Tom Swift and the Asteroid Pirates (9 page)

It was Tom Swift who had led the expedition to Little Luna that claimed the phantom satellite for his country, and Tom Swift who had handled the two rock fragments of metallic crystal that he had subsequently named Lunite. Acting under some unknown external influence, the rocks had twice flared into action as if by their own accord, projecting a force that seemed to dissolve solid matter directly into the void without producing such secondary effects as radiation or incinerative temperatures.

"Imagine such a weapon!" exclaimed Thurston. Then he added, "But you don’t need to use your imagination, Tom. You and your people have studied Lunite."

Tom nodded thoughtfully. "It’s used in the field-generating antennas for my repelatrons. But I’ve never made any real headway understanding the deatomization effect we encountered. There’s a theory—well,
my
theory—that the fragments somehow channeled and focused energies accumulated in the body of the asteroid itself. If so, the reaction might not work at all away from Nestria."

"And now the Cobra has control of Nestria!" Ahlgren declared.

"Still—it’s a complete mystery how to activate and control Lunite for that purpose," objected Tom. "We presume it was the space friends themselves who took control of the fragments before, just as they were able to move Nestria into Earth orbit."

Dr. Palfrey stared at Tom for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Perhaps it has escaped your mind that Li has hinted at having made his own extraterrestrial contacts. Those now advising him may not be ‘space friends’ at all, but enemies of mankind maneuvering to dominate the human race!"

Tom was shocked into silence.

"Look this over," said Thurston abruptly, handing Tom a file folder on which someone had scrawled in pen:
asteroid pirates opp.
As Tom glanced up with a question writ on his face, Ahlgren chuckled.

"That’s our nickname for this project—just for casual conversation, of course. As you may recall, by international treaty America’s claim to our little wandering moon is conditioned upon its being classified as a derelict
ship
, not a celestial body. And in turn we consider its capture an act of piracy. Hence ― "

"Yes, I get it," snapped Tom. He opened the folder. Inside were a number of single printed sheets, a photograph attached to each one.

John Thurston explained. "These men are all missing—at present, unofficially."

Tom Swift frowned. "Okay. So just who
are
these ‘unofficially’ missing men?"

Thurston glanced at Bernt Ahlgren, who nodded as if giving Thurston permission to proceed. "Dr. Palfrey and I have collected all the information available on the individuals in question," he explained. "I suggest you look over the data and give us your comments."

Tom began leafing through the volume with frowning interest. "Well, I know this one," Tom said, pointing to one of the photos. "Isn’t that the fellow who kicked up such a row at the International Magneto-Hydrodynamics Seminar in Baltimore?"

Palfrey nodded. "I presumed you’d recall the incident. Fernand Zerbski. Carried a big chip on his shoulder, hmm? Accused those two atomic physicists from Los Alamos of cribbing his work for their research paper. A most unfortunate attitude for a scientist! Very sad, very sad."

Moments later, Tom turned to a photograph of a thin-faced, swarthy man with a high, bulging forehead. "This is Achmet Rahj!" he murmured. "The nuke equipment scandal."

"Correct," Thurston pronounced. "Selling prohibited technology that could be used in refining fissile materials. The affair brought down the government of one of our key allies in the Far East. And next, under your thumb, is Dr. Neng Hoon."

"I’ve heard the name. He was mixed up in some stock swindle with a Middle East oil company, wasn’t he?" Tom asked the CIA man.

"Yes. The press called the scheme
Grabscam
. A brilliant rocket-fuel chemist, but rather a warped character, I’m afraid. Evidently he was more interested in money than science."

Many of the others also were known to the young inventor by name or reputation. Both Tom and his father had met several of them at scientific gatherings, which Tom had begun to attend at an early age as part of his scientific education. Some, like Achmet Rahj, had become involved in scandal which had cut short their professional careers.

"Quite an interesting assortment of scientific brains, eh?" Ahlgren commented when the youth had finished looking through the file. "As you’ve noticed, a good many of them are temperamental and eccentric types, misfits."

"With a definite anti-American, anti-Western bias—at least in several cases," Tom added.

"That’s absolutely true," Dr. Palfrey agreed thoughtfully. "One can see how most of them were either totalitarian-minded to begin with, or might have acquired a grudge against this country and our modern free society. A matter of fundamental psychological dynamics—we’ve profiled them all, of course."

Tom handed back the folder, then spoke up quietly. "What strikes me about these men is that they’re just the sort who might have been called together for a space project."

"Mmm. A space project?" Thurston shot a sharp glance at the young inventor. "How so, Tom?" Somehow the question suggested that Tom was being asked to confirm a theory the men already held.

"Look at the fields they specialize in—plasma physics, nuclear power, communications and telemetry, structural engineering, astrophysics." Tom ticked them off on his fingers. "With a group like that on the job, someone could really shoot for the stars."

"Well now. What kind of a space project? Any idea?" Ahlgren asked. "A moon shot, maybe?" His tone was slightly facetious.

Tom shook his head. "No. I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing." The young inventor paused worriedly. "Li would’ve had to have put together a team of experts to design and build his spacecraft. That’s certain. But gentlemen, manipulating antimatter and using it to create the barrier around Nestria is a whole other order of futuristic technology. And as it happens I know of another engineer, engaged in advanced training at M.I.T., who just may have been entangled in the project."

Tom reminded them about John Tsu and his strange warning, which seemed to tie in with the Black Cobra and the deadly invisible barrier surrounding Nestria.

Thurston was soberly alarmed. "We haven’t neglected that part of your reports. Reluctant though we all were to accept it, it certainly adds up."

"You haven’t yet told me about how it is that the scientists are missing," Tom pointed out. "What were the circumstances?"

Bernt Ahlgren responded. "We, and our like-minded colleagues in many countries, keep tabs on men like these. Last year, within the span of about a week,
every one
of them gave us the slip and dropped out of sight completely. We have to assume they’re alive—but where? Doing what?"

"We have been monitoring our telecommunications resources with great attention," declared Dr. Palfrey. "I am part of that effort. There has been no result to date—but now this ‘asteroid pirates’ business has popped up."

"Tom, we wanted your confidential assessment of the capabilities of these men, without prompting," Thurston explained. "As well as your thoughts on how to proceed—how to penetrate the space barrier and apprehend the Black Cobra and his technology."

The group plunged into an earnest discussion of ways to cope with the challenge. The government officials were heartened when Tom explained the new invention on which he was working. They urged him to make every effort to break through the lethal "iron curtain" around the satellite.

"This is vital for national security, and I’m confident you can count on government financial support," Thurston promised the young inventor. "Both NASA and the Defense Department can provide funds that are already allocated for missile work."

"We might even tap a few of our off-budget
special
funds," said Bernt Ahlgren with a conspiratorial raise of eyebrow.

"Thanks," Tom replied. "But believe me, Dad and I are not worried about expenses right now. Getting the Nestria colonists home safely is our number one concern. I hope you all understand that."

The aerial meeting finally wound down as the pilot intercommed that they were ten minutes from landing back at Enterprises.

Tom settled back in a comfortable seat sipping watery orange juice. In minutes he saw the blue curve of Lake Carlopa rising ahead. He could tell that the jet had begun its final descent to the Swift Enterprises airfield.

But suddenly the hairs of intuition bristled at the back of his neck!
That’s strange...
he thought. He turned in his seat toward John Thurston. "Mr. Thurston, the plane seems to be coming in at a funny angle. We should’ve made our conning level by now—it’s almost always done out over the middle of the lake."

"Oh? You think there’s a problem?"

"Not necessarily. But we may have to loop back for a second landing pass." Tom stood. "I’m a pilot, sir. I’m going forward to check on Lt. Bemis."

He hastily made his way up the aisle to the control compartment. When he threw open the door, he gasped in disbelief!

The flight compartment was empty. The pilot had vanished!—and the jet was angling toward the ground, completely uncontrolled!

FRANTIC, Tom lunged forward to grab the stick, keen eyes surveying the board meters. He saw immediately, confirmed by his stomach, that pulling up safely in the seconds remaining would be difficult. As he began to level the jet, he flipped on the intercom. "Everyone strap in. There’s a—a
situation
up here. We may be landing pretty rough."

The board showed the guide-beacons at the airfield. The jet was far too near—and
very
much too low! The plane was a thousand feet lower than Tom had realized!

"Swift Approach Control. This is Flight Niner-Four," Tom barked into the microphone. "Approximately three miles north minor east. Estimate Enterprises at two-two. Over."

The base tower responded, "Roger. We copy. You’re running way low, Niner-Four. I have—
Holy heck! Get your nose up for a second pass!
"

"No can do, Glen. No time to cut down our speed. I’m attempting a setdown, emergency drill."

"Copy. Would you like a radar steer?"

"Affirmative."

The shore of Lake Carlopa flashed by, frighteningly close, as Tom prepared to land, extending the wheels. Though he had raised the nose slightly and flap-braked, the clock was against him. The unforgiving Enterprises airfield was now only seconds away!

"Turn to heading of zero-four-zero," the tower called.

Tom complied, turning in for final approach.

Suddenly the tower operator’s voice broke in: "Check your ILS indications! Our scope shows you to be below glide path and localizer-left!"

The young inventor scanned his instrument landing system indicator and the altimeter.
Good gosh, I didn’t lat-compensate enough!
he exclaimed inwardly.

"Tower, I’m ― " The words died in his throat as a rounded mass of gleaming metal loomed into view portside, like an upraised palm demanding that he
Halt!

"Pull up, Tom!" cried the controller.

Tom barely had time to react. The next instant the jet rocked from a stunning impact as its right landing gear clipped the big dish antenna. Shouts of alarm erupted from the passenger cabin behind.

Belly landing!
Tom thought, trying to force himself to remain cool.
Tail down, drag maneuver.

The rear landing wheels touched the runway. The jet bounded twice, then held. Tom had already slammed down the throttle to cut power. But the jolt of the collision with the antenna had swung the nose of the plane sharply to port, dropping the right wing. Tom fought to correct this as he eased back on the control wheel, applying the left aileron at the same time.

The right wingtip scraped and rebounded. Just as Tom had hoped, the rebound forced the remaining forward wheel, the left one, down to the tarmac. The youthful pilot held his breath, and for one moment things looked hopeful. Then the jet began to shudder violently!

"Left leg can’t take it!" Tom said aloud. "We’re losing it!" He knew that with the forward gear completely gone and the back gear extended, the resultant nose-down could easily flip the jet!

He didn’t have time to try to retract the rear wheels. Instead he slammed on the throttle, and the craft leapt forward with a roar.
Up, up, up!
he thought desperately. The end of the runway was rushing up on him.

For a terrifying moment Tom thought the jet was determined to ram the security fence beyond the runway. But then he relaxed as he felt the plane climbing out with a surge of power. The top of the fence whisked by below.

"Son, that was superb flying!" The voice was at his ear right behind him.

"You’d be safer back with the others, Mr. Ahlgren," Tom said brusquely.

But the agent seemed to be in a talkative mood. "Planning a water crash? Nice big lake. Plenty of fuel."

Tom flicked his head at the lights on the instrument panel. "The landing gear mechanism is tweaked, front and rear. Without retracting she’ll tumble uncontrollably whatever she comes down on."

"My assessment, too. I see that trainer of yours—what was his name? Benson?—did quite a job. Taught you all the tricks, hmm?" Ahlgren leaned close. "All right then. No water landing. You’re the idea guy on board, Tom. Any ideas?"

Tom’s brow knitted. "I
always
have ideas."

"Then it’s time for ― "

The youth interrupted. "Mr. Ahlgren, do me a favor. Leave my cockpit!"

"I’m afraid it’s not
your
cockpit, son."

"It is now!"

"What happened, Niner-Four? Are you having difficulty?" the tower radioed. "Tom, we can guide you through the second pass."

Gaining altitude, Tom replied coolly, "Swift tower, executing a missed approach. Will proceed to alternate airport."

"Copy that. What airport?"

Instead of answering the question, Tom said, "Glen, what’s the status of the
Sky Queen
?"