Tom Swift and the Asteroid Pirates (3 page)

Tom pulled back further, showing the entire sphere of Nestria, then moved the sensor-node closer again on another side of the moonlet. Once again the screen went blank. "Whatever’s causing the effect completely surrounds Nestria," Tom pronounced grimly after several more attempts. "It’s like a barrier of interference, about seventy miles out. Obviously, it’s gotten much worse since the explosion. It’s not dissipating as I had expected—whatever it is."

"What about the explosion itself?" Bud demanded suspiciously. "That’s the biggest mystery of all!"

"You’re right, Bud!" said Tom. "And it’s not only affecting Nestria directly, but may also be targeting defense and communications systems around the world! The whole thing may be a plot, and there’s only one way to find the answer. I’m going to hop back over to Fearing and take off for Nestria in the
Challenger
!"

Bud nodded excitedly. But the elder scientist laid a hand on Tom’s arm. "Son, I know it’s hard to stand by at a moment like this. But you’re a scientist as well as an inventor. Now is the time to gather data."

Bud looked exasperated. "But Mr. Swift, if some enemy is trying to screw up the whole world’s defenses― "

Tom sighed. "No, flyboy. Dad’s right. The EMP effect was momentary. It’s over now. And it just occurred to me that the signal interference could just be an aftereffect of the rocket explosion. See ― " Tom continued thoughtfully, "the artificial gravitational field around Nestria has a very sharp gradient. I can see how it might be possible for debris and fallout to ‘ride’ the gradient in all directions, creating a cloud of energized
smog
, so to speak."

"Okay. If you say so." But the black-haired young flyer didn’t look entirely convinced.

Mr. Swift said, "Actually, you two, I’ve already started the process of data-gathering. While you were flying back, I had Fearing send up the
Challenger
—not to Nestria yet, but into a high Earth orbit to make some longrange observations. After that, we’ll have a better idea as to the need for a landing."

"That’s great, Dad," nodded Tom.

Trusting matters to his son, Mr. Swift hurried off to a waiting jet, having scheduled one of his frequent trips to Washington DC. After Damon Swift had left the observatory, Bud turned to his friend with a slight frown. "You know, pal, your Dad’s a smart guy. But sometimes I wonder if you don’t—well ... "

"Give in too easily?" The young inventor smiled. "Maybe. But only when he’s right."

Following a hasty breakfast, the boys waited anxiously in the observatory, with Tom making periodic efforts to sight Nestria through the space prober or contact the base there. But the blackout continued. "Even the lasercom setup doesn’t get through to them," grumbled Tom in frustration. "There must be some sort of haze that distorts the laser beam, at least above Base Galileo."

Suddenly Bud’s face lit up and he snapped his fingers. "Good grief, I just thought of something. Why don’t you use the PER? You told me
nothing
can stop
that
!" Tom’s Private Ear Radio used a quantum-link principle to connect paired communications units in a manner that effectively annihilated the space between them. Bud knew that its basic technique was different from that of the megascope, and consequently would not be affected by the interference around the moonlet.

"That’s a great idea, Bud," said Tom. "Just one problem."

"What?"

"The Nestria crew doesn’t
have
any PER units."

"What! Not yet?"

Tom snorted ruefully. "Actually, a shipment was on the way. In the rocket that blew up!"

"Aw
jetz
."

"Exactly."

The boys resumed their vigil for news from Nestria—or at least a megascopic peek. Both Tom and Bud had many friends among the base team, giving a face to their anxiety. At last Tom could stand the suspense no longer. "Come on, Bud! Let’s grab a ridewalk back to the admin building. I want to talk to Nels Gachter about that message from the space friends."

"Yeah. We’re not accomplishing much hangin’ loose here."

As they approached the tall administration building on the conveyor-belt transport, Bud remarked restlessly: "Sandy said she’d give us a call this morning to set up our date for tomorrow night. Bash wasn’t sure if she could duck out from the Cat." Sandy was Tom’s younger sister and Bud’s frequent date about town, as Bashalli Prandit was Tom’s. The pretty young Pakistani worked for her brother in Shopton at a trendy coffehouse called The Glass Cat.

"I’m afraid I’m not going to be in much of a mood ― " Tom began. He broke off as his tiny cellphone chortled from its post on his belt-loop. Tom snatched it up and answered.

"Sandy?" Bud whispered hopefully to his pal.

Tom turned away from the unit and shook his head Bud’s way. "Main switchboard." He resumed the conversation. "Oh? You’re sure of that? I see. Yes." Turning to Bud again, he said: "Somebody’s coming to Enterprises to kill me." Turning back to the receiver, he asked: "Does he have an appointment? Uh-huh. Well, thanks for letting me know. I’ll drop by and you can give me the details. Keep trying Security, won’t you?"

As Tom clicked off, Bud frowned at Tom suspiciously. "Some kind of joke, I take it."

Tom shrugged. "We get crank calls, including death threats, almost every day. Security evaluates ’em, but it always turns out to be some guy in a house trailer with too much time on his hands. Jilly called me directly because she couldn’t reach Rad. Oh, did I tell you?—Harlan’s at the Citadel for two weeks." Harlan Ames was chief of Enterprises internal security, Phil Radnor his assistant. Ames had traveled to the Swift nuclear facility in New Mexico, the Citadel, to assess its current security setup.

Bud and Tom were about to step off the ridewalk in front of the administration building when suddenly a loud crash resounded across the experimental station!—followed instantly by the wail of sirens and the shrilling of an alarm tone from Tom’s phone unit.

"Roarin’ rockets!" Bud blurted. "What’s going on?"

"IT’S A patrolscope alert!" Tom exclaimed. "Level one!"

Bud gulped at his friend’s pronouncement. He knew that the plant’s sophisticated internal radar system was designed to instantly detect intruders not cleared by wearing special anti-radar amulets. "That crash!—it sounded close, Tom."

Dashing into the lobby of the admin building, Tom switched on an auxiliary monitor and keyed-in the main plant radarscope. A message flashed at the top of the screen:
security alert, level one breach
. He and Bud watched breathlessly as the sweeping scanner painted a blip of light near one edge of the screen. "Someone or
something
at the executive gate!" the young inventor exclaimed. This security gate, at the end of a private roadway, was only used by Tom, Mr. Swift, and a handful of key Enterprises executives. It was just outside the administration building, out of sight around a corner.

Bud dashed out through the door at Tom’s ominous words, his pal following as they trotted around to the far side of the building. "Looks like an accident!" Bud cried.

Tom joined Bud for a hasty look. A car had apparently plowed into the entrance gate at top speed. Employees were running to the scene from all directions.

The young scientist-inventor grasped Bud’s arm. "Come on! Let’s find out who it is!" Tom urged. As they dashed forward toward the wreck, a midget electric vehicle, called a nanocar, sped past them.

"There’s Radnor!" Bud exclaimed.

Braking next to the gate, the stocky security man leapt out. A second nanocar, bearing three uniformed security personnel, screeched to a halt next to him.

Radnor twisted his head, flashing a warning look at Tom. "Better stay back, Skipper!" he called. "This may be the killer! Jilly just told me about the threat."

"I doubt if he’s in any shape to be dangerous now!" Tom replied coolly as he drew near.

Through the magtritanium bars of the gate they could see that the driver, visible through the shattered windshield of the car, lay slumped over the steering wheel. Blood streamed from a scalp wound.

"Let’s get this gate open!" ordered Radnor. "You—Flemmer—get the plant ambulance over here!"

"The gate’s buckled and the crash wrecked the opening mechanism, sir," one of the men reported after a moment. "We’ll have to go out through the gatehouse at the employee gate."

"Then do it!"

By the time Tom, Bud, and Radnor reached the car, a high-powered blue sedan, the ambulance team from the Enterprises staff infirmary had come roaring up by way of the private road. "We can’t wait," said one of the medics, grimly motioning toward the black smoke wafting from the engine. "Go ahead, guys, lift him out, gently as possible. Try not to let him sag."

As they extricated the driver from the wreckage, he was revealed to be a slightly built man of about thirty or thirty-five, apparently of Asian extraction.

Tom pointed to a sticker on the car’s rear bumper. "M.I.T.," Tom muttered to Bud.

Meanwhile the crumpled gate had been forced open, allowing passage to Doc Simpson’s assistant, Ralene Bell. As she began to examine the unconscious victim, two carloads of state troopers, guided to Enterprises by Captain Rock of the Shopton Police Department, pulled up at the site.

"That’s our man, all right," said Captain Rock to the troopers after a quick look. The man had been placed on a blanket on the ground next to the road. Rock asked Dr. Bell, "How badly is he hurt?"

"Pretty seriously, I’m afraid," the doctor said. The medic pointed to a nasty-looking wound in the victim’s left side. "He stopped a bullet, and the windshield stopped
him
. On top of his wound, a broken collarbone, and blood loss, he may have a concussion."

Captain Rock nodded briskly in Tom’s direction. "We were told he’s an escaped mental patient. The hospital guards who were chasing this fellow are armed and must have wounded him."

"Yeah? Then where
are
they, Captain?" objected Bud, scanning the area.

Rock looked surprised. "Now that’s a good question! Of course, they may have taken a few shots at him during his escape. But ... " Keeping a wary eye on the smoke, which was now diminishing, Rock approached the wrenched-open door of the car, Tom at his heels. When they returned, Tom told Bud quietly, "Just a few spatters of blood on the seat and the dashboard—but look at that wound. He couldn’t have been hit more than five seconds before he crashed."

Bud nodded. "
So
. Like I said."

"I’m having my guys search the roadside all the way up to the main road," said Phil Radnor, adding in a wry whisper: "Before those troopers start clomping over all the evidence!"

A hasty check of the man’s pockets produced no identification except for a Massachusetts driver’s license. It had been issued only months before in the name of "John Tsu" at a Cambridge, Massachusetts address. The photo matched the face of the accident victim.

Staring at the license in Captain Rock’s hand, Tom frowned deeply. "Captain, there’s something wrong here."

The officer nodded. "My friend, there’s
quite a bit
wrong here. It was a gas station jockey over in Thessaly who phoned in the first alarm," Captain Rock reported. "I took the call and decided to check it out myself, since you’re something of a big wheel around these parts, Tom."

"Thanks," Tom said with a grin. "How did the guy know about the threat?"

"Everybody’s supposed to be on the alert these days, looking for suspicious behavior. The attendant said this Oriental fellow had stopped at his station to inquire the way to Swift Enterprises, and specifically whether Tom Swift was likely to be there at this time. And of course, who knows?—you could be on Mars. The attendant thought something was wrong because the guy’s manner seemed kind of wild and distraught. Then, a minute or so after he left, another car pulled in, with two men in it."

"The guards?" asked Bud.

Captain Rock nodded. "They told the attendant they were pursuing a dangerous delusional psychotic who’d escaped from the locked facility where he’d been under confinement for three years. They described him and said he had some kind of crazy grudge against Tom Swift. Said they figured he was heading for Swift Enterprises to bump you off, Tom. The attendant told them the route the psycho had taken, and they took off at top speed. Then he thought it all over and called me, and I called the Staties."

"Did the gas station guy describe the pursuers?"

"He did. Two more Asians. Bigtime accents for all of them."

Bud gave a frowning glance at Tom and the captain. "Guards too? Isn’t that just a little odd? I mean—it’s not like they have special mental hospitals for people of Asian descent."

"What institution did he break out of?" Tom asked.

"Don’t know yet. The caller says they didn’t mention it, and their car was unmarked. And strangely enough, although we have a homicidal psychopath who must have got loose at
least
several hours ago, surely, we’ve had no bulletin on the escape."

Tom snorted derisively. "It’s one-hundred-percent phony! Tsu owns this car, based on the license info. How did the guy
just
happen to have his own car handy? It didn’t sit in a hospital parking garage for
three years
. How did he renew his license? And that M.I.T. sticker is for this year."

"And then there’s the blood business," Rock added. "Looks to me like the make-believe ‘guards’ raced on ahead, lay in wait just outside the wall, and winged old John pretty good!"

At that moment a screaming siren heralded the arrival of the ambulance Dr. Bell had called in from Shopton. "Shopton Memorial?" asked the driver.

Dr. Bell nodded, but Tom suddenly held up his hand. "No! There’s a private surgery clinic north on the highway outside the city limits. Know it?"

"I know it," said the driver.

"Take him there, please. I’ll phone the medical chief—he’s a friend of the family."

Rock chuckled in a gruff way. "Fast thinking, Tom—and you’re on the beam, all right. We may have scared off those guys, but they’ll probably check out the big hospital first thing. And they’re still armed! I’ll send one of these nice troopers along to keep watch over our Mr. Tsu."