Tom Swift and His Diving Seacopter (14 page)

"Like ghost winds up in the stratosphere," Tom commented, and winked at Bud. The two had wrestled with them, too.

Chow, his voice a bit shaky, called over the intercom. "Consarn it, this here ocean cruise ain’t s’ good fer a man’s health after all! Wonder my nerves ain’t all unstrung!"

"Ship’s taken quite a pounding too," said Tom worriedly. "I’d better make sure everything’s all right." He checked the gauges on the instrument panel, then turned to his copilot. "Watch the controls a minute, will you, Bud?"

Beginning in the forward cabin, Tom worked his way aft through the
Ocean Arrow.
Carefully he examined all seams and various pressure points where the strain might have been crucial.

Returning to Bud, he reported, "Everything’s okay, but I think we’d better check on the outside too."

"I’ll go, Tom."

Taking the wheel, Tom guided the
Ocean Arrow
to the surface, where it floated easily.

A few moments later, Bud flung open the Compartment A hatch and climbed out. The athletic youth scurried over the hull, looking for signs of damage.

In fifteen minutes the inspection was completed. Calling down the hatchway Bud reported to Tom that he had found nothing amiss.

"What’s our next move?" called Bud, bending low. "Shall we make another dive or—or—ooh!"

Standing spraddle-legged on top of the seacopter, Bud suddenly lost his balance. Flapping his arms, he teetered wildly for a moment. Then, with a yell, he toppled over backward and plunged headfirst into the ocean.

He reappeared a moment later, shaking water from his eyes and ears.

Tom raced up onto the hull, followed by his shipmates. They roared with laughter. "Didn’t know you were talking about that kind of a dive, pal!"

Bud took the ribbing good-naturedly. "Okay, so I don’t quite have my sea legs yet!" he shouted back. "Help me back up, guys. Or do I get to take a swim break?" Enjoying the water, and wanting to show some bravado and nonchalance, he backstroked away from the seacopter about thirty feet, pulling off his shoes and socks and tossing them up onto the hull.

Ham and George went below to get a rope, which they passed up to Tom and Chow. As they turned their faces back into the late-afternoon sunshine, Chow shaded his eyes and scanned the water. "Say," he asked in a puzzled voice, "what happened to Buddy-Boy? He ’as right there a second ago!"

Tom was already staring around uneasily. Bud was nowhere in sight! Not even his head was visible!

"I don’t know," he replied slowly. "Surely he—"

With a gasp Tom broke off and clutched the cook by the arm. "Chow,
look!"

Among the waves, not far from the seacopter, a weird, blackish-gray monster, at least twenty feet broad, had suddenly skimmed into view!

"Sufferin’ sunfish!" gulped Chow. "What kind of a critter is that?"

"A manta ray," said Tom tensely. "What most people call a devilfish."

"Sure
looks
devilish," muttered the cook. "Those two things stickin’ out in front are jest like horns."

Tom was fearful that the manta, which he guessed must weigh three thousand pounds, might have lashed at Bud with its tail. He knew that the ray could cut him in two with it!

At that moment, unknown to Tom and Chow, Bud Barclay was swimming desperately, deep under water. When he had first sighted the devilfish, it had surfaced without warning between him and the ship, flopping in and out of the water. Now, in order to reach safety, he had been forced to submerge and try to swim under both the creature and the seacopter itself.

It was a risky move. If the devilfish should spot his maneuver it might attack, placing him at its mercy. His only hope was to hold his breath long enough to reach the far side of the
Ocean Arrow.
Already his lungs felt ready to burst as he plowed forward through the water in the shadow of the seacopter.

Tom, watching from above, gave a joyful shout as a head popped up above the surface. Pale-faced with relief, the panting swimmer touched the side of the floating seacopter. Torn and Chow pulled him aboard as the devilfish continued to swim back and forth through the waves.

"Wow! What a way to end a swim!" choked Bud, still gasping for breath and trembling with exhaustion from the effort.

"Reckon it’s better than windin’ up inside that nasty customer," Chow observed.

Suddenly the manta ray leaped high out of the water, then dropped down with a smack that sounded like a demolition blast. The whole
Ocean Arrow
rocked crazily.

"That critter’s goin’ beezerk!" Chow cried. Tom agreed. The devilfish might damage the seacopter! Quick as lightning, Tom jumped down through the hatch, called to the others to follow, and dashed to the controls. In a moment he had the rotor blades whirring. The
Ocean Arrow
rose into the air.

"Whew!" said Chow. "I sure never saw a more loco critter. What ails him?"

Ham laughed. "You oughta feel sorry for him, cowboy! It’s said their fins get full of itching parasites and it drives them crazy. One more minute and this old fellow would have tried slapping the insects off against our hull and damaged it."

After contacting his father in the Flying Lab, Tom decided to cruise around under the ocean for another two hours, then call it a day. By that point the
Sky Queen
would have to return to base for refueling. Finally ending the futile search, he surfaced and radioed Mr. Swift.

"I have news for you, Tom," he said. "I radiophoned the University of Lisbon to inquire about that Professor Taclos, They told me the Institute for the Study of Weather had been shut down three years ago, and Taclos is no longer affiliated with the University."

"Then he’s working strictly on his own. No wonder he made himself so available to the Wickliffe crew!" Tom commented.

The
Ocean Arrow
trailed the
Sky Queen
to Madeira Island and its large and colorful port city, Funchal. After the two crafts were safely berthed in their secured and guarded facility, Tom and Bud rode into town by taxi, Ham Teller and George Braun following behind. Chow had insisted on remaining behind to prepare a dinner meal aboard the
Queen
for Mr. Swift and the half-dozen other members of the crew.

In the taxi Bud asked, "Tom, why do you suppose we can’t find that rocket?"

"Beats me, flyboy," Tom remarked moodily, saying he might have to invent some new way to detect it. "I have an idea about using twin sonar beams to induce resonance in the thing’s hull. I suspect it’s made of the same sort of weird silicoid-ceramic stuff as the meteor-missile that landed at Enterprises."

"But you and your Dad never have been able to analyze that material," Bud pointed out.

"All too true," conceded the young inventor. "But we were able to use microspectrometry to dope out one of the components, which led to the formulation of Tomasite. And Sandy and Bashalli provided another clue when they described how the rocket affected glass, which is a form of silicon, you know." He explained his theory that the craft made use of a propulsive force-field of some kind that induced motion directly in the substance of the vehicle’s hull, with side effects on other silicon materials in range. "With that as a basis, I’m thinking I—"

"Hold it!"
Bud commanded abruptly. "Driver, pull over!"

As the taxi screeched to a stop, Bud put a hand on the door handle. "What is it, pal?" Tom demanded.

"Our pals Kelton and Price, that’s what!" Bud hissed. "I’m sure I saw them on the sidewalk back there. And this time I’m going to have that discussion with them that they ran away from last time!"

LEAVING TOM to pay the taxi fare, Bud dashed back at top speed, whirling around a corner and into a sidestreet that was almost deserted. Ahead on the sidewalk were two ambling figures, their backs to him. He sprinted forward, almost noiselessly, and lowered his shoulder like a football player bearing down on a blocker. He caught Ferd Acton square in the middle of his back, sending the squawking technician stumbling awkwardly out into the street.

"Whattaya know! Ferd, right?" Bud gave him a fierce and dangerous look. "What a surprise, running into you!" The athletic youth clenched his fists.

"He’s crazy!" yapped Kelton Price. "Let’s get out of here!"

"Big bad Bud Barclay!" growled Acton. "Last time I saw you, you and your pals were drifting and dreaming somewhere out in the ocean. Run out of gas in your fancy boat?"

Bud’s eyes flashed at the memory. "I owe you for that." He took two steps in Acton’s direction. Like a striking cobra, Acton’s fist shot out, straight at Bud’s jaw!

"Naw, naw, come
on,
Ferd!" Price cried in alarm.

Side-stepping Acton neatly, Bud blocked the blow with his right hand.

"In the mood for a fight?" Bud exclaimed gleefully. "Try this for size!" He shot a hard smash to Acton’s chest that sent the man staggering.

Instead of rushing back in, Acton circled his opponent cautiously. Then his left fist flicked out in several lightning jabs. Bud dodged the blows and delivered a barrage of powerhouse rights and lefts.

Acton danced away and yelled at Price. "You gonna help me or
what,
chicken-liver? It’s two against one!"

Price grimaced. "You know I—I don’t believe in getting hurt." But he began to approach, tentatively.

Just then two pairs of footsteps came clattering up the street—George Braun and Ham Teller! Braun stepped between Bud and Acton. "Come on, you two, break it up!" he ordered. "What is this, a school playground?"

To his surprise, Kelt Price grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him away. "Let ‘em alone!" Price barked. "You’re not wanted here either!" Before the oceanographer could defend himself, Price stunned him with a poke in the mouth.

George recovered quickly. Blazing with anger, he clipped Price’s jaw with a left uppercut and sank his right fist into the pudgy scientist’s midriff. Price grunted but stayed on his feet. With a bear-like rush he closed in, absorbing George’s punches and dealing out blows of his own.

Ferd Acton, meanwhile, was still feinting and jabbing. Bud retaliated with a series of hard rights and lefts to the body. Some landed and shook up his opponent while others struck only empty air. Apparently skinny Ferd Acton was a skilled boxer! But Bud landed a good one, sending Acton reeling backward against Ham Teller, who had been a bystander thus far.

Teller grinned. "Bud, I think this is yours!" Like a mighty piston he shoved Acton in Bud’s direction, where the teenaged flier was waiting with his fists.

For several minutes the melee continued. Gradually Bud and George began to wear down their opponents, with Teller acting like a combination referee and audience, providing wry commentary.

"We’ll have ’em talking in a minute!" Bud gloated between punches.

Just then a door flew open further down the street. A swarthy, white-clad figure came darting out. Raca!

So he’s here too!
Bud thought, wondering whether the servant would prove to be an enemy, as Tom had suspected. The answer came as Kelt Price panted, "Come on, Raca. Give us a hand!"

"Sim,
amigo!" Raca leaped at Bud and George, lashing out with vicious punches. With the odds three against two, the tide began to turn. Though Ham now joined in the action, the three shipmates soon found themselves hard pressed. Whenever they turned to deal with one opponent, they caught a painful battering from another. George was bleeding from the nose and mouth, while Bud had a livid bruise under his left eye and Ham Teller had a cut on his lip.

Suddenly an angry voice rang out, "Hold it, all of you! This is ridiculous!"

Bud’s heart gave a leap. "Tom!" he cried. "Get in here!"

Tom sighed but wasted no time rushing to his friends’ aid. His special target became Raca, who ducked around and rabbit-punched Tom from behind. Tom whirled, straightened the fellow with a left to the jaw, then followed with a stiff right to the solar plexus that buckled Raca’s knees.

Seeing this, Acton and Price seemed to lose heart. Raca was already glancing for a way to escape.

Suddenly Kelt Price panted, "I’m clearing out!" The pudgy scientist broke and ran, followed closely by Acton and Raca. The three headed for a narrow alley-way.

"Let’s go after ‘em!" Bud yelled. But before they could run after the fleeing technicians, a wailing alarm split the air behind them as a police car shuddered to a halt. A pair of civic police officers jumped out, guns drawn, and shouted an order in Portuguese that could easily be understood—
freeze!

It was Tom himself who had called the police from a shop near where the two taxis had stopped. But it took several valuable minutes for the young inventor to identify himself and mollify the officers, who finally sped away, heads shaking.

Bud was dejected at Acton and Price having gotten away, but Tom said, "Listen! They’re only stooges. We want Wickliffe! Since Acton and Price were here, maybe Wickliffe is too."

George said, "They may be stooges but those punches were the real thing!"

"This mouse under my eye feels as big as a coconut!" Bud complained. The bruise had turned an angry bluish green and was swelling rapidly.

Tom clenched his jaw. "Well, they can’t stop us! Let’s search that building, the one you said Raca came out of." But the building proved to be a cheap bar, and the patrons only shrugged when Tom asked, haltingly, about Wickliffe. They had no choice but to abandon the effort and return to the
Sky Queen
for first aid.

"You boys look like you been through a war!" muttered Chow, clucking his tongue.

"You should see the other guys," responded Ham Teller.

"Yeah, but I hear they weren’t so good t’start with!"

Taking little time to sleep, Tom threw himself into developing the device he had described to Bud, which he called a sono-resonance locator. He worked steadily in one of the
Sky Queen
’s lab cubicles. By the middle of the following morning, assisted by Arv, Hank, and Mr. Swift, the new system had been tested and set up in the seacopter. "Mighty ingenious!" remarked Arv. "Run through a range of likely resonance-tones until your target starts ringing like a bell, then home-in on the vibes."