOW ANYONE NAME OF ASA
IM THE TAXMAN
YOU NAMED ME YOURSELF

"Whatever. What do you know about our current enemies?"

THANKS FOR ASKING
FORGET PALI
BLATKA IS A SWISS NATIONAL
HIS GANG CALLS ITSELF
ZED ZED SEPT
OPPOSED TO WORLD TRADE
AND TECHNOLOGY
AH GIVE ME THE SIMPLE LIFE
DO YOU GET IT

Tom typed,
"I think so. Then foreign governments are not behind it?"

NO BRUNGARIANS OR KRANJOVIANS
THIS TIME AROUND CHIEF
THESE ARE ENTREPRENEURS
WITH A MISSION

"Why don’t you folks stop them?"

WE HAVE
THESE ARE A FEW LOOSE NUTS LEFT OVER
WE DO WHAT WE CAN
SEND COMPLAINTS TO TAXPAYERS

Tom smiled at the response.
"What else? The Gorilla?"

FOCUS ON THE INSECTS FOR NOW

"Where is Blatka?"

OUT OF REACH
WILL DO HIS BEST TO SABOTAGE YOUR
SPACE OUTPOST
ITS WHAT HE LIVES FOR
NICE HOBBY

Tom typed a few further questions, but the Taxman only messaged:

OUT OF DIMES

—which Tom took to mean the interchange was ended for the present. He reported the incident to Ames and headed home.

The next morning, when Tom arrived at his office, Munford Trent, secretary to Tom and his father, reported that he had a visitor. "He says you asked him to apply for an astronaut position."

"Let me guess!" Tom laughed. "Muscular, high-forehead, what you might call
cute?"

"I didn’t notice," sniffed Trent. "He gives his name as Kenneth Horton."

"Please show him in, Munford."

"He’s at gate security right now. I’ll call Ted Klein to bring him over."

As Trent left he brushed by Chow Winkler, whose sun-bronzed face was wreathed in a grin. He was glad to have his beloved boss back home and safe. "Tom, you gonna be wantin’ a bite to eat here at the plant later on t’night?" he asked. "If’n you are, I’d like to fix somethin’ a mite special."

Tom hardly heard him. He was thinking about the messages from the Taxman. How could Tom be sure that Major Horton was all he seemed to be?

He answered, "Thanks, Chow, but I’ll probably be shoving off at five o’clock." Then, as the cook turned to leave, Tom added abruptly, "Say, wait a minute!"

A sudden idea had struck the puzzled young inventor. Time and again Tom had noticed that Chow had a natural gift for character reading. Explaining that he was about to receive a caller, Tom said, "Stay around, Chow, and look the man over, would you? Then later on tell me what you think of him."

The Texan agreed, greatly pleased by this mark of confidence in his shrewdness. A few minutes later the security guard ushered Horton into the office. Stretching out his hand to welcome the visitor, Tom glanced at Chow to catch his first reaction.

To Tom’s surprise, the cook’s jaw had dropped open in a look of utter amazement!

CHOW’S UNMISTAKABLE recognition of Kenneth Horton startled Tom. Was the ex-major friend or foe? Tom found out a second later when Horton exploded with:
"Chow Winkler, you old bean wrangler!"
The two men rushed together in a bear hug, then pumped hands and clapped each other joyfully on the back.

"Brand me for a three-toed bronc if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes!" cried Chow, holding Horton at arm’s length to look at him. "Where’d you come from, boy?" He looked at Tom. "Brand my buzzards, how’d you know ’bout him, Tom?"

The caller quickly told how he had received an invitation to come to Swift Enterprises for an interview.

"Brand my fuselage!" the cook exclaimed, remembering Tom’s request. "I almost forgot what I’m doin’! Tom, I’ve knowed Kenny Horton here since he was knee-high to a horny toad. I used to work for his pa on the ole Lazy H spread, down in the Panhandle. You take it from me, Tom, you can bank on anything this young feller says ’r does, cause they ain’t no finer folks exist than the Hortons from Texas!"

It was Kenneth Horton’s turn to be puzzled. "That sounds as if I were under suspicion for some reason," he remarked quizzically.

Tom took a deep breath, embarrassed. "You were," he admitted. "But in view of what Chow tells me, I’m sure we can forget all that."

The young inventor then proceeded to explain about the attacks on his life, the device left in the beach hamper, and the tracks of the man with the short toe.

Ken Horton burst out laughing. "No wonder I was a prime suspect!" He chuckled. "But maybe I can still help you."

"How so?" Tom asked.

"I saw another man on the beach with the same kind of toe peculiarity—but worse."

Toni was startled by this revelation and asked for a description of the man.

"Well, be was dark-haired, skinny, and about forty years old," Horton replied. "Frankly, I didn’t take to him. He seemed a little oily. And he talked a lot, too. He struck up conversations with several people on the beach. I figured he was trying to sell something."

"I don’t suppose you overheard anything that might give us a lead?" Tom asked.

Horton shook his head, then frowned. "Wait a minute! I do remember something. He was flirting with a girl and mentioned his name. Seems to me it was something ending in ‘—erman’."

Tom excused himself and went to the videophone, the Swifts’ private telecommunications network. He signaled the Key West station, then waited until broadcast employee Graham Kaye’s picture appeared on the screen. Tom relayed the information given him by Horton and requested Kaye to pass it along to the police.

"Have them get in touch with me the minute they turn up any lead," he added before signing off.

"Roger!"

When Tom rejoined Chow and Horton, the cook wanted to know whether these developments might cause Tom to change his mind about leaving the plant at five o’clock.

"They might at that," Torn admitted. Turning to Horton. he asked, "How about having dinner with us here? Chow can fix something."

"Glad to," said the former Army officer. "That’ll give me plenty of time to talk about several ideas I have."

Chow beamed. "I’ll whip up the best-tastin’ mess o’ Western vittles you ever et!"

"Sounds good to me," Horton said, smiling. "I’ve missed that great hash-flingin’ of yours, Chow Winkler!"

"Suppose we make it the lounge of the chem-tech building," Tom suggested. As Chow went out the door, Tom called after him with a chuckle, "Only don’t serve any stewed rattlesnake with cactus dressing!"

When Chow had gone, Horton said, "I had no idea I was under suspicion. But now that I’m in the clear, I’d very much like to be a part of this space effort of yours. As you probably know, I’ve wanted to be an astronaut for many years."

"Enterprises needs good rocket men, Ken, and you may fill the bill."

When Horton replied that he was intensely interested, Tom went on to question him about his technical background. Impressed by Horton’s answers, Tom said cordially, "Ken, I’d like very much to have you join our manned satellite program. With your Signal Corps experience in communications technology, I believe you’d make a good liaison man between Swift Enterprises and the broadcasting companies who are interested in our project."

Tom described the undertaking in more detail, adding, "Of course you’d have to pass certain tests first in order to qualify for any trips into space. And I warn you, they’re rugged!"

Horton was excited by the daring plan to establish an outpost in space. "I’d give my right arm to get in on a project like that!" he exclaimed. "How soon may I take those tests?"

Pleased by Horton’s eagerness, Tom called Bud Barclay on the plant telephone. "Drop around to my office as soon as you can. I have a new candidate for your torture chambers!" As he hung up, he thought,
Maybe I should have told Bud who it is!

A few minutes later Bud strode into the office. But upon being introduced to Horton, the affable grin on his face suddenly froze. Tom quickly dispelled his friend’s anxiety. "You can turn off the deep freeze, chum," he said. "We have Chow’s personal assurance that our guest is okay." After hearing Tom’s explanation about the man’s background and the second person on the beach with a short great toe, Bud finally thawed out. "Sorry I behaved like a chump," he apologized. "But after what’s happened, I wasn’t feeling very friendly toward the guy who made those footprints in the sand."