Tom swift and the Captive Planetoid (16 page)

“I know,” said Doc. “On a dime! But Tom—my knowledge of the symptoms of the
u’umat
seizure doesn’t strike me as very useful. Just where
do
I fit in?”

Tom looked sheepish. “Well, to tell the truth—I don’t quite know. But it seems Talmadge has some connection to the raiders and this ‘Ninth Light’ that acts as their source of information—and punishment. We may well stumble across their method of inducing the catatonic state on demand, which is also—I hope—a clue to how they spy on us.”

“And you think a mighty Medicine Man like me might help you understand what you find.”

“I knew I could count on you, Doc!” Tom grinned. “And besides, several times you’ve proven that you’re pretty good in—”

“In
action
!” Simpson finished. “Okay, Tom. You’ve sold me! I assume the Enterprises insurance plan covers this kind of derring-do?”

“Ab
-solutely!”

Presently, even as Bud and company zoomed westward, Tom and Doc were jetting east. The
Skeeter
hurdled the Atlantic and the sands and jungles of Africa, and in a matter of hours they were driving their rented car out of the airport that served Fianarantsoa, island of Madagascar.

It was night, and as Bud and Chow were gaping at man-made stars, Tom and Doc were enjoying the real thing. “What an awesome sight,” murmured Simpson. “A person never gets used to it. You can really see why they call it the Milky Way.” He glanced over to Tom. “Skipper, do you think you’ll have any difficulty putting together this drop-in visit?”

“Well, Step One wasn’t hard,” replied the young inventor. “Mr. Demburton’s Fianar Portico Magnifico isn’t turning away guests. We’ll see if his employee there has any problem putting us in touch with Louis Talmadge. I’d like to go the informal, scientist-to-scientist route.”

“Going through Harlan and Rad would’ve made the guy paranoid. But say, I wondered—why did you make the hotel reservation yourself? Don’t you normally use the travel office at Enterprises?”

Tom shrugged. “Oh... this was all spur of the moment.”

“Well, yes, but—”

Tom interrupted hastily. “Doc, the important thing is to find a way to pump Talmadge for info he probably won’t be anxious to provide.”

“You really think he could be part of this ‘Ninth Light’ deal, Tom? A prominent astronomer?”

“All I know is: Mr. Demburton says Talmadge was the source of his detailed knowledge of the Follower—Bartonia, I mean—and it was hard enough for Dr. Jatczak to find that planetoid even from an observatory up in space, with all his sophisticated instruments.”

Doc Simpson shrugged. “Yet discoveries do come about by accident now and then. It’s happened a lot in medicine.”

“Sure they do,” replied Tom. “But his being located here in Madagascar, where that Desh Zai fellow has his home base—that’s one too many ‘accidents.’”

The Fianar Portico Magnifico was indeed
magnifico
in its garish way, resembling a tropicalized transplant from the wilds of Las Vegas. Even at a late hour the plush lobby thronged with milling tourists and weary businessmen trying and failing to look cheerful. As they checked in, Tom quietly noted the name badge of an attractive young woman standing nearby behind the concierge desk. “Niras Ewelle,” Tom whispered. “That’s the employee we need to speak to.”

“Tomorrow, I hope,” yawned Doc. It had been a long flight.

“My hope too. I’m ready to pass from ‘waking sleeper’ to
sleeping
sleeper.”

Morning posed no problems. Niras Ewelle was primly helpful. “I know Louis well enough to be sure he’d have no objection to my giving you his number. You’re Tom Swift, after all.”

Simpson chuckled. “I suppose you recognized him right off last night, when we checked in.”

“Of course, though I must admit—you look a great deal younger in person, Tom. TV and news photos give an older impression.”

“Well, ma’am, I’m getting older by the moment,” the youth commented. “Is it too early to call Dr. Talmadge?”

“Oh no, not at all. You’ll find Louis entirely charming and courteous. He says it gets lonesome up there on his mountain.”

Tom hesitated, then decided to take a risk. “I wonder... Just what is this Ninth Light I’ve heard spoken about? Some sort of Madagascar tradition?” He keenly watched her reaction.

Niras Ewelle frowned, prettily. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with it, Tom. It sounds more like a bar. Maybe you’ll find it here in the Low Town district of Fianar. You know, I’m not a native. I’m from Ngombia. When I visit my parents I often drive the skyway.” The Swift Enterprises repelatron skyway was the small African country’s great claim to world attention.

Miss Ewelle called Talmadge and after a brief murmuring conversation passed the receiver to Tom. “Of course I’d be
delighted
to have you pay me a visit, Tom!” boomed the cell-o-voice. “Anytime today is
absolutely
fine! Niras will provide a map and directions. She’s... rather a frequent visitor. Eh, lad? Heh.”

As Tom and Doc began what was estimated to be a drive of several hours, the youth remarked, “Talmadge sounds pretty tame. We’ll see if he feels like being forthcoming on how he came across the planetoid.”

“Or the Ninth Light—if he’s even heard of it.” The medic went on: “You know, Tom, if he
is
a little reticent in giving details about his methods, it could have to do with the usual competitions and rivalries among ‘discoverers.’ Everyone has a big stake in being known as The First. You see it running wild in medical research.”

They were heading eastward, into the mountainous spine of Madagascar. Presently Tom noted a sign at a turnoff, directing visitors to Ranomafana National Park. “I read about it,” Tom said. “Forest, hot springs, and lemurs galore. Mr. Demburton told me he hopes tourist overflow will make his hotel one of the ‘big performers,’ as he calls it.”

Skirting the park they proceeded through foothills into the taller mountains. The dry air was exceptionally clear. The roads were exceptionally narrow.

It was afternoon and hot when the Shoptonians finally arrived. The Talmadge observatory was not the traditional dome, but a very lengthy rectangular structure running right up the side of a looming slope, with a small modern bungalow at the base.

Louis Talmadge, younger and taller than expected, came rushing out at the sound of the tires on the gravel. “Ha, long trip, isn’t it? Rather twisty, but you’ve seen some of the best sights the island has to offer. Pick up the Avenue of the Baobabs and you’re done.”

Tom shook hands and introduced Doc Simpson. Noting his accent, Doc politely asked Talmadge if he were from Britain. “Oh, no no, I’m a Newzy—New Zealand man. But the moisture back there makes serious star viewing quite a problem. I came here some years ago.”

After a pleasant lunch and many expressions of mutual admiration, Talmadge showed his visitors his complex telescope apparatus. “Multistage polarizing reflectors,” he noted, “with continuous laser microflexing to cancel atmospheric perturbations. Not the Hubble, I admit; not your Swift space prober. Yet useful, I should say. We Earth folk have to have something to do, hey?”

Tom cleared his throat mentally. “Your system is obviously very advanced, Doctor. I’m amazed that you were able to find that little planetoid out there.”

“Are we supposed to call it a planetoid these days? I prefer
asteroid
; then again, I prefer to speak of the
planet
Pluto.” Talmadge gazed up at his telescope. “Yes, what a magnificent feeling, isn’t it?—the feeling of discovery. I’ve named my lovely little space star Niras. Should I ever break up with the even lovelier human version, perhaps I’ll be allowed another shot at it.

“But I gather you Yanks prefer to call it The Follower. A tad prosaic, don’t you think?”

Tom avoided comment and said instead, “I always try to learn from the experts, sir—that’s why I decided on this quick visit to Madagascar. I’d be fascinated to learn your technique.”

The man laughed. “You’ll redden my face, Tom! There are techniques that can only be learned in... the application. Trial and error. You’ll find Niras in agreement on that point, eh?”

“Actually, I meant your
astronomical
technique. How did you happen to locate the planetoid? Surely it wasn’t just a lucky accident?”

The astronomer suddenly was no longer smiling. He focused a peculiar stare on Tom.

Tom and Doc waited tensely for the answer.

THERE was a moment of frozen silence. “I hope you don’t mind my curiosity, Dr. Talmadge,” Tom said quietly. “I’m not an astronomer, but I admire your achievement.”

The man spoke warily, almost defensively. “Evidently so. I’d suppose asking that question was the main reason for this visit.”

Tom glanced at Simpson, then decided to speak frankly—as an experiment. “I apologize if I’ve come across as sneaky. The fact is, Enterprises has had to deal with some outside interference recently—”

“The assault on your rocket facility?”

“Yes, and some other things. There seems to be a link to Madagascar, and to our planetoid project. Sir, you’re probably Madagascar’s most prominent scientist and I—”

Talmadge’s face was grave. “You’re thinking I might be involved in this conspiracy?”

“Dr. Talmadge,” intervened Simpson, “Tom just wants to speak to you as one scientist to another—man to man.”

“But our young Tom is
not
a man, is he,” retorted the astronomer mildly. “Not until he’s had a large telescope fall on his head. It happened to me.”

Tom persisted. His blue eyes bored into the man facing him. “Do you object to talking about your discovery, sir?”

“I do. It strikes me, friend, that the questions you are asking—and what’s behind them—are inherently offensive.” He seemed to muse over the matter for a time. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I have no knowledge of these ‘raiders’ or whatever sort of connection to Madagascar you might have found.

“Let me say this. My observations of Niras were made by means of this telescope, here in this observatory. And they were perfectly correct. Your space trip demonstrated that.”

“There’s no question of your accuracy,” Tom responded. “My asking a question isn’t an accusation.”

“You wish to know what came before, how the initial discovery came about. Yes.” The scientist groped for words. “Tell me, Swift, do you account for inspiration in your work?”

The youth smiled. “That’s something I’ve debated a lot recently. Yes, sir, I think intuition and instinct have a crucial role in—”

“No!” snapped Talmadge. “I mean
inspiration
, very specifically.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to answer you.”

“I suppose you don’t.” The man walked over to the base of his instrument and rested a hand upon it, tenderly, even romantically. “This telescope was utilized for confirmation and measurement, for standard astronomical observation. But she’s mute, you know. She
tells
nothing. No amount of human gazing could have found that obscure spot of light in all that glowing emptiness. Many interesting things must pass our world unseen, never detected. One must have luck. Or... if not
luck
...

“I am a member of a small group of dedicated persons who are blessed—that is the exact word—to receive guidance from an inspired source. I was informed by this source to direct my attention to a certain place in the heavens. I was told what to expect, even as to its dimensions and trajectory. And by means of this advance knowledge, I was permitted to make an important discovery.”

Tom drew in a breath and tensed himself. “By
source
are you referring to the Ninth Light, Dr. Talmadge?”

The man stared coldly but made no response.

“You’re not being accused of complicity, Talmadge,” declared Doc Simpson, “but you need to understand something that hasn’t been reported to the public. Whatever the Ninth Light might be—it’s
dangerous
, a medical threat! He—it—is able to cause some kind of neurological collapse, even remotely. You need to grasp that this ‘power’ could be directed against
you
!”

“Whoever’s behind it has tried to kill me by sabotage,” continued Tom. “Its ‘inspiration’ amounts to long range spying. Wouldn’t it be
real
‘wisdom’ to help us investigate and protect ourselves?”

Talmadge gave a sullen shake of his head. “You know nothing about all this, Tom. You don’t have a clue. Hasn’t it occurred to you that there might be
higher
beings than those aliens you’ve contacted?”

“Yes sir. It
has
occurred to me!”

“Is the Ninth Light some kind of religion?” asked Doc.

“I don’t care to discuss my personal beliefs with persons incapable of understanding them,” Dr. Talmadge stated. “Who are you two, to hold The Good accountable for its misuse by fallible humans?
Who are you two at all?

“Please leave now, gentlemen. You have your answer. Take it back to America.”

Tom and Doc began the drive down the mountain, in an early twilight. “What’s to say, boss?” mused Simpson. “Is the man a mental case, or a cultist, or part of a sabotage conspiracy?”

“He could be all of those,” Tom muttered grimly. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Talmadge has any direct involvement in the attacks or the spying. He’s getting his ‘inspiration’ from elsewhere—maybe via short-wave from Desh Zai on his yacht.”

Doc grinned skeptically. “From what you’ve told me about the ultra-wealthy Mr. Zai, it’s pretty hard to envision anyone worshiping him as the mouthpiece of celestial wisdom!”

“Yet the Fearing raiders carried that charm symbol, linked to the homeland of Zai’s family, the Boses. Maybe that ancient, forgotten religious sect Professor Simallen told me about—Qalqaram—isn’t entirely forgotten after all.”

“Could be, Tom. I’d say the possibility has to be investigated.”

“Yes. ‘
Seek in faith all paths
’!” the young inventor quoted. “That’s advice I plan to take.”

At the foot of the mountain, Tom, at the wheel, turned left on the main highway. “Left?” commented Doc. “Aren’t we heading back the way we came?”

Tom shook his head. “Miss Ewelle said to continue along for a ways to the northeast, then loop back on an alternate route. That way we avoid some late-afternoon traffic around the nature park.”