Tom Swift and His Triphibian Atomicar (8 page)

"Cygnus Crossing, Wyoming," repeated Bud. "Never heard of it."

"According to the net-atlas, it’s about eighteen miles southwest of Cody. Good night!—population 38."

"Counting the mules?"

As expected, calls to directory assistance yielded nothing. But ultimately the town police station had an answer for him. "Sure enough, that Freegler fella lives just outside town, in Nameless Creek Pass. Little shack, not much more’n that." Tom asked if the officer had a telephone number. "Nope. No phone out there, far as I know. No lines, no cell service, nothin’. Comes wanderin’ into town now and then for food and such—that’s all."

Tom took down directions from the officer, then ended the call and turned to Bud triumphantly. "Shall we pay a visit? It’s still morning."

"Great! Always wanted to meet a real hermit."

"We’ll take the
SwiftStorm
." This was Tom’s wingless cycloplane, a supersonic jetcraft capable of hovering on a pair of spinning cylinders. The
SwiftStorm
was carried aboard the Flying Lab as an auxiliary craft.

They flew north, just skirting the mighty Rockies. It was not long before Tom could announce that the small scattering of buildings in view below was the tiny hamlet known as Cygnus Crossing. "And that section of woods over there between the hills—must be Nameless Creek Pass."

Bud snorted. "If that little squirt of a creek is Nameless Creek—no
wonder
it’s too embarrassed to give its name!"

Coming in low, they set down the
SwiftStorm
in a clearing among the trees about fifty yards from the small rough-hewn house that was the only sign of human habitation in the area.

As they climbed down to the ground, Bud said: "Let’s just hope this guy― "

A shot cracked out, splintering a bough on a nearby tree!

"—isn’t the type to take a shot at unannounced drop-ins!" he finished wryly.

THE TWO youths stood with hands in the air as the echoes of the shot died away. A crunch of leaves underfoot turned their attention to a man making his way toward them with a determined stride and a rifle.

The man was quite a concoction of humanity. He appeared to be about forty years old, with dirty blond hair straggling down to his narrow shoulders from a bald spot at the top of his head. His pointed chin bore a blond goatee of nearly equal length, making it more a facial ponytail than a goatee. He was dressed in old worn jeans and a stained and dingy blue-striped T-shirt.

Two pale, bloodshot eyes blazed in the direction of Tom and Bud.

"Dr. Freegler? I’m Tom Swift," said the young inventor, cautiously lowering his hands.

"Yeah?" The man looked Tom up and down. "Guess you are at that."

"Mighty hostile way to greet a fellow scientist!" snorted Bud.

"You’re on my land. Didn’t invite you here. Besides, I wasn’t aiming at you boys—saw a squirrel in the tree."

Tom glanced around. "Looks like you missed it."

"I’m a lousy shot. Now let’s get everything out on the table, hmm? You here from
him?
"

"Him?" repeated Tom. Then he made a guess. "Do you mean Milt Isosceles?"

"Shoulda known," responded Freegler with a sour nod. "Figured he’d track me down."

"I’m not representing anyone but myself," said Tom coolly. "By the way, this is my friend Bud Barclay."

"I know. In news photos he’s the one always standing next to― "

"
Now
that we all know each other," interjected Bud forcefully, "do you suppose we could sit down and talk?"

The man shrugged. "Now
why
would I want to talk to either of you? I happen to like my privacy, boys—I cherish it. Whatever you want to talk about, I’m pretty sure it’s something I’ve left behind, out there in the world. Now you just climb back on that cycloplane of yours and forget me."

Tom responded with brusque anger at the man’s hostility. "The fact is, Dr. Freegler, it seems Mr. Isosceles has been trying to get in touch with me—or plans to do so. If he’s some sort of threat to you, it might be in your interest to find out why I’m here."

"I take it you’re used to having things your own way." Yet Freegler seemed impressed by Tom’s reasoning. "Okay. Come with me."

He led Tom and Bud across a dilapidated wooden porch into his home, a shack-like structure of warped unpainted planks and boarded-up windows. But stepping through the doorway, they stopped in amazement. The interior—disorderly though it was—had the general appearance of a modern research laboratory!

"I live
off the grid,
boys, to keep our paranoid, busybody world at arm’s-length," Freegler explained. "But the work continues."

He motioned the Shoptonians into chairs, and pulled up a lab stool to face them. "What sort of work are you engaged in, sir?" Tom asked, hoping he would not seem to be prying. "Are you still engaged in work on neutron decomposition under relativistic time dilation?" Bud’s eyes widened humorously at his chum’s ten-dollar words.

Rosso Freegler made a gesture of contempt. "That’s not important. My old life is not important. I won’t let the devil and his minions drag me back into it."

"I take it you mean Mr. Isosceles."

"I’ve identified him, Tom. He’s the Consuming Fire."

Tom wondered if he had heard right. "Excuse me?"

"Look around you!" commanded the researcher, indicating the mounds of notes thrust here and there all over the room. "Like Isaac Newton, I have entered upon a quest for the transcendent. Even when I worked at Imperative Motorskill, I had begun my investigations. When I confirmed that the Consuming Fire was to burn the Tree of Wisdom, I quit and covered my tracks. Someday Isosceles will find me. It is written! I hope to make it a distant day."

Freegler stood and began to pace about the room. Bud whispered softly to Tom: "
Another
one, pal."

The young inventor addressed Freegler in sympathetic tones. "Perhaps if we understood more, Bud and I could help protect you from the Consuming Fire."

"What is predestined cannot be denied," was the response. "I see now—
you
are the Hawk Fish, coming down from the sky." He stared at Bud. "You—I don’t know
who
you might be."

Bud shrugged. "A Californian."

"Where do you get this... information?" Tom asked gently.

Freegler’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. "Ah! Count the letters of the Hebrew Book of Genesis, dividing them by the decimal expansion of Pi. Consider the proportions found in certain old paintings, the orientation of the Great Sphinx with regard to Primordial North, the layout of old cowpaths in England and France."

"Er... all right."

"Have you ever noticed the
suspicious fact
that the disk of the moon
just happens
to fit
precisely
over the disk of the sun? It happens only
now
, during Man’s time on Earth, for the moon is slowly receding and the visible disk will soon be too small. Is this coincidence?
I think not
, Tom! We scientists can’t be expected to believe in coincidence."

Tom nodded gravely. Freegler was becoming more italicized with every passing moment.

"
I’ve found the secret,
my friend. Mathematical symbols expressing concepts—
a universal language!
Ever thought of that?"

Tom smiled. "It
has
crossed my mind, sir."

The man nodded. Suddenly his tone and expression changed to one of impatience. "Why are you here, exactly?"

"I’m in the process of perfecting a new kind of vehicle," responded the young scientist-inventor. "It has an advanced design, but I’m having trouble solving the problem of a power source. Your work on neutron decomposition might be the key to it, if you’ve progressed beyond what you indicated in your published article."

Freegler seemed bewildered for a moment. "Article?" But then he snapped his fingers. "Oh yes. My foolish work at Motorskill. You’re looking for the final tensor manifold equations, I suppose."

"That’s right, doctor."

"I’ll give them to you. It’s all part of the old life. Fingernail shavings." Freegler spent a few minutes—quite a few—digging through his papers before finally holding up one sheet in triumph. "Here it is! As you can see, I wrote the equations in green crayon. Color is very important, an underrated property of matter."

"I’ve often thought so," Tom agreed politely. "May I see them?"

"Oh, take them, take them. They aren’t
mine
, you know. How can you own an
idea?
Truth and wisdom come from the universe. We mustn’t horde them."

As Tom and Bud left, Tom expressed his gratitude. "These formulas are a great achievement, Dr. Freegler. You’ll receive full credit. Swift Enterprises will provide generous compensation for your giving them to me, I promise."

"Compensation? Ah well. The best compensation would be for you to take a gun and shoot Milton Isosceles," said the man with a pleasant smile. "Goodbye, boys. Nice to see you again."

Bud frowned. "Again?"

"I told you, I’ve seen both of you in photos. And so,
now
I see you
again
. Right?" He closed the door on them. From the inside.

Tom looked at Bud and said: "
Jetz!
"

Back at the Citadel, Tom began working with Arv Hanson on translating Freegler’s findings into a power plant for his triphibian atomicar.

"Man alive, this stuff is so fascinating I almost don’t mind the fact that my last few days of work are completely down the drain!" chuckled the broad-shouldered Scandinavian.

"For that, I’m sorry. But if this new ‘neutron dynamo’ shows promise, you’ll be able to play around with Orton Throme’s design for the atomicar."

"Which looks like a great deal of fun!" Hanson declared. "So let’s have the basics of this neutronamo of yours."

Tom explained how, in principle, accumulated positive and negative charges produced through the controlled decomposition of neutrons would induce a powerful current flow. "The new isotope plays an important role," he stated. "It’s the source of our neutrons."

With the basic conceptual problems overcome by Freegler’s equations, Tom and Arv had soon put together a test prototype, which they proceeded to test and tweak over several days. "I’m satisfied that the neutronamo is the way to go," grinned the young inventor at last. "I think it’s time to head back home."

Departing at dusk the majestic
Sky Queen
zoomed northeast, a shielded canister of the new isotope cradled securely in the skyship’s hangar-hold.

In the lounge Sandy asked Cousin Ed if he would be continuing on to Mexico from Shopton. "Not right away, cuz. I’ll be visiting Mom and my stepdad in Vermont, then Dad and my stepmom in Providence. And then― " His eyes twinkled with mystery! "Then I have a new destination."

"Oh really, Ed? Where?" Bashalli asked.

"Place called Kabulistan."

"Kabulistan!" cried Sandy. "Oh Ed, take me along, won’t you? We can solve the ruby mine mystery!"

"As a matter of fact, I have a notion to look into it—that’s why I changed my plans." His face assumed an exaggerated expression of regret. "But as for you—alas! Your esteemed brother tells me you have a few responsibilities to take care of in Shopton."

Sandy gave a sigh. "My esteemed brother can be a stodgy spoilsport. And he worries about me too much."

After a restful night at home in Shopton, Tom plunged into the redesign of the atomicar with great and infectious enthusiasm. He was just concluding a late lunch when Arv Hanson dropped by with a detailed model of the new body shell in his hands.

Tom whistled in admiration. "What a beauty, Arv! This will be a big help in putting together the full-sized version for the demonstration model. And by the way ... " continued the youth with a sheepish look. "Can I count on you to ride herd on the project? With Hank away, you’re the only one I’d trust to take on a hurry-up engineering job like this." Hank Sterling, Enterprises’ chief engineer and a close friend, was taking a long, much-postponed vacation with his family.

"You can count on me, boss. It’s just a question of whether I can do it. What sort of turnaround are you looking for?"

"As fast as you and the fabrication shop can deliver the goods. George Dilling is― "

"Yeah, I know. No blueprints, eh?" Arv considered a moment. "Well, give us forty-eight hours if you want a real slick paint job."

"Good enough," Tom said gratefully. "We’ll mount it over the weekend, and I’ll tell George he can set up a press conference and demonstration for Monday morning!"

As soon as Arv left the laboratory, Tom plunged into a flurry of activity that spread to many offices at Swift Enterprises. Press releases had to be prepared, invitations sent to all media news services and automotive editors, and a test track laid out, with a viewing stand for the spectators. Tom arranged to set up the track on one of the runways at the Swift Construction Company on the other side of the town.

On Monday morning Swift Construction hummed with excitement. A throng of newscasters, press photographers, and television camera techs crowded the stand as Tom displayed the futuristic new scarlet atomicar, its sleek dome gleaming in the sun, and explained its operation and propulsion principles.

"Sorry that I can’t reveal the details of my atomic power plant just yet," Tom told them. "However, it provides a smooth flow of power to a small electric motor at each wheel, without any need for a bulky or complicated transmission."

Tom proceeded to describe each feature of the advanced vehicle. The name of the present model, he concluded, was the
Silent Streak
.

The visitors elbowed each other to get in their many questions. Tom spoke at length. "Forward motion during flight, and on or under water, is provided by the wheels. The synthetic material of the tires can be caused to sprout tiny scoop-shaped ‘fins’ all along the surface which will catch the air or water and drag it around the circumference. The close-fitting cowling inhibits the flow on the forward or rear side of the tire, and it’s the buildup of pressure that pushes the car."