“I have no idea if this is going to make any difference, and it is more likely than not to have zero impact because the overall gravity of Phobos will remain constant, but I’m hoping that having the side I’ll call the light one closest may mean it takes a little longer to start heading downward again. If anyone were to ask me the percentage chance of that I’d have to admit to it being so close to zero it might as well be zero, but it makes me feel better to try something.”
Everyone returned to their tasks and the ship was in position for the first shove of the day eleven minutes later.
“My unaided and highly uneducated eye says we’re farther underneath than we’ve been on previous pushes,” Bud said out of the corner of his mouth so only Tom could hear it.
“And, your eye would be correct, Bud. I want to try a first shove or even two just as if we are trying to lift the thing up and away. Then we’ll reposition and give it more momentum to get it wanting to fly higher, and then we’ll repeat those two. It is a combination we haven’t yet tried and I am curious if it makes any difference.”
It made a small level of difference, but Tom was now willing to take anything as a success. Before they left Mars, the moon had been pushed out more than four-hundred miles and was within about two hundred of its rightful location.
* * * * *
They dropped Professor Brandon back off at the old Outpost before landing at Fearing. It had been a long and tiring flight home so everyone spent the night on the island getting a good night’s rest before heading for Shopton.
That flight, made in the Sky Queen that had been shuttled out by Red Jones and Zimby Cox, was mostly spent hearing about the trip to Mexico.
“You two would have been mighty proud of your sister and wife. Sandy took command of things, had a plan of action that even included some contingencies we actually needed to put into action, and she spent about sixteen hours a day for the nine days we were there in that CadaverCar. She helped them rescue fifty-seven live human bodies, twelve dogs, about twenty sheep or goats and a horse.”
Zimby added, “And, she found more than a hundred bodies they dug out and properly placed in containment bags for later burial. She even called Senator Quintana’s office directly and cajoled him into a second load of food we had to fly back for. But, get this… she told him to arrange for it to be picked up in Los Angeles and not all the way back in DC.”
Red laughed. “Yeah. I was in the cockpit when she made that call. Quintana was really taken aback by her commanding tone and I could picture him making a sarcastic salute at his end, but he came through. In other words, Sandy Swift-Barclay was a hurricane force herself, and all for good.”
Bud was beaming at the news and couldn’t wait to hold onto his wife and tell her how proud he was.
They touched down and debarked near the underground hangar where the Queen would be put away by the ground crew.
Tom stood still while he used his TeleVoc to check for important messages. One came from his father and intrigued him. After it ended he turned to Bud.
“Hey, flyboy. Want to come over and see the preliminary wind tunnel tests of something Dad tells me he’s working on?”
“Well, my massive schedule book seems to have a small blank spot in it, and just about… hmmmm… now! As long as I can get over to see Sandy in the next hour I’m fine. What’s this all about?”
Tom shook his head. “He has been sort of hush hush about the fine details, but I know it has to do with a letter he received when we first came back from Mars. A really strange letter beginning with the way the man spelled this state. New Yrok. And, how his secretary included every word he said as he dictated the note, including when he asked to see what she was writing and told her to stop it.” Tom grinned. The letter had been a bit scattered.
However, it was from the Prime Minister of New Zealand and the four or five visits Damon had made down there seemed to be bearing fruit. The two terminals were underway and the preliminary airship design due to be tested.
They hiked the mile to the test building to the west of the main building cluster and the site of the first—of two—wind tunnels built at Enterprises.
Once inside, and after hushing Bud who was about to pronounce a pun name for the somewhat flat, wide and squat airship that was inside the test chamber, they watched as first it was tested to the point where massive vibrations were being registered and Damon declared it unfit for people to ride in. Once Arv Hanson added four corner pieces to the passenger-carrying lower portion, it smoothed out and exceeded the needed speed with ease. Even so far as having negligible vibrations when moderate-speed side winds were introduced.
“I still think it ought to have a good name,” Bud said as they left the test building. “I mean, it sort of looks like a wide whale, so why not call it an AirWhale, capitals A and W?”
Tom stopped and turned to face his best friend.
“Bud, dad really wants to make this contract a success. Mostly because he wants to prove to himself and the people down there his previous problems with some angry Aussies was only so much blown smoke. And,” he scrunched up his mouth a moment, “I think he wants mom to see how he can go down there and not always go see Lady Penny Schott. She thinks it’s funny that he gets flustered when Penny gives him a little kiss, but dad is worried she might think it is something more.”
They resumed their walk changing the subject back to the Martian troubles.
CHAPTER 9 /
JUST GET RID OF IT, PLEASE!
AS GENERALLY happened, the United Nations heard about the situation with Phobos and decided to poke its unwanted nose into things.
“Do I really have to respond to this, Dad?” Tom asked on a day when the two of them were at Enterprises and in the office at the same time.
Damon came over to his son’s desk and perched on the corner.
“There is absolutely nothing to compel you to appear. Mars, by virtue of it being properly and permanently colonized, has all final say about who comes up and whether they want to involve any entity other than Swift Enterprises. You know that. Our legal eagle, Jackson Rimmer knows that. My guess is even Bud and your sister know it, but sometime that august body known in abbreviated form as the U.N.—standing to my way of thinking for Unwanted Nosiness—fails to remember that. So, while I cannot do this myself, and would if I could, I think you ought to answer that summons with a, ‘Sorry but I will be out of town and/or off planet for the next two weeks,’ and then see if the request disappears or you need to make a brief appearance.”
A grimace crossing his face, Tom asked, “Just how brief?”
Damon pondered this a moment. “How about you offer to provide them with a video update of what is going on? Perhaps a ten-minute piece you can shoot up in orbit at the Space Queen. The open central area makes a heck of a backdrop and will remind them about sovereign territories outside of Earth’s atmosphere.”
Tom nodded and smiled at his father. “Thanks. I believe I’ll have Jackson help me with the wording and then head up tomorrow morning. Wish I’d thought of that before my stomach got all gooey feeling.”
Damon smiled mischievously. “You think along the lines of attacking a problem. I’m getting to the age where dodging and weaving around a problem while still seeming to want to make it all work approach looks better and better with each passing day.”
They shared a laugh before Tom walked over to his father and gave him a hug.
“Thanks for being a teacher and a guide to me in just about everything. If I don’t say it often enough, I love you Dad, and appreciate the heck out of you!”
Jackson’s response to Damon’s suggestion was to slap his desk, slap his knee and let out a guffaw. Tom had no idea the lawyer was capable of guffawing and it made him laugh as well.
“Can you help me word things so we all think they’ll just back off?”
Jackson nodded and indicated he would like to see the letter that had been received. He scanned it once and then re-read it more slowly,
looking for any nuances they might wish to pay particular attention to.
When he set it down, he looked at Tom. “I would say they are more trying to pretend they exert any sort of power outside our atmosphere than they are truly interested in what the heck is going on up on a planet most of them couldn’t pick out of a line-up or tell you where in the line from the Sun out it sits. So, let’s have a little fun with this while giving them basically nothing.”
It only required a half hour to craft the seven-minute message and two more to fine tune a couple small items. Both of them were satisfied so Tom got up to leave, but Jackson had one more suggestion.
“You mentioned you want to do this in space. Fine. Be sure to turn off all gravity so you and… well, perhaps seven or eight crew persons are floating around in, perhaps, the Challenger. I wouldn’t go so far as to pretend there is any emergency cutting things short, but if someone off camera could call out to get your attention with…” he had to think what would be a good excuse. Having only been in space one time for the christening of the giant Space Queen station he had little to go to for ideas.
“How about if Bud or someone else calls me to report we’re approaching,” and he made finger quotes, “that rogue satellite we need to stabilize, pronto!”
“I like it! Be sure to save me a copy. I’d love to add it to our files. But say, can you send it directly to them? It’d be more effective in real time.”
“I can. It just so happens they gave me the download frequency for their huge server farm. I’ll send it there after I precede it with a short text message from our radioman telling them it is coming.”
Tom left the lawyer’s office, his script clutched in his right hand, and headed back to his office. There, he showed it to his father who nodded his approval.
“My only suggestion is that you memorize this and not try to read it or paraphrase it. What you and Jackson came up with is exactly what they need to hear.”
The younger man agreed and said he was heading home for the rest of the day.
“I’ll arrange for the Challenger to be readied for an afternoon flight tomorrow,” he promised before leaving for home.
As he walked in his front door his legs were attacked by a young boy with a huge smile on his little face. Fortunately, Tom was used to this and kept his balance.
The boy, his son, Bart, turned his head and shouted toward the kitchen door, “Momma! Daddy’s home and he’s gotta piece of paper!” Now, Bart’s face turned up to look at his father’s face. “Is da paper for me?”
Tom reached down and pulled his son up into his arms.
“Well, not exactly for you, but I can use your help with it. It’s something I have to read to some people who are being very snoopy and is supposed to make them stop. There is one little line I’d like to have you read. Want to do that?”
“Do what?” came Bashalli’s voice as she entered the room.
“Daddy wants me to read a line, Momma. It is important, so I want to do it.”
Bashalli laughed. “Well, then, by all means you should do it.” She shifted her gaze from their son to her husband. “What is it?”
He set Bart down and explained the U.N. issue.
“Goodness. Can I help at all?” she asked.
Tom chuckled. “Ever wanted to be the United Nations?” When her wide-eyed stare told him it had never crossed her mind, he patted her shoulder. “Well, this whole thing is going to be about my addressing the U.N. from up in orbit and having my able assistant, Bart, break in at the right moment to tell me his line. What I need is the initial prompting from the U.N., which is you.”
They ran through the entire scenario three times before Bashalli set her small script down and informed her two men that dinner would be in ten minutes.
“Would you please get Mary up from her crib in the family room? She should be awake and probably needs to have her diaper changed before she gets her dinner.
For the previous three months their daughter had been graduating from milk to the sort of foods that come in pureed form that have, for the average adult, almost no flavor worth mentioning. For Mary the carrots, beets and chicken jars seemed to be favorites with applesauce and green bean slurry coming in a close second.
Tom got her up and she grinned at him as he took her to the bathroom and gave her a clean diaper.
Once in the kitchen he played a little game with her by holding up the various jars watching for her facial expressions to tell him what her approved menu ought to be. Tonight she wanted the applesauce, beef and corn jars. So, those went into the pot of warm water Bashalli had on the stove to warm up a little.
Everyone enjoyed dinner with only one of them requiring some fairly major cleanup afterwards.
Bart, who had been showing more interest in his sister’s welfare lately offered to wield the damp washcloth to get the major splotches of food on her face, arms, hands and neck. His mother did the fine cleaning while Tom cleared the table and soon they were all in the living room where Tom and Bart went over the script one more time.
The next morning Tom called to Fearing to tell them he needed the Challenger for a four to five hour trip.
“Please have a seven person crew ready to go at noon when Bud and I get there. If she is available please ask Cassie Monroe to join us.”
Although a qualified astronaut, Cassie was rarely a crew member as her normal duties on Fearing kept her very busy. But, she had one thing Tom really needed for this trip; Cassie Monroe was also an actress having appeared in several plays and as an extra in a half dozen television programs.
“If anyone can pull of the reading of the ‘Tom? I need you to take a look at this right now… it might be dangerous,’ line, it’ll be her.”
* * * * *
Takeoff happened at exactly noon the next day and the repelatron-powered ship headed skyward with Bud and Zimby Cox at the control stations.
Tom and Cassie were sitting in acceleration couches over by the large view windows practicing their lines.
“For a non-professional you certainly nailed your lines,” she complimented him. “Now, all I have to do is find the motivation for getting just hint of panic into mine. Do you think we could talk Bud into threatening to tickle me?” she asked just loud enough for the pilot to hear.
“Gimme a pointed stick and I’ll stand just behind you ready to poke,” he called back over his shoulder.
The pair practiced a few more times before Tom was satisfied, and that was mostly in his “performance.”
At 1:47 the inventor indicated to the communications operator to open the channel to the United Nations, and for Bud to shut off all the artificial gravity inside the ship.
Four of the crew had been tasked with drifting across the scene behind Tom every minute or so armed with clipboards and electronic devices, all to look very serious about their “jobs.”
The man at the comms board gave Tom and everyone a signal.
“Hello? Is this the United Nations tele-link channel?” Tom inquired knowing full well it was.
The startled young woman gawked at her monitor. “My god!” she said, breathlessly.
“I’m sorry…”
“What’s the matter with you?”
Tom chuckled. He’d expected to make some impression on whoever answered, just not this much of one.
“Oh. I’m Tom Swift and I am calling you from up in space.” He looked around him before staring back a the camera. “As for what is going on, I am floating. As in there is no gravity in space. Perfectly normal but I suppose it takes some people a little time to get used to. Anyway, can you please record this call. I have received a special request via my company and I need to get your folks in the General Council an answer. Please tell me when you are ready.”
He had to wait four minutes while the woman went to get someone to help her understand what to do.
“Go ahead, Mr. Swift,” he said into his microphone speaking quite loudly as if he believed the distance into space might make hear
ing him difficult.
“Okay. This is in response to…” and he looked down at a piece of paper he held in his right hand, “…U.N. communique dated Monday of this week regarding the, quote, Martian Damage Situation, end quote. Also, I feel it necessary to address your ‘Just get rid of it’ request or demand. Now, I must tell you that there is no damage happening on Mars so this took me a little aback, but in reading it in its entirety I assume this is a language barrier and the author meant you need a report on the situation up around Mars, vis a vis the moon, Phobos, and the reports that it has dropped lower in its orbit. Well, and I have to tell you I only have a couple minutes for this, but here goes.
“FIrst it is true that the moon, Phobos, and I really have to stress it is the Mars moon and not our own, has come several hundred miles closer to the surface of Mars. While this is faster than it previously has decreased its altitude it is within margins where we have been able to periodically reposition it as we work on a long lasting strategy to address the root cause or causes, if there are any, and to ensure the moon, Phobos, is eventually placed back where it belongs. It would do more potential harm than good to try to give it a great shove into space which could simply cause it to crumble apart. There is no way to tell what might happen if it, or parts of it, were to come crashing back into Mars… or even worse, the Earth!
“Oh, and at no time will the Martian colony—placed on and sponsored by Swift Enterprises—be in jeopardy. So, please assure your… uhhh… people that—”
“Mr. Swift!” came an urgent voice from his left. As his head turned the face and upper body of Cassie drifted into position just above his head. “We have an incoming object at Delta seven, Epsilon thirty-decimal-nine. Can you break off and come give your opinion? It may be that satellite!”
Tom’s head whipped around to his camera. “Sorry. Got to go. I hope that’s enough, but as I said I have to go!” He made a cut motion with his right hand and the comms operator hit the OFF switch.
Tom Swift and the Martian Moon Re-Placement (The TOM SWIFT Invention Series Book 23) Page 10
